So all I had time to do in the TIE O’ THE DAY department this afternoon was to take this one picture of me in my Bow Tie o’ the Day and in my Face Mask o’ the Day. That’s all.
And Then A Whole Bunch Of Stuff Took Up My Afternoon
How I Spent My Morning
Bigly mustache wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I sat at our kitchen island this morning, in the virtual “waiting room” of my crazy-head doctor, and then I had my virtual appointment. I was a very patient bipolar patient.
And While We’re On The Subject Of Places We’ve Lived
Tie o’ the Day screams to show y’all the Delta house we had for 17 years. Mom and her Pepsi are with us in this collage snapshot. Suzanne’s holding Skitter. I’m being the tie/bow tie missionary I truly am. And Bernie Sanders stopped by to chat.
Suzanne and I called our Delta house Southfork (as in the tv show DALLAS), and we called it the Desert Beach House. I think of it most fondly as my grandparents’ former house. When I owned it, I thought of it as my own private tumbleweed ranch. I had a serious green thumb for growing all shapes, sizes, and styles of tumbleweeds. The best part about this house is that it was just an easement away from my parents’ home, which came in especially handy after Dad passed away. When we were in Delta, we could keep a protective eye on Mom, without cramping her gallivanting style. Rowan and I spent the bulk of his childhood summers in this house, while Suzanne stayed in Ogden and slaved at the office. She grabbed chunks of time to spend in Delta whenever she could get away from work. Rowan got the benefit of growing up by my parents and surrounded by my grandnieces and grandnephews. Our summer porch was always full of Mom, and kids, and bubbles, and root beer floats. Oh, and the porch was home to buckets of sidewalk chalk for creating miles of kid art to behold. I am proud to say that no self-respecting kid ever walked off our porch clean. 🏖
Knock On Wood Bow Ties
Face Mask o’ the Day depicts a glimpse of the fabled race characters, the tortoise and the hare. I have paired it with a recently acquired Bow Tie o’ the Day made of painted wood. Other than that, I don’t have anything else to write today, because for once in her working life, Suzanne just now came home from the office early. Trust me—it’s the kind of thing that will never happen again. I’m going to post this as is, and then sit down and make her watch Judge Judy with me.
#wearthedangmask
I am miffed this afternoon, but in worse words than “miffed.” Suzanne and I had made plans to go visit Mom in her room at Millard Care and Rehab Thursday, and then I got an email from MCR saying that in-person, in-the-flesh visits are once again not allowed. Apparently, the COVID-19 positive rate for Millard County has risen over the CDC guidelines, and there will again be no in-the-flesh visits until the positive rate is below 10% for two Monday’s in a row. I won’t be hugging Mom again for at least two dang weeks from today. Don’t get me wrong: I’m pleased MCR puts its residents first, keeping them as safe as possible. Mom often mentions how safe she feels living there, and her feeling of security is priceless to us. We know they will take care of her. But I don’t have to like it that I can’t be in the same room as my mother—even if it is for her own safety. Just let me be grumpy about it for the rest of the day.😡
The Taxman Cometh
If you’re a longtime reader of TIE O’ THE DAY, you know what I’m doing today. If I’m wearing my money Bow Tie o’ the Day, it means we’re filing our taxes. You also know that my tax post always contains a few words about how I consider my tax dollars give me the biggest bang for the buck, relative to any other dollar I spend. Yes, I gripe about paying taxes, but it’s an ironic gripe. Due to nothing more than good luck, I was born in the United States of America. I get to live here. The least I can do is pay an annual tithe to my country to help pay my way. 💵 💰🇺🇸😁
I Got My 2nd Dose
I can now cross my COVID-19 vaccinations off my list. As of this morning, I am fully vaccinated. I wore my wood, lobster claws Bow Tie o’ the Day out to the Davis fairgrounds to get my second shot. Bow Tie got a couple of compliments from the clinic workers, and the guy I handed my documents to through my car window congratulated me on having manual windows in my car. He said he couldn’t remember when he last saw a vehicle with manual windows—and he’s the guy who sees all the cars as they line up. Folks, my Vibe is fourteen years old—and I know that’s a bit old for a car—but it runs perfectly and I still get 36 mpg, and I ain’t getting rid of it until I absolutely have to. The guy acted as if I was driving a classic antique car, with a much-coveted, near-extinct feature: an un-gadget, in an electronic world. I told him he could have a turn rolling the windows up and down if he wanted to, but he was too busy. And then I told him my car is really like those mini clown cars in the circus, from which—when the doors open—a parade of two dozen clowns comes traipsing out from who-knows-where. Hey, it could be true. My car is a magic relic.
This Bud’s For Me
Bow Tie o’ the Day can be found on this can o’ Budweiser Zero. Sometimes a product comes along that has me written all over it. I found this one recently. Bud Zero is bow tied right down to its very bar code, and it contains O% alcohol and 0% sugar. It also contains 0% buzz, but it tastes like beer, and I have missed the taste of beer since 2007. In all honesty, Bud Zero really tastes more like beer-flavored water. And so, of course, it’s more expensive than both bottled beer and bottled water. Just my luck.🍺
Mom Says, “Be Nice To Each Other.”
I went with a floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day this afternoon, and I donned my “HATE HAS NO HOME HERE” Face Mask o’ the Day for my trip to the store. I was inspired to wear this mask because I keep thinking of my visit with Mom last week. Mom is bigly into kindness and compassion. Mom thinks people should be nice. At large family dinners, Mom took charge and said a few words before the prayer. She always found a way to incorporate the message that we should always be nice to each other and to others. Even with family, being nice is sometimes a difficult way to behave, but it’s still the right thing to do.
As Mom and I were sitting on her bed last week, she brought up kindness yet again. As we were chatting about various kindnesses that had been performed on behalf of our selves, I remembered my new word tattoos—”empathy” and “kindness”—which happened to be covered by my long-sleeved shirt. As I rolled up my shirtsleeves, I said “Mom, I know you don’t like tattoos, but you have to see my new ones. I think you’ll sort of appreciate them.” She said, “I don’t mind your tattoos. You can have whatever you want on you, and people can mind their own business if they don’t like it.” After I rolled up my shirtsleeves, Mom read each of the two words out loud. She was pleased. She even touched the words with her fingertips and told me whoever tattooed me had done a very good job.
Let me be clear: Mom is not a fan of tattoos on anyone, but she is too nice to say so. She’s not about to take a chance of making someone feel ashamed of themselves and their tattoos, just because tats are not her thing. She’s certainly not about to judge someone about something as surface-y as their skin getting inked. In fact, Mom pointed at my “empathy” and “kindness” tats and expressed a familiar sentiment. She said, “We’ll be judged on those words.” I can’t disagree with that.
And on we talked about the niceties of being nice.
Know Thy Strengths And Weaknesses
I spent most of the afternoon at home, listening to loud music while I worked. That’s why I’m showing you my sheet music Face Mask o’ the Day. I love music, but I have no talent for creating it whatsoever. I took a year or so of piano lessons from Glenna Moody, culminating in my recital performance of a piece called “The Prairie Song.” If I remember correctly, the song sounded a lot like “Book of Mormon Stories,” so I liked it. Unfortunately, despite Glenna Moody’s skillful instruction, none of what I learned from piano lessons stuck. On most of my Delta Elementary report cards, my only bad marks were in music and art. How is it even possible for a kid to do poorly in elementary school music and art? I guess I worked really hard to find a way to fail at something every other kid had no chance of failing. Let’s face it: I was a music spaz. I am meant to sing only when alone in my car or my house, although I have always been an avid listener to most types of music. I was born to hide my musical ineptitude under a bushel for the good of all mankind’s ears, and I was also born to sit in the audience and clap my gratitude for those who have the musical aptitude.