Hey, boys and girls! I’m feeling a bit out of bipolar sorts this morning, so my racing brain is struggling to write any kind of sensical post for pink Bow Tie o’ the Day. However, I want to re-re-re-remind you gals to do your breasticle self-exams and/or get your mammograms. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for all the people who adore you. Guys, encourage the women in your life to do their self-exams, and to schedule regular mammograms.
I’m Helen E. Wright, and I approved this pestering ad.
Plaid pink Bow Tie o’ the Day—on behalf of all our pink Ties/Bow Ties o’ the Day—are here to remind you women once again to do your breast exams. Heck, go get a mammogram. We know dang well some of you haven’t had a mammogram for far too long, if at all. The ties/bow ties in my collection don’t mean this in a weird way, but….they love your breasticles, and they want them to be healthy. Obey this health admonishment of Ties/Bow Ties o’ the Day: Get your boobs checked, ladies!
My dreamy nephew, Brandon Tucker, turned 50 today. He was born to my oldest sister, Mercedes, and her hubby, Nuk, way back in 1970. You know—way back before time and dirt even existed.
When I was in college at Weber State in the 80’s, I lived with the Tucker’s a couple of times. I saw Brandon and his siblings be kids, up-close and loud. I remember Brandon often going outside to practice sports. He practiced football by practicing spiking the ball and choreographing end zone dances. He practiced running by practicing breaking the ribbon at the finish line. How could I not admire his fervor for winning?! He was dedicated to being triumphant, no matter his chosen sport. Now, he’s a Yankees fan and a Patriots fan, but I have learned to forgive him for that.
Around three years ago, Brandon’s right foot had to be amputated. Since that time, I think of him as my own personal peg-leg pirate. Losing his foot did not stop him from playing golf, as one of these photos shows. Another photo shows his flip-flop foot. And, so importantly, yet another photo shows Brandon with his granddaughter, Jolee, who graces us with her head Bow Tie o’ the Day.
We believe art is important to the vibe of a home as well as to our souls. When we’ve traveled to any new destination, art museums have often ended up being our fave sights there. For our home’s above-the-sofa art, Suzanne chose a print of Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss.” Cool-a-rama. I’ve had my Klimt-inspired Bow Tie o’ the Day for a couple of years, but Skitter only recently acquired her own Klimt-esque Tie o’ the Day. She wanted to show it off to y’all, and I caught her in mid-yawn.
Split wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I thought we had read every Dr. Seuss book ever published—many, many, way too many times. Apparently, we missed his book that had this face mask gem of pandemic wisdom in it. Nevertheless, for nearly seven months now, we’ve done our best to live by its prescient COVID-19 advice. 😷 #drseussismyfamilydoctor
My shattered-look wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I had a hardware store list. Suzanne had her own hardware store list. We always have all kinds of lists going, and whenever our lists get long enough that it’s worth the trip to go out into the pandemicky stores, we go. And so it was, for our hardware store lists. We headed down the road to our local Home Depot.
I needed screws for my new license plates. After 13 years of holding the old plates on my car, two of the screws’ heads popped clean off the screwy part when I tried to loosen them. Two others were rusted and stripped by the time I was able to wrest them out of their holes to replace my plates. Suzanne even had to come to my rescue with one of her drills. Now that’s a frightening sight. If Suzanne is wielding a drill, stand back and don’t talk. Just let her work. She successfully got the decapitated screws out of their holes, sure enough. After the old plates were off, I went directly to the garage closet, where we had every size o’ screw ever manufactured—except the one size I needed to properly secure my plates. That’s how screws got on my hardware store list.
While at the Home Depot, I noticed Suzanne had “bulbs” on her list. You have to understand that I am the Light Bulb Stocker. I make sure we always have plenty. They are on a shelf in the garage closet, right by the mountain of toilet paper and paper towels I keep well-stocked. As I asked Suzanne what bulbs she needed me to get, I myself yelled “OOPSIE!” inside my own brain. I had skipped breakfast and lunch, and my thinking was two beats behind. Suzanne needed bulbs for planting in the garden. Yeah, that kind of bulb. Duh!
Another item I needed was a pack of razor blades. Plain old razor blades. I’m scraping off my out-dated bumper stickers, so I can plaster my vehicles with new ones. For whatever reason, single-edge razor blades have never been a product I keep stockpiled. But as I walked my masked self down the aisles of Home Depot in search of the razor blade section, I realized I could be buying razor blades for the last time in my life. It occurred to me that I am “at that age” when I can start saying that about certain products, and never have to put them on a list again. It was a liberating and exciting moment for me when I saw the 100-pack of razor blades staring right at me. I cannot picture a scenario in which—even if I live forty more years—I could possibly need more than 100 single-edge razor blades. For $7, my utility razor blade needs are met for life and beyond. I crossed that item off my list for good, with a bigly fat grin on my face. What a weight off my overburdened shoulders that is. 🤡
Unfinished, unadorned, speechless, wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to say absolutely nothing about that two-ring circus that was misnamed a “presidential debate” Tuesday night. Bow Tie isn’t looking to begin a political discussion. It is especially not taking sides. It is simply mute in the face of the debate’s incivility, bluster, and mendacity. It is glad it’s a bow tie and doesn’t have the right or responsibility to vote in the 2020 elections.
As far as my own “speechless” response to the debatable debate, I offer a poem by the incomparable poet, Mary Oliver, which she first published over a decade ago. In every election season since I first read it, I find myself mumbling its lines in my head as I see the various spectacles and hijinks perpetrated by many—but certainly not all—of the candidates for various offices of public service, who say they will represent us, but almost never actually do.
As I’ve mentioned on TIE O’ THE DAY before, Suzanne has been nagging me for a couple of years to get a new vehicle. It’s nice of her to want me to have a new mode of transportation, and I sometimes muse on the idea of driving around in a ding-less, scratch-less, rust-less auto. But my jalopy truck—my Isuzu Hombre— is only 22 years old, and it still has a few sections of metal that haven’t yet rusted. Who cares if the keys no longer open its door locks? Who cares if the driver’s window refuses to roll down/up sometimes? Who cares if I have to sit on a pillow while driving it because the metal seat frame pokes up through a bigly hole in the seat upholstery? My car—Vonnegut Grace Pontiac Vibe —is only 13 years old, and still gets the same 34 MPG she’s gotten since day 1. Who cares if it rides like it’s always driving on a gravel road—despite regular balancing and alignment? I just don’t yet see the need to abandon my old horseless carriages yet.
I decided to compromise with Suzanne on this issue: I got new license plates for Vonnegut Grace Vibe, and they showed up this week. I tossed around a few different ideas before ordering my vanity plates. According to the DMV website, somebody in UT already has BOW TIE, so that was out. I settled on BOWETRY, a combination word in honor of my two passions: bow ties + poetry. It is pronounced to rhyme with the word “poetry.” And the license plate really does make my car look like a brand spankin’ new classic car. A little.
Mom had a stupendous time on her 90th birthday, even in the midst of a pandemic. She dressed up in her Sunday best. She had her earrings clipped on. Her phone was all charged up and ready for birthday callers. All five of her kids sat outside the MCR hall window, taking turns talking to her by phone on the outside side of the glass. We siblings set up socially distanced lawn chairs, and chatted and laughed with each other while Mom watched us intently through the window. I know it is always a gift for Mom to watch us enjoy ourselves sibling-ing together, being happy to be her kids. By the time we got around to taking a picture of us “with” Mom, two of my siblings were nowhere to be found. I am joined here in one photo by BT/Mercedes and Ron—and Mom, who’s proudly displaying her birthday cake. Bow Tie o’ the Day is covered in joyous emojis, and I am pleased to say my Batman socks—with their tiny capes—were a hit with Mom (and everyone else). She said she liked them before I’d even had a chance to purposely show them off to her. She’s ancient, but she notices all the important details in life.
Bigly thanks to my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless for arranging for birthday decorations and posters to be set up inside MCR, and for having a celebratory cake made for Mom and “smuggled” in. My SWWTRN also decorated right outside Mom’s window, so the first thing Mom saw when she looked outside that morning was a display of balloons and words telling her she had, indeed, made it to 90. Kathi and Robbie’s family made posters they then plastered onto MCR’s windows for Mom and the rest of the residents to enjoy.
Mom has been receiving a steady stream of flowers, cookies, gifts, window visits, and phone calls over the past few weeks. And, of course, she has been receiving cards galore! I asked Mom if she knows how many birthday cards she’s received over the past couple of weeks, and she lifted up a handful of unopened cards she had gotten in the mail that very day. There were at least a dozen unopened envelopes in her hand. She says she has not counted all the cards and letters yet, but that she knows “there are a lot.” I can say from taking a glance through the window into her room that piles of cards dot every flat surface. I know how my mother is, and I know darn well she will read and re-read her birthday cards from now until she’s 91, and beyond. They will provide her much joy and nostalgia, especially in the absence of in-person visits. Thanks, y’all!
To all of you who sent birthday greetings to Mom in any form, I and my siblings—and Mom—are grateful for your love for her. She feels rightly adored and spoiled. You helped to make Mom’s Pandemic 90th Birthday a many-people-involved, grand occasion for her.
This photo of Mom and my candy corn Bow Tie o’ Last October is a fitting tribute to the almost 90-year-old gal who is my mother, since she will be the first to tell you she is proud to be a witch. Every Halloween season, Dad reminded her to sharpen her broom, and she would assure him she had already done it, so he better straighten up.
I won’t be posting tomorrow, on Mom’s actual birthday, because I will be busy waving Merry Birthday to her through the Millard Care and Rehab windows. We plan to spend the day with her—masked and socially distanced from any others there to celebrate Mom’s milestone with her. Skitter has already picked out the Tie o’ the Day she’s going to be wearing for Mom to see.
I’ll shoot pix and take notes of the socially distanced, non-gathering gathering. I hope I can snap lots of photos of Mom in action, on the other side of the glass. Also, I’ll try to get a birthday card count. Y’all have sent Mom a boatload of cards and notes and even gifts. I thank you for playing a bigly part in Mom’s Contactless Pandemic 90th Birthday. I’ll blow Mom a kiss through the window, from y’all.