Magnetic Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is from a new batch of t-shirt bow ties which recently showed up in my mailbox. It’s very foliage-y. My pandemic hairs weren’t up for posing too wildly today—just wildly enough, so I went with the rubber band head-top ponytail.
I had to go to the pharmacy at Dick’s Market this afternoon, and yet again I forgot I had a Pandemic Hairs Thursday hairdo going on when I hatless-ly left the house. And yet again, my pharmacist seemed extra amused during our visit. I had no idea why she was so extra amused by my presence today, until I noticed my pandemic hairs shadow when I was getting into Vonnegut Grace Vibe to go back home.
My shadow looked like I was flipping a fluffy bird to the world with my head hairs. I really wasn’t trying for that look. However, I guess we all sort of feel like sending that message on occasion. If that’s the message you want to send, this just might be the right pandemic hairdo for you.
After a couple of weeks’ growth, Chia Mitt clearly leads his opponent on this Pandemic Hairs Thursday. Chia Barry is making a real effort, but his Chia hairs lag far behind those of Mitt’s luxurious Chia locks. The race is not over. Stay tuned.
And she knows how to brandish Neckwear o’ the Day. I wanna put up some pix in The Tie Room, and I’m thinking I might go strictly Dietrich. I say that, but I’m sure the room won’t feel right if I don’t have at least one Katharine Hepburn print, too. And maybe a print of a colorful clown with an outlandish bow tie. Everything can’t be black and white.
The new-to-this-earth Susanna Rue Crane—with help from her dad and her older sister, Felicity—graces us with her head Bow Tie o’ the Day, in the midst of her bigly stretch. And just who are these people? That’ll take some ‘splainin.’
I’ve mentioned before that by the time I came along, my siblings were well on their way to being out the door. I was solo most of the time. When I wanted some sound and fury and sibling-like entertainment, I made my way to Lucille and Dan Hansen’s house, where their kids were always engaged in some road show or another. We were in the same ward for most of my kidhood. Becky was my softball coach, and we talked about plays and poetry. David and I were forever trying to out-circus each other. Kathleen was more stoic, but had just the right amount of troublemaker in her. She was a real pal. Peggy was the last of that particular Hansen clan. She’s younger than yours truly, and I mostly remember her as an audience to whatever David and I, or Kathleen and I, schemed to do. (Hmmmmm. Note to self: I must write about some of my Hansen stories. Soon.)
Flash forward. So Peggy Hansen created her own family, and her oldest is named Becca. Are ya with me? So then Becca and her hubby created Felicity. And now—they’ve created Susanna Rue for us to coo about.
When I told Suzanne someone I’ve never actually met was having a new baby, Suzanne got craft-excited and thought, “BLANKET!” And then when I told her the new baby has an imaginative older sister they call Miss Fliss, Suzanne got craft-excited again, and thought, “ANOTHER BLANKET!” She immediately got to work with her crochet hooks.
I see Miss Fliss chose the arrow blanket for herself, leaving the elephant blanket for Susanna Rue. You follow your arrow, Miss Fliss! You and Susanna Rue are now officially stars on TIE O’ THE DAY. You are both welcome to appear on a post any time you wish.
For the past 12 1/2 years I’ve been under the impression Dad passed on to the Great Coyote Hunt In The Sky. And then today, I’m flipping through the trillions of tv channels, when I come upon movie evidence that he has simply run off to be a monk AND the captain of a submarine. Wherever he is, I hope he’s happy. But if he’s not really dead already and Mom finds out he’s traipsing around in the pandemic world without her, she will surely hunt him down and see that he does indeed go to that Great Coyote Hunt In The Sky for real this time.
When I was working on my Master’s in Creative Writing at the University of Utah, my friends were all writers. When they would see a picture of my bearded dad in my apartment, they always commented that he was a good likeness for Ernest Hemingway. Of course, that’s what writers would see. Everyone else who saw him—especially in person—thought he was a near-ringer for Sean Connery. I can’t argue with either choice. He was a handsome fella, either way.
BTW Dad’s beard was all salt-and-pepper, not white as it appears in these pix. Blame my brilliant photographic skills and the disposable cameras I used back in the day.
So I took a few days off from creating TIE O’ THE DAY, and I always feel guilty when I skip posting. It’s not like this is a “real” job, but it has its pressures. I’m no bigly deal, but I know I have readers here and there who panic when they don’t get their TIE O’ THE DAY fix. I hear from them, and they are loud. Mostly, if they haven’t seen me post for a few days, they are concerned I might have flipped my bipolar lid and gotten into a troubled state o’ mind, or they wonder if the remaining 1/3 of my pancreas—my Hanky Panky—is still working. I feel double guilt when I’ve put someone into a worry about me, and then it feels impossible for me to return to my posting.
I can be a funny and observant gal, but there’s a constant pressure with TIE O’ THE DAY to share my love o’ neckwear, and to write clever and wise anecdotes and stories to entertain and occasionally enlighten y’all with each post. Sometimes, I can’t even explain what TIE O’ THE DAY is supposed to be. It’s a project which is always evolving. Sketched green Bow Tie o’ the Day presents this photo of the music artist, Rina Sawayama as proof of said evolution. I was simply flipping through a magazine this morning, and I saw this photo. Of course, I immediately said to myself, “Self, this has to show up in TIE O’ THE DAY.” And here it is. I want this hairdo. I must have it.
TIE O’ THE DAY’s 2012 Presidential contender Chia heads are showing their first sprouts of “hair” growth. They are thriving under the watchful eye of Suzanne—the official gardener of the household. Her 30 years as a member of the infamous Champagne Garden Club have prepared her for this hairy Chia moment in history. Who will sprout the most magnificent hair? Mitt seems to be in the lead right now. But there’s plenty o’ time left in the race.
Even glasses wood Bow Tie o’ the Day can see that if the pandemic keeps me from getting Miss Tiffany to cut my hairs soon, I am well on my way to becoming Cousin It for Halloween.
Some days we just need a glimpse of yesteryear—with Mom on my porch, holding her glass of Pepsi. Note the can of oven cleaner next to Mom. She had been spraying ants on the sidewalk with Raid on her way over to my house, but used up all the ant spray. She went back in her house and retrieved a can of oven cleaner, which she sprayed into ant-filled sidewalk cracks from her place to mine. She told me the oven cleaner spray killed ants just as well as ant spray. Batman Bow Tie o’ the Day did not argue with Mom about her scientific discovery.
Wearing my new flat-bill, hip-hop hat is almost the same as wearing a bow in my hair. It is our Bow Tie o’ the Day.
The left side of my face is settling down. The gift of swelling the stinging wasps gave me is almost gone. My face is just about back to my usual old lady puffiness. Some of the sting sites are highly visible to the naked photo eye, but not all of them. Trust me—I know where all the stingers made contact because those sites still itch. And that leads me to Benadryl. I am not fond of Benadryl. It makes me drowsy. It doesn’t make me tired enough to be able to nap, which would be fine with me. It just makes me too drowsy to read, or write, or drive, or follow the plot of whatever show I’m watching on TV. I’m trying to make today a Benadryl-free day. Here’s hoping the itchiness does not overcome me. I need to get some work done.
I am a bit sad to see the swelling on my face go down. I have had such fun with it. In fact, for a couple of days I felt like my dad. You know how “Dad humor” is. We’ve all experienced the same “Dad humor” from our fathers. We’ve watched our fathers beat a joke to death. It happens like this: 1. Dad says a clever, jokey thing. 2. Dad tries to fit the clever, jokey comment into every conversation with every person he runs into that day—or for a few days. 3. Dad tells every person to whom he tells the jokey thing, about everybody else he said it to, and he describes what their reactions were. 4. The clever, jokey comment dies away when “Dad” thinks of a new clever, jokey comment. And the cycle repeats.
So how does this relate to my feeling like Dad because I’ve had a swollen left eye and right ear? The day after I was attacked by the wasps, I had to go to Dick’s Market to do some grocery shopping and pick up some prescriptions. The folks who work at Dick’s know me. The minute I walked in, a cashier nearly ran me down asking what happened to my face. I automatically said, “I got on Suzanne’s nerves.” I passed three more store employees on my way to the pharmacy, and I said similar clever, jokey comments to each one when they asked me what happened. Their reactions were the same: Silence. Laughter. Then I move on. It was intoxicating. I realized that I was feeling Dad-mode. At the pharmacy, the pharmacists and techs all had to see the swelling for themselves. “I guess I finally irritated Suzanne beyond all reason,” I answered when they queried me about what happened. I heard the silence, then the chuckles, then a chorus of, “Yeah, right!” They know Suzanne too.
