Category: Bow Ties

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G-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!

It’s 9AM and I’m already about to blow a cork—and I’m not talking about champagne! I’m a grown-up, literate woman so I’ll go for an appropriate tie metaphor and settle on wearing a Bow Tie o’ the Day made out of cork.

What got me all ticked off? I got the annual bill for my tie-o-the-day.com site security. For some reason, my account was billed 3 times for the same site security license. But that’s not the part that got me angry. I knew an innocent mistake had been made somewhere in the Land o’ Billing, so I calmly called the company to get things straightened out.

Of course, I reached the voice of a phone menu. After I had tried everything on the phone menu to no avail, I decided I needed to communicate with a sentient being. The phone menu voice told me it could understand full sentences, so I asked the voice to connect me to a living human being. It did not understand my request. I then asked for “a representative,” then for “a customer service representative,” then for “an operator.” The menu voice still did not understand my simple request. Finally, I asked to speak with “a person.” “Person” was the password. I was ultimately connected to a lackluster, but helpful, gentleman to whom I was quite polite, despite how frustrated and ticked off I was by the time I finally spoke to him. The error was supposedly fixed. We will soon see for sure, when autopay does its scheduled thing.

So far, I have managed to put on a civil facade to write a post which is honest about what happened, but reigned in substantially in tone. If I were to write this with the words and attitude that correspond to my real feelings about my phone-y morning thus far, this post would look something more like the following:

blah, blah, blah, cork Bow Tie o’ the Day, blah, blah, blah, #@&*”:?!@!#&^&(>”@$#(+(+”@#$%$%&%@”#%$%@!)&*@>:”:}#$%##$*&*@?%!~#@&^(*%^7!!!!!!!!!!!!!#&^@(*)%#

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And A Thing About Mom’s Phone Number

Dad’s actual cell phone—with its paint and scuffs—joins me and bees Bow Tie o’ the Day for this post.

Early in the 2000’s, Mom was fine with the kitchen wall home phone and an answering machine. Dad got a cell phone early on because he dragged his bees from here to California and all over creation, and he hunted coyotes who-knew-where before dawn daily. Bee yards and coyote dens rarely have phones or phone booths, so Dad packed his clunky cell phone in his Dodge truck in case of emergency—along with the other lifesaving travel essentials: water, toilet paper, and matches. He rarely made or received a call. Mom finally frequently called his cell from the home phone to check on him towards the end of his days here on the planet.

When Dad went to The Big Coyote Hunt in the Sky, in 2007, Mom naturally inherited his cell phone. With it, she also inherited his cell phone number, and she began the process of gradually becoming one with the cell phone, as we have all done with our own. The landline home phone number which had belonged to Mom and Dad for close to 70 years was only shut down a couple of years ago, but Mom had quit using it long before that actually happened.

He’s been gone close to 13 years now, but I’ve never taken Dad’s name off my cell phone’s contacts list. Nor have I added Mom’s name to my contacts. I call Mom by dialing for Dad. There is something eternally reassuring about calling Dad’s phone number and having Mom answer. Really, it’s just like it always was with our kitchen wall phone. Its number was perpetually listed under Dad’s name in the annual Delta phone book. But it was always Mom who answered the ring.

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The Helen And Ron Wright Family Wall Phone

Bikini Bow Tie o’ the Day couldn’t get Mom to answer her cell phone. I even tried using the old wall phone from our old kitchen in my old kidhood house. Mom didn’t answer that phone either. For a few days last week, nobody could get in touch with Mom. As most of you know, Mom is on pandemic lockdown at Millard Care and Rehab, where she has resided for the last 18 months. No visitors are allowed, so the only way we can keep track of her and remind her we love her right now is by calling her cell phone.

At first, I thought Mom was maybe boycotting me for some reason, by not answering my calls. But over the course of a couple of days, I received many texts and calls alerting me to the fact that Mom wasn’t answering her phone for anyone. Aha! If Mom was boycotting, I wasn’t the only one being boycotted.

I’m the point-man for Mom’s phone issues because her line is on my account, and everybody in the family knows it. So if Mom’s unreachable for some reason, I get screamed at. Mom has occasionally had real phone troubles, but nothing major since she quit answering it with wet hands while washing dishes or cooking. She went through 3 phones in the 3 years before she went to live at MCR, where she is not allowed to do dishes or cook. Since taking up residence there, her phone problems have had to do with her accidentally turning down the volume, or otherwise touching a wrong key.

Normally, I would text my/my sister’s hubby, Gary, to drive the mile to the care center to see Mom and solve her phone issue, but that’s not currently a possibility, thanks to the COVID-19 lockdown. After calling Mom’s phone for the zillionth time, I figured she had most likely accidentally turned it off. I texted MCR and requested they check out Mom’s cell phone to make sure it was turned on. Someone at MCR solved the problem by simply turning Mom’s phone back on. Sure enough, Mom had somehow used one of her many superpowers to turn it off, but she apparently has lost the superpower that turns it back on. When you are approaching 90, you naturally lose a superpower here and there. And that’s ok. MCR can help you fix it.

BTW Mom is doing dandily. She did ask me to send her some spiced jelly beans though. I’ve been saving them to give her when I see her again, but I think I better mail them ASAP.

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I Got Nuthin’

Usually, if I wear a Bow Tie o’ the Day, something remarkable eventually happens. At the very least, I eventually think remarkable things, which I then try to hone into a chuckle-worthy tblog post. But today, I have bow-tied up to the keyboard a dozen times, and I’ve percolated a total of less than zero ideas. I’ve got nuthin’. I believe it’s in everyone’s best interest—especially my own—that I call a “soft closure” on the story/joke/myth section of my brain until tomorrow.

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‘Merica

The patriotic Ties/Bow Ties o’ the Day got together this afternoon to give a good ol’ salute to those on the front lines of healthcare, law enforcement, and our food supply—and to other essential workers. A specific shout-out to educators and students who are doing their best to figure out how to do something that hasn’t been done before. Kudos to the technology that allows the nation to keep teaching and learning, without school buildings being open to students. Appreciation, as well, to the rest of us who are doing our best to find toilet paper and follow the sometimes-confusing, recommended guidelines for defeating this pandemic. It is my firm opinion that as masked, social-distancing, trying-to-stay-at-home ‘Mericans, we are all essential workers. As always, if your actions are for the benefit of your fellow beings, you can’t go wrong.

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Necessary Pandemic Changes

Today, Suzanne went off to her decades-old Champagne Garden Club. They take turns gardening in each other’s yards once a month. But notice that in their official name, the word “champagne” comes before the word “garden.” If ya know what I mean.

COVID-19 can’t completely disrupt Champagne Garden Club, but precautions must be taken for the safety of all persons and plants involved. Along with social distancing in the garden, the ladies have to wear face masks, and they must drink a disinfectant version of champagne which was created by Miss Heidi, whose beauteousness peeks out from behind her mask in this photo. No, I do not know whether the gardening gals remove their masks to quaff their champagne cocktail, or whether they just drench the mask and suck on it. I’ll ask Suzanne when she gets home.

So what did I do all day, while Suzanne has green thumbed it at Miss Heidi’s? Spades, wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I hung around the house with a couple of pillows of sealed air. Yeah, it was as fun as it sounds.

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Bad, Bad Bow Tie

Look what I found sitting outside my front door! Can you guess who ate all the pretty, bigly cookies before I remembered I should have taken a picture of them to show y’all. That’s right— a jumbo Bow Tie o’ the Day ate ’em. Apparently, I’m hangin’ with a bad crowd.

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This Is The Way We Go To The Vet During The Pandemic

It’s time for one of Skitter’s booster shots and her Centerville city license expires on May 5th, so she needs a new one. She also needs what they call an “older dog” physical. Plus, I decided that since we live in the bigly city, she really ought to be chipped.

I called Dr. Doolittle’s office yesterday to make Skitter’s appointment for this morning. When I made the appointment, I was told to not enter the building when I arrived, but to stay in the car, then give ’em a call to say “My mutt and I are here,” and then someone would come out to fetch the patient.Bow Tie o’ the Day and I drove The Skit to her appointment, and a masked vet tech came out before I could even call to announce our arrival. She told me one animal was ahead of Skitter, then she grabbed a dog patient from the car across the parking lot from us. So Skitter and I sat for a few minutes in the waiting room which is also known as my car. About ten minutes later, the vet tech came for Skitter the Skittish.

Before she picked up Skitter from the passenger seat, the masked vet tech and I discussed the exact purposes of our being there. I’m glad we did that because it seems their ID chip shelves were as bare as toilet paper shelves were at COSTCO two weeks ago. The vet clinic’s scheduled chip shipment hadn’t arrived. The vet tech said she would take Skitter in to take care of the other stuff today, then I could make a future appointment to get Skitter’s chip. I said “Oh no, we will not!” We’ll schedule one appointment for some time in the next few days.

I refuse to make Skitter go through the fear and anxiety of even one more vet visit than she absolutely has to. Skitter will see the vet for these needs once, when they can all be taken care of at one time. She can barely handle a vet appointment without shaking her bones into dislocation.

In her photo here, notice The Skit’s praying paws and the forlorn look in her eyes as she waited with me in the car/waiting room for her turn. She and I are glad she escaped the vet visit for at least another day. As we pulled out of the vet’s parking lot, I swear I could hear Skitter actually say, “WHEW! That was a close one.”

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Bling Is A Glittery-Good Thing

Remember when you were a kid and you got a cool new clothing item you’d been bugging your parents to buy you—like a swimming suit or moon boots or a holster for your cap gun? Remember when you finally got it, how hard you then worked trying to convince your parents you just positively had to sleep in whatever new thing it was? You pleaded. You begged. You played out all of your best kid-brain parent manipulations right up until bedtime, when your parents finally got so worn down and sick of your tricks that they gave you their ok to wear whatever you wanted to sleep in, if you would just get in bed and go the heck to sleep. “But don’t put any caps in your cap gun,” they said. Which, of course, you loaded up with a full roll immediately—even as you were swearing to your parents you would never be so stoopid as to sleep with caps in your cap gun. And remember when you just had to shoot a cap off every so often under the sheets so you could see the spark and smell the smoke? And then one spark got on your new swimming suit and melted a hole in it, while burning you at the same time. And remember how you tried to get out of bed to save yourself from what you thought was an impending house fire, but your bigly moon boots got tangled in your sheets mostly because you were wearing a pair of your dad’s old spurs on them? And then remember how you frantically rolled out of bed and onto the hard floor, because when you were a kid, carpet hadn’t been invented yet? And remember when your dad woke up because of the commotion you were making, and when he walked into your bedroom to check on you he didn’t say a word? He saw you weren’t injured and nothing was on fire, and he put all his effort into trying not to laugh at you in your predicament. He simply turned to go back to bed, holding the back of his garments shut as he chuckled in the kitchen. And remember how you deduced your dad had shared your little fiasco with your mother almost immediately, because five minutes after you were re-situated in your bed, you could hear both your mom and dad laughing. Remember when that happened? Or maybe it only happened to me. Probably more than once.

Anyhoo… I admit right here and now that I have used and abused amazon prime far too much since our lovely pandemic has kept us homebounder-than-usual. But guess what got delivered to me yesterday? My new pair of Hello Kitty sunglasses, which I soooo had to sleep in. Check out the bling on Hello Kitty’s Bow Tie o’ the Night. Best. $4. With. Free. Shipping. Spent. Ever.

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I Sneak, Therefore I Am

Leather Bow Ties o’ the Day have been counted in The Tie Room Census, and here they are—all 2 leather critters. I got the blue one in Monterey, CA when we vacationed there two years ago. I found the brown one on Etsy.

Since Suzanne has been working from home, I have had to adjust some of my daily routines just a tad. Fortunately, the biggest adjustment I have had to make has been in the area of my usual eating habits, which is kinda more like grazing.

About the time Rowan ventured out on his own to be a fine adult, Suzanne did a switch in her diet which requires she eat nothing tasty. (Yes, that’s really what her diet requires.) Well, what was the point of me cooking anymore? I was free from cooking! That freedom unleashed my inner grazer, which has allowed me to live off a handful of cereal, a half-dozen times a day—with a Junior Mint here, and a potato chip there, and a bowl of ice cream everywhere. And usually a steak for dinner. And so on. Oh, happy snackin’ me!

However, eating in such a manner throughout the day while Suzanne’s home seems just plain rude of me. I mean, she is ALWAYS right here in the same realm. Our house is bigly, but not bigly enough that we can avoid each other all day. How do I get my munch on? Let’s just say that if I could tally how many times I have spent time in the garage over the 7 years we have lived here, it wouldn’t amount to the number of times I’ve “had to” visit our garage in a single day, each day, for the past 6 weeks. That’s how many times I’ve been sneaking in there to “eat” from my carefully placed stash o’ not-so-nutritional food—just so Suzanne won’t see me. I don’t want to get her jealous of my too-much-salt-and-sugar foods, causing her to be swayed from her healthier diet. That would crush me.

It’s been really quite simple to keep Suzanne out of the garage for the last 6 weeks. I keep all the COVID-19 stuff in there: Used rubber gloves; re-usable shopping bag; masks which need washing; shoes I wore in the grocery store; etc. I disinfect the groceries in there. I out-and-out forbade her from going into the garage, for her own good. For once, she has done (not done, in this case) what I told her.

I don’t like being sneaky and secretive about anything. And I don’t delude myself about my current skulking around: I know Suzanne knows exactly what I’m up to. But she also knows I am, in my own way, trying to be kind. In fact, eating yummy stuff in front of Suzanne is probably more my issue than hers. She says it doesn’t bother her if I eat goodies when she’s around. I beg to differ. To me, it’s rude to eat pie when Suzanne’s eating a piece of Keto toast. Maybe, in the end, I really go through all of this surreptitious, spy-like behavior for myself—to prove to myself I can be nice on occasion. If that’s true, I’m actually being selfish by being kind. But my selfishness also says I care about Suzanne’s feelings. So am I selfish, or selfless? Both, or neither? Or am I simply writing a post which has somehow meandered from leather bow ties and The Tie Room Census, through my pandemic garage, across sugary and salty non-nutritional foods, over a theory of politeness, to this very last question mark?