On my search for the perfect Academy Awards gown, I stumbled onto this bee-themed specimen. It’s almost too perfect for me. St. Ron of the Bees (Dad) would be proud! If I wear this on the Oscars’ Red Carpet, it will undeniably cause a buzz. I think the pie Bow Tie o’ the Day—worn here as a wrist corsage—adds dessert wit to the sweet, honeybee theme. I do notice, though, that I need to quickly lose a bit o’ weight on the right side of my head if I’m going to rock that beehive hairdo with the proper panache it deserves.
Skitter gussied up in her checkered Bow Tie Collar o’ the Day in order to help her get on the vet’s good side. By the time I had cleared the snow off my car so I could take her to her appointment, I was ready for a day at the beach. All I had, however, was palm trees on a beach-themed shirt AND sneakers Bow Tie o’ the Day. My attire helped cheer me a little bit, but not much. I keep yammering to myself that summer is out there on the ever-closer horizon, but I won’t really believe in my own yammering about summer for two or three more months. Even our winter vacay isn’t going to put me and Suzanne in a warm climate like it usually does. Nope, we’re flying to Nashville in a couple of weeks, and I don’t recall ever hearing about “the warm beach sands o’ Nashville.”
Despite Skitter’s normal paranoid shaking at the vet’s, she is in fine shape. It was simply time for her to get her rabies booster shot. We have to keep Skitter healthy and legal for her visits to Mom—and all her other people—at Millard Care and Rehab. I’ll have to check with Mom to see if she’s had her rabies booster shot. If Mom’s up-to-date with her shots, Skitter and I will be taking a drive to visit Helen A. at MCR, in the D-E-L-T-A, ASAP.
FYI Here, in one of the selfies taken in the vet’s lobby earlier today, Skitter kisses my nose in an effort to convince me she really, really, really doesn’t really, really, really need her shots. I was not convinced.
Even for de-snowing Vonnegut Grace Vibe, I feel it’s only proper to wear a Bow Tie o’ the Day. I chose to wear my VW bugs and vans bow tie for the job. Skitter has a vet appointment later this morning, so I had to excavate through the snow to find the car windows. As for the 10 inches of snow on top of the car, I’m keeping it. Skitter and I shall drive to the vet in flat-top style.
The snow on the patio furniture was about a foot deep this morning. It was dazzling to look at, but Skitter’s never happy when she doesn’t have enough clearance to squat without her butt getting in the snow when she needs to do her business. With her task completed, Skitter hustled her pampered doggie self right back into the house. The stunt Bow Tie’s o’ the Day, on the other hand, frolicked the entire day away in the wind and chill, even as the bigly snowflakes fell again and again. Bow Tie Angels were everywhere.
I have made no secret of the fact that I do not generally like to suffer the cold—even for purposes of play. A little outside cold goes a long way with me. I don’t remember freezing temperatures being so bothersome to me when I was wee, but now that I’m verging on The Really, Really Old Side Of Middle Age, I just say NO to opportunities to romp in brrrrr temps.
I do love to gander at winter landscapes if I can do it from the warmth of the Great Indoors. Also, driving slowly on gravel roads through cold, snowy, desert landscapes in a heated, beat-up pick-up truck is an undeniably amazing experience. If it’s not on your Bucket List, put it on your list right now. Trust me. If you take such a drive in the desert west of Delta, you’ll think you’ve died and returned to life in a snow globe. The sky out that way is just plain that bigly.
Anyhoo… When I was 6 or so, every time it snowed, a certain male member of my family took great pleasure in telling me that boys are better than girls for the simple “fact” that they can pee their names in the snow. It bothered me to no end that I had to suffer through this family member’s constant taunting about a stoopid lie. I knew darn well boys weren’t better than girls, but it annoyed the heck out of me to hear it.
One snow-covered Delta day when I was pestered about this “fact” again, I’d finally had it. I said to the male member of my family, “I’ll bet you $5 I can pee my name in the snow.” The bet was on; my coat was on; my pants were off; and I hop-peed my name in the snow across the front yard. Before I was finished, somebody (or somebodies) in the neighborhood had called Mom to ask if I was ok. Mom brought the long-corded phone receiver and opened the front door. She asked me what I was doing, and I told her exactly what I was up to. I heard her then say calmly into the receiver, “She’s just peeing her name in the snow to win a bet. She’s just about done, and then she’ll put her pants on again.” Nothing fazed Mom.
Later, through the picture window, while I was warming up by the fireplace, I watched various neighborhood kids—and an adult neighbor or two— make a pilgrimage to our front yard, where they paused to admire my doomed-to-melt masterpiece. I had peed a blow for girlkind!
Football Bow Tie o’ the Day is mighty appropriate for our day-after-Super-Bowl post. Since the Seahawks weren’t in the bigly game, I mostly checked in occasionally to see the score during whatever we were really watching on tv. A gal’s gotta root for one team or the other in the Super Bowl, whether a gal really cares or not. I went with the “I like Andy Reid” reason to cheer for the Kansas City Chiefs. It’s as good a reason as any to back a team. TIE O’ THE DAY gives its shout-out to Andy Reid—NFL coach extraordinaire.
Bishop Travis has been a Philadelphia Eagles fan since the Pre-existence, so when Andy Reid coached the Eagles for more than a decade, Travis was double-happy. I’m sure it was touch-and-go in the Blackwelder household when Andy got banished from Philly, then turned up coaching the Chiefs. Bishop Travis is still a die-hard Eagles fan, but he’s also a die-hard Andy Reid fan. Bishopette Collette is right there with him in the scrimmage.
I learned something today, after I got over my grumpy grump grumpiness. Apparently, lettuce can serve a plethora of purposes beyond being food. Lettuce can also be headwear, neckwear, and footwear. How ’bout that! A hat, a Bow Tie o’ the Day, and shoes. I never knew lettuce had a fashionable life. Now I do.
Sing with us: “Nobody knows the troubles Bow Tie o’ the Day has seen. Nobody knows but Bow Tie.”
Folks, I’m in a baaaaad mood this morning. I woke up on the grumpy side of the bed, and the grumpy is stuck to me. My frustration is all about some righteous anger I need to feel deeply; work through completely; then let go of for good. We’ve all been through the process before, and we’ll all have to go through it again. Why? Because not one of us is perfect, and nobody we know is perfect. The result of our imperfections is that we damage each other, whether we try to or not. And thus, today I will be bitchy for a bit—while I get my righteous anger straightened out and tossed away. But for right now, I’m feeling my smoldering grump.
Here’s a small quote from Anne Lamott, which so accurately expresses my current feelings:“I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish.”
Yup. That about covers my mood.
FYI Yes, I’m still in my pajamas. Yes, I need my head hairs cut. And yes, I’d rather be in Toad Suck, Arkansas.
In my intrepid search through VOGUE magazine for the perfect gown to wear on the Red Carpet at the upcoming Oscars, I found these nuggets of what’s “in.” I’m both intrigued and perplexed. And I’m very glad there is no formal gown in this clothing collection, because it would probably be right up my alley. But where exactly do you tie on a Bow Tie o’ the Day to wear with these outfits? Where, oh, where does my little bow tie go?
Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are struggling with the fact that tonight we’ll be watching the last new episode ever of HOMICIDE HUNTER: LT. JOE KENDA, on the ID channel. We’ve been wearing black all day, and we consider ourselves to be in minor mourning. It is just a tv show, but it matters to me. Suzanne likes it too. And both of my sisters are bigly fans. Heck, even Mom got a kick out of Joe’s “my, my, my”-ing whenever she watched it with us over the years. The last time she watched an episode with us, she said of Joe Kenda, “How long has this old fossil been on tv? He’s been solving murders for a hundred years. He plays his part so well.” Yup, cuz he is playing himself. But not anymore.
I have no doubt I’ll shed a few tears after tonight’s finale. C’mon, you know you have “your” shows which you must not miss. The tv shows we’re partial to can be a regularly scheduled respite to us, in the midst of an unpredictable and serious world. I know Lt. Joe Kenda has sometimes been the exact kind of pal I’ve needed at the time: a weekly dose of a smart, compassionate storyteller who asks absolutely nothing from me. Unfortunately, the Joe Years of my life will be over at 8 PM tonight. But I still have my Joe Kenda t-shirt to wear and two HOMICIDE HUNTER notebooks to fill.
