Category: Bow Ties

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Big Helen Is Now 92

Skitter and I made our way to see Mom yesterday, on what was her 92nd birthday. I told her she’s had so many birthdays that she’s starting to go backwards in time: I told her she didn’t look a day over 29. Someone on the staff stuck their head into her room to check on her and Mom informed them she’s 29. When the staff person was gone, Mom winked at me and said, “Do you think they believed me?”

The first thing Mom said to me when I walked in was not “Hi!” Nope. She said, “You just missed Joyce Moody! She gave me this pillow.” And then she showed me the birthday card Joyce gave her, and we laughed about that. Mom clutched her new pillow the entire time I was there.

I brought Mom another stash of snacks. Gummy bears are always a hit with her. I introduced her to pretzel bites filled with peanut butter, which she fell in love with. I also gave her a Fruity Pebbles Birthday Cake candy bar, which she finished off right before the nurse came in to check her blood sugar. Oh, boy! I felt like apologizing to the nurse for Mom’s extra high blood sugar. But the nurse didn’t fuss about it. “I’ll just give her some insulin,” she said. Whew! As far as I’m concerned, when you’re 92 you can eat whatever sugary things your heart desires. When I gave Mom her Hostess Birthday Cupcakes, I decked one out with candles. I explained to Mom that I thought it wise to not attempt to put 92 candles on it, so I just went with the 2 candles—plus the one orange Bow Tie o’ the Day candle at the very front of it. I love Mom’s photo here. Still clutching her birthday pillow, she’s giving the thumbs up. I chose her birthday tiara to sort of match with the purple housecoat I guessed she’d be wearing. And yes, Mom managed to easily blow out all of her candles. We had the best time together yesterday. I love Mom so very much. I can’t wait until next year—when Mom turns 28. 🎂 🎈

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Some Hipster Got A New Hip

When I got dressed to pay a visit to my nephew, Brandon, at Davis Hospital this morning, I decided he needed superhero support, so I wore my caped Superman socks and my cartoon BOOM! BANG! POP! BAM! comic book hero shirt. I tried to exude the vibe of superhero strength, which Bray will need for his physical therapy. The birthday balloons Bow Tie o’ the Day I’m wearing in this photo is in honor of his mother—my oldest sister, BT/Mercedes, whose birthday it happens to be. Brandon got a fancy new hip yesterday, and he is in a screaming state of pain today. There was nothing I could do for him beyond trying to distract him from the OUCH he’s going through. Before I left home this morning to head to the hospital, I told Suzanne I’m well aware I’m not a pro at attracting anything but mosquitoes, but I’m a flippin’ expert at the art of distracting. Brandon and I share a lot of personal struggles in common. We had a good, long chat today, which doesn’t happen nearly as often as I would like. In fact, I think the last time we had an extended chat, one-on-one, was when he was in a different hospital a few years ago after having to have the lower part of his right leg amputated. (Bray now makes a spot-on pirate! ) Brandon and I really do need to quit meeting like this. 🏥 🚑 💉

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Day 3 Of My 3-Day Bachelorettehood

With Suzanne’s pending arrival only hours away, I had to think fast. Her long weekend with her Champagne Garden Club family had left me temporarily on my own for a few days, and I had nothing visible but a put-together puzzle to show for it. Panic set in. I needed to at least make it appear as if I had done something productive or at least noteworthy around the house with my time. I had to get some visible housework done. This lickety-split task would require near supernatural help. I turned to my over-bigly clown Bow Tie o’ the Day for inspiration, and I was certain I needed to wear a cape as I houseworked. I knew this was a job for my Frida Kahlo-head-with-skulls cape. I did laundry. I scrubbed kitchen counters. I dusted baseboards. I Swiffer-mopped the floors. I even cleaned the explosion mess I made weeks ago in the freezer when I had forgotten I’d put a can of flavored water in to chill for thirty minutes and I had mindlessly left it overnight. I tidied up so quickly that I was a nothing but a speedy blur through the house for a few hours. That Frida Kahlo cape had me moving like lightning. The kicker is this: when Suzanne finally arrived home safely Sunday afternoon, she was so tired she didn’t notice one clean or tidied thing. She did notice the new puzzle I had put together solo, and she chastised me for doing it without her. Folks, I see my future: I will be dismantling the Flying Fish puzzle, so we can put it together—together. And I am not complaining. 💀

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Day 2 Of My 3-Day Bachelorettehood

On Saturday, the second day Suzanne was gone with her Champagne Garden Club, I planned to grab Skitter and drive up to Pleasant View to spend some time with my oldest sister and her hubby. I haven’t seen BT/Mercedes or Kent in person for months. But I thought I should accomplish something around the house before I left the house for the afternoon. I had the brilliant idea to organize the garage into something resembling order and tidiness. I figured it wouldn’t take me longer than the morning to knock out that chore. I should have known better. By mid-afternoon I knew there was no way I was going to be able to complete the job the way I envisioned, even if I spent the whole day on it. I texted my sister to tell her not to expect a visit from me that day, since I had made a mess that couldn’t stay a mess. I couldn’t leave the place all torn apart from my “organizing” all the stuff, or the garage would be unusable and un-navigable. So I had to spend that afternoon getting items mostly back where I had originally found them. My garage mission was a failure AND I didn’t get to visit my sister. But I was able to dream up a magnificent plan for when I next attempt real garage organization. It’s not that our garage is all that messy: it’s just that we have accumulated way too much stuff. Just look at my photo. There I am, holding a rainbow pinata and next to my left shoulder sits a cupcake pinata. I couldn’t find the pinata I have that’s shaped like a crown, but it’s there somewhere. Pinatas are not the kinds of items most people have taking up space in their garages, or in their 2-year supply (as we called it in the 70’s).

I have no earthly idea why I think we need pinatas, but I’m holding onto them. You never know. I’ll tell you this tidbit, too: a couple of years ago Suzanne texted me from work and asked if I still had the taco-shaped pinata I used as a prop for a Skitter photo on TIE O’ THE DAY. And if I did so, could she have it for a work party. Of course I still had it. She then texted and said, “So-and-so wants to know why you have a pinata around the house.” I had no answer for that question other than to say, “So-and-so clearly doesn’t yet know me very well, does she?” Then a while later that day, Suzanne texted and asked if I happened to have something with which to break the pinata open. Of course I did. I had a pinata stick. Later, she texted again to ask if I had candy for the pinata or did she need to assign someone to go get some. I texted back that not only did I have candy that would fit into the pinata, I had a bag of authentic pinata candy—right from the authentic pinata store. I let Suzanne have the taco pinata, pinata stick, and pinata candy. Her office had their little party. The taco pinata was hit with the pinata stick many times. It was hit—and it also was a hit. The pinata candy rained down on the office mates. While eating a piece of the fallen candy, Suzanne’s boss commented to her that the candy was very hard. I told Suzanne to tell her boss that old, hard candy is how you know the candy is authentic pinata candy. 🍬 🍬

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Day 1 Of My 3-Day Bachelorettehood

I was free to do anything my little heart desired while Suzanne was cloistered in the mountains for her annual long weekend with her Champagne Garden Club gals. And what exciting thing did I decide to do with my first full day o’ freedom? I put together a new puzzle! It was glorious fun! I haven’t put a puzzle together all by myself in probably 30 years, so it was about time I did. Am I creative when it comes to thinking up an earth-shattering itinerary for my alone-time, or what?

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Free At Last

It happens every year around this time: Suzanne’s Champagne Garden Club gals head off to the mountains, where they hunker down in a cabin for a long weekend of not gardening. No one knows what goes on there, but there are plenty of hints for me to add up. I can say for a fact that when Suzanne left, her car was filled with gifts, embroidery gear, books, magazines, salty snacks, sweet snacks, cheesy snacks, and numerous bottles of wine and champagne. There is no electricity at the cabin, so they must keep themselves entertained, which they have no problem doing. The gardening women have been pals for around three decades now, so they talk and laugh and never tire of each other. Fun will be had by all. And then Sunday afternoon, they will trickle out of the cabin and into their vehicles for the drive back to their regular lives. No outsiders will be the wiser about what really went on at the cabin. They will then see each other at their rotating monthly Champagne Garden Club meetings, until next year’s cabin festivities.

So from now until Sunday afternoon, I am on my own. Well, Skitter’s here with me, but she can’t seriously get in the way of me causing whatever havoc I might want to conjure up. I always wonder what I can do with my annual 3-day freedom pass when Suzanne is away, but as I get older, I am finding I’ve already done so much of whatever I’ve wanted to do—especially when it comes to the trouble I’ve wanted to cause. There’s just not much I haven’t already done. And of the things I haven’t done, there aren’t many that I wouldn’t rather do with Suzanne along for the ride with me.

These days, I rather enjoy being alone when I’m faced with the opportunity. I’m rarely bored, and I know I’m not a boring person. But I will likely hang around the house most of the weekend and do my usual weekend-y things. I’m sure I’ll read more than I do when Suzanne’s around. Suzanne’s not a bigly fan of twangy music, so I’m certain that this weekend I will guiltlessly crank up more of the twangy music I normally don’t listen to around the house when Suzanne’s here. And I’ll play all the Springsteen songs that aren’t her faves. I will get to do at least one thing that’s not allowed when Suzanne is around: I can leave the bedroom television on all night long. Having the TV on helps me sleep more soundly than my Trazodone.

Of course, I’ll also chat with Skitter over the next few days more than I already do. (Yes, she’s speaking to me again—having finally forgiven me for taking her to the vet earlier this week.) I have a sneaking suspicion Skitter will find her way into the bed with me during the next few nights, as well. When Suzanne is away at night, I have this bad habit of forgetting to shut the door tightly on the dog crate when I put Skitter to bed. And then Skitter eventually leaps stealthily up on the bed and pokes her nose under the covers. Yup, that’s about as wild as I roll when I’m left to my own devices these days. I am rich with the simplest contentments. I hope you are rich with your own.

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Forgot My Mask

This is my first flannel Bow Tie O’ The Day of this Fall-ish time. The morning was a touch chilly. I had to drive to the Farmington Health Center to take my random, but twice-yearly pee test—to make sure my meds are in my body and illicit drugs are not. Yes, I passed. I always do. I’m boring that way. But when I got to the door of the building, the sign saying I needed to wear a mask hit me smack between the eyes: I did not have a mask with me. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten the mantra: MUST. STILL. WEAR. MASK. IN. MEDICAL. BUILDINGS. I dashed back to my jalopy truck to peek in the glove box in search of a face mask. In the glove box, I found three spare bow ties, and a pair of old binoculars, but there was no hint of a mask.

You know darn well I have a bazillion face masks, and you know I have no shame about wearing them. To me, wearing a face mask is just another chance to show off more fashion choices. This was only the second time in the two years of the pandemic I have made this mistake. What’s a girl with a mask-naked face to do? I took a chance the facility still had disposable masks, so I snuck in through the front doors. I tried to look as masked as I possibly could. I was wearing the Emperor’s New Mask, so to speak. I slinked right over to the “Welcome” kiosk, where I’ve seen disposable masks on previous visits. All of the face masks for adults were gone. But there was one kid-size temporary mask there, which I immediately stretched across my face. Then I strutted down the hall to the lab like, “Nothing to see here. Except my mask. Yeah, I’ve got my mask on. You didn’t see me without one. I am always prepared with my face mask.”

The face mask is cute, but it was a too-tight fit behind my ears. I swear—the mask’s straps squeezed the tubes of my hearing aids to the point that I could not hear most of what was said to me while I was in the building. I nodded whenever it looked like someone was speaking in my direction. It’s a good thing I’m familiar with the pee-testing process: I knew right where to go and what to do. When I got back out to my vehicle and took off the mask, it felt every bit as freeing as when I take off my bra for the day. Ahhhhh. My errand was done. I went, I peed, I conquered. 😷

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I’m In Skitter’s Doghouse

I am sad when The Skit is mad at me.

Yup, we had to make another visit to the vet. Remember the black mold that took over Skitter’s left ear last month? Well, it cleared up nicely. But then her left ear must have felt neglected, so the fungus took up residence in her right ear. That meant we had to take another drive to the vet yesterday, where Skitter got both ears treated at once—so the ear fungus will have nowhere to run for shelter. We also got hooked up with some allergy medication for Skitter to try, because the vet thinks seasonal allergies might be at the root of her ears saga. And don’t forget that Skitter had her vet dental appointment just a couple of weeks ago. The result of three trips to the vet for Skitter in the past two months is that the little princess mutt o’ mine is not talking to me right now. She wouldn’t even face in my direction for the camera while I attempted to snap TIE O’ THE DAY pix in the exam room at the vet’s. I’m serious—as I write this, it is almost 24 hours after her vet appointment, and she has still not uttered one word in my direction. Nor has she given me a usual kiss on my nose in that same amount of time. I’m hoping that when the ear fungus finally gets gone for good, Skitter will worship me once again. I miss her annoying me with her constant adoration. 👑

As a canine-related aside, I must tell y’all about something I dreamed last night. In my dream, I was being interviewed about dogs. The interviewer—a sort of cigarette-smoking, Edward R. Murrow kind of news fellow—asked why I have liked having dogs around me my whole life. In my dream, I didn’t have to think about the answer at all, and I said to the hipster interviewer, “Having a dog at my side at all times makes it seem normal to other people around me when I talk to myself all day long. People think I’m just talking to my dog, and not to myself. They think I’m a perfectly normal human being.” My awake self totally agrees with that answer. I am so smart in my dreams. 🗣 🐶

BTW I was wearing my FEAR THE BOWTIE t-shirt, as well as my argyle wood Bow Tie o’ the Day, to the vet appointment. Whenever there’s a vet tech I haven’t dealt with previously, the vet tech will inquire as to the significance of whatever bow tie or necktie I’m wearing at the time we meet. I give the new vet tech a brief run-down of my love for my decades-long neckwear collecting, and the resulting TIE O’ DAY website. If someone shows interest, I offer up to them a TIE O’ THE DAY wristband I’m wearing, so they can check out my tblog for themselves. Yesterday at the vet, was just such a day. By the time Skitter and I had left the vet office, I had given up both wristbands I was wearing to inquisitive office personnel. And I had to drive back to the office this morning to give out a third wristband to someone who didn’t get one yesterday. I am still amazed that ties and bow ties interest anyone but me. Life is good. 😎

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Over The River And Through The Desert

The grocery bag Mom is checking out is the stash o’ candy we gave her.
Mom and her purple housecoat, earrings, and snowman pin. Again.
Suzanne and Mom talked about something serious which they wouldn’t tell me about, so I know they must have been talking about me. I don’t yet know if I’m in trouble with either and/or both of them.

With all due respect to the recently departed Queen Elizabeth, Queen Helen is NOT dead. We made a jaunt down the road to visit with Mom, and she is as alive as can be. In fact, she’s unstoppable. At some point in our lively conversation Mom mentioned she’s “quite content” to spend time in her room. She says she doesn’t “jingle” like she used to. She quickly corrected her mistake, saying she meant to say “mingle.” Then she went off on a rift about how she’s had a good, long life and she has—in her words—”jingled, jangled, and mingled all over the place.” She kept repeating that she had jingled, jangled, and mingled. I said, “Gee, Mother, you make it sound like you were a stripper!” To which she replied, “And your dad loved it!” Talk about wearing your feelings on the sleeve of your purple housecoat! That’s how Queen Helen rolls.

Mom assured us she’s not ready to die just yet, because she knows exactly where she’s going to go when she does: to Hell, of course, according to no one but her. We told her not to worry because we and Skitter will be there, too, so that works out okay. That got us all talking about sitting around and making s’mores over the fires of Hell, and Mom was all for that. Suzanne reminded us that Hell can be hot, but it can also be “as cold as Hell.” Suzanne said this is a good thing, because we can make those s’mores when we’re in the hot part, and we can eat ice cream when we’re in the cold part. Either way, I’m positive it’ll be nothing less than tasty as Hell. 🔥 🍫 ❄️ 🍦

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The Breakfast Of Champions

An ice cream headache is a good reminder to slow down and smell the ice cream.
This is way yummier than a picture can convey.
It is triple-dog-daring me to eat it all NOW.
And so I did.

Bow Tie o’ the Day can vouch for me that I am not generally a quitter. When I took the lid off the 30-ounce tub of White Raspberry Truffle-flavor Fat Boy ice cream, the message written on the blue safety foil tightly covering it implied that if I were to scoop the ice cream into dish after dish over a series of days, before finishing every last bit of it, I would be labeled a quitter. Like I said—I do not quit. I try to be a woman of solid character. I have a somewhat upright reputation to uphold, and my integrity matters to me. In short, I had no choice when I ripped the blue foil from atop the ice cream but to eat it in one sitting, straight out of the container until it was gone. All of it. I am not a lemming or a sheeple, but—like almost every human being I know—I can usually and easily do what I’m challenged to accomplish when it’s something I already wanted to do in the first place. 😉 🍦

Note: The ice cream headache I had when I snapped my photo was simply necessary collateral damage, resulting from my heroic effort to not be a quitter. You’d think a grown woman who is old enough to belong to AARP would know how to avoid the novice move of incurring an ice cream headache—which I, in fact, do know how to avoid when I am in my right mind. I solemnly declare my bigly ice cream headache was earned by accident, but also on principle. Forgive me—I was temporarily overcome by 30 fluid ounces of delectable chill. I’m pleading “ice cream intoxication” as my excuse for the whole gluttonous affair. But just to be sure that’s what caused my gluttony—in the name of scientific experiment—I think I am obligated to do this implied ice cream challenge again. Y’all know how much I will hate it. 🍨 😏