In my position as Chief Fashion Goddess here at TIE O’ THE DAY, I am often consulted about topics of style and attire. Recently, I was asked if a person can ever go overboard by wearing too much peacock garb at one time. My answer is a resounding, “No! It is not humanly possible to wear an overabundance of peacock paraphernalia. Too much is never enough—where the peacock theme is concerned.” These selfies are my proof. I mean—really, does it look like I’m overly peacocked? Do I look like a lunatic? Do I appear to be off my clothing rocker? Of course not. I look like the redneck poet that I am. 😜🤡
FYI My peacock Bow Tie o’ the Day was made with genuine peacock feathers.
On our way out of Log Haven, after a glorious meal of celebration and gratitude for each other.We took a selfie by the coats. Nobody else does that.Isn’t Suzanne dreamy?Suzanne opted for the salmon.I chose the tenderloin with asparagus and mashed potatoes.A little bit o’ blur doesn’t matter when you are having a splendid time.Even through the blur, you can see our happiness seeping through.
Log Haven is quickly becoming our go-to restaurant for our anniversary dinner. I sense it’s a tradition in the making. Because we got married so close to Christmas, we think of our Log Haven dinner as sort of a combination Anniversary/Christmas evening in the snowy mountains.
We never intended to get hitched so near Christmas. We never knew when, or if it, would be legal for us to marry at all in our lifetime. And then suddenly, it was legal in Utah. Maybe. On Friday, December 20, 2013, the state of Utah began issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, based on a U. S. District court’s ruling that day which found barring same-sex couples from legally marrying violates the U. S. Constitution. However, there was to be another court hearing on Monday, December 23rd that could possibly stay or even throw out the ruling. We had to get a marriage license ASAP, just in case the whole possibility to marry went kaput.
The problem was that we were already decking the halls in Delta for the holidays, and it was late on Friday afternoon when we got the news. All the County Clerk’s offices in Utah were closed for the weekend. We knew we had to get a license and get married as early as possible on Monday morning—before the hearing that might possibly shatter our nuptial dreams. But where would we be able to get married? We stayed stuck to the news on tv and on our phones all throughout the weekend. Some County Clerks around Utah had been wishy-washy about issuing marriage licenses to people like us, even if they had been told they had to follow the law.
By Sunday night, we had decided we had a better chance of being able to get a marriage license if we just skipped over the iffy rural counties around us and drove north. That night, we told Mom we wouldn’t be around the next day because we were running off to get married. She was happy for us and would have come with us, but she wasn’t feeling all that well. I told her not to worry about missing out on the momentous event. I told her we thought it be fun to elope anyway. Early Monday morning, we drove out of Millard County, through Juab County, and into Utah County—where we stopped in Provo at the County Clerk’s office. We walked in and told the woman behind the desk why were there. She handed Suzanne and I papers for us to fill out. We thought: so far, so good. As we filled out our documents, other couples came in and hurriedly got to work on their own license paperwork. We had completed our paperwork, when the woman behind the desk was talking to another person and said, “The County Clerk has decided he’s not going to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples.” Hold on! Back the truck up! I said, “When we first walked into this office, we told you why we came here. You gave us the proper paperwork to fill out. Why didn’t you tell us we couldn’t get a marriage license when we first walked in?” Duh. Crickets.
This was wrong in a million ways. By this time, the legal hearing that could stay or reverse our shot at getting married was underway. We were running out of time. Fortunately, reporters from The Salt Lake Tribune were there when Suzanne and I walked out, and one asked if we wouldn’t mind talking to them. He listened, took my name, and one of my quotes showed up in The Trib the next morning. I’m sure nobody in Delta thought for a minute that the quote from “Helen Wright from Delta” came from Mom, although when she read it, she said she agreed with me completely. Anyhoo…we had to decide where to drive next to secure a marriage license. Stay tuned.
Yup, we went to BAMBARA again this year for our Feast o’ Thanks. It was chilly enough outside that I brought out my Suzanne-made wintry cape for Thanksgiving 2022. I went with a Tie o’ the Day festooned with a prominent pumpkin pie. I am including a picture of the menu, so you can see how yummified our eats were. And everything brought to our table was superior. I was partial to the dessert, of course. Suzanne and I were both pleasantly surprised by the tart green beans. Suzanne chose what turned out to be, according to her face, a do-over bottle of a Riesling wine. She granted me permission to smell her filled glass, and even from merely sniffing, I could tell the wine would have a splendid taste. For my part, I drank four Diet Cokes throughout dinner. I swear I felt a bit tipsy.
As we were finishing up and getting ready to leave, Suzanne gave me a look, and I gave her a look. We had been thinking the same thing at exactly the same time. She whispered it first: “I want us to buy that guy’s Thanksgiving dinner.” I told her I was just going to propose the same thing to her. There was a guy sitting a few tables from us, eating all alone. He looked really, really alone. And so we paid for his meal and left before he was informed someone already paid his check. We hope it perked him up.
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. 💀
We hadn’t been out to a movie for quite a while, until yesterday when we saw the documentary, GABBY GIFFORDS WON’T BACK DOWN. You might remember that Giffords—a Congresswoman from Arizona—was the target of an assassination attempt in January of 2011. It happened at a meet-and-greet outside a grocery store, where Giffords was meeting with constituents who wanted to speak to their representative. 6 people were killed that day, and 13 more were wounded. Giffords was shot in the head. Even as some news reports incorrectly claimed she was dead, she fought to stay alive. This documentary is primarily about her complicated recovery, from Day 1 to now. You can see her grit, grief, and humor throughout all the stages of her rehab, even when she could barely communicate. Yes, there are some gun politics in the film, but not much. She is a life-long gun owner, as well as the victim of a mass murderer with a gun, so it makes sense that she has something to say on the subject. We ought to at least listen. But again, the bulk of the film is about her long recovery. She is still partially paralyzed, and it takes Giffords great effort to speak. Singing has seemed to come easier to her than speaking. Her mind is still sharp, but often her brain won’t let her say the words she’s thinking. She has also lost about 50% of her vision in both eyes. And still, she sings! I recommend the movie to anyone who wants to witness an indomitable person right while they’re being indomitable. If you need a pick-me-up, this is it. If you don’t need a pick-me-up, you’ll still be glad you saw it.
BTW We had the theater to ourselves, at least until the movie started. Look closely to see the Saddle Purse hanging around. Suzanne is eating popcorn, and I am wearing my caped Superman Socks o’ the Day. We reclined the entire movie.
[This morning, I stored the Wintry Cape away until next year’s chilly season returns. When I sat down to write a post, this COVID-19 post showed up as a Facebook memory. Hey, I can take a hint from the cosmos: y’all are meant to see this post again.]
While we’re on the subject of wearing masks to help protect ourselves and others from COVID-19…
Suzanne makes me fantastic capes, and I’m discovering that they are not just beautastical to gaze at. My glitter-fied Wintry Cape—and all my other Suzanne-made capes—can perform a public service, by acting as a protective mask for my face and most of my body. Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day’s magnetized hardware sufficiently hangs on for the ride. I’m all set. Until my next post.
My old pal, Jane, belongs to a limited circle of people in my life who have been pivotal in my development as a mature human being. These people have helped me in my quest to be a seeker, an empathetic citizen, and a giver-backer—among other things. Jane was the first compatriot I found when I was attending Weber State. She unapologetically read a wide variety of excellent books—and talked about them passionately—which made me feel like it really was a perfectly acceptable calling for an adult to spend way too much time reading and discussing books most people had never heard of. In fact, it was a badge of honor. Jane is the first person outside of my tiny Delta around whom I didn’t feel foreign. Whenever we went to movies, she brought a book to read—just in case. I completely understood this. Jane was in my tribe.
After college, our lives happened and we lost touch for a few decades. We found each other again through TIE O’ THE DAY, not so long ago. Yesterday, I finally visited Jane at her abode. We were in the same room together for the first time in forever—spilling the details of our strikingly different life stories to each other. We talked over each other’s talking, and interrupted each others’ stories to ask questions that sent us on tangents—in the way only solid friends can get away with doing. The hours were punctuated with loud laughter-like-fireworks. Indeed, our conversation was long, but it’s not finished: I still have a portfolio of questions to ask her about her and her family, and more of her life’s adventures. Strategically, I didn’t tell Jane everything about how I’ve spent my post-college existence either, so that I will have to go back for another visit. She’ll have to move and not tell me where she’s going, if she doesn’t want me showing up at her front door occasionally. I refuse to let more years go by before we get together again.
Amazingly, Jane returned two books to me which I forgot I had loaned her in the 80’s. Obviously, she is still in my tribe.
FYI Jane is a cape-worthy and ascot-worthy person, so I wore both.
Look at the bigly paisles on my Shirt o’ the Day, and feast your eyes on yet another Art Deco-style Tie o’ the Day. My Cape o’ the Day is, indeed, the soaring punctuation to my attire that I dreamed it would be. All the capes Suzanne has crafted for me (except the prototype) are reversible, which suits me just fine. A two-fer is more than just a nice bonus. In a way, the two-fer aspect speaks to my bipolar brain. My brain can change on a proverbial dime, and I can change the sides of my cape just as quickly. Although Suzanne has made me a gaggle of snazzy capes over the years, she hasn’t made me a new cape in the last 3 years—and I think it’s about time. I don’t know whether to ask her to make me a flannel cape for what’s left of winter, or a seersucker cape for the coming summer. But I am I, so I’m sure I’ll ask for both. And she is she, so I’m sure she’ll make me both. It’s how we roll. 😘
I had a blast wearing my cape today. I wore it around the house for a while. I twirled around in it rapidly, so it would hover in the air—making it appear that I was flying in circles, sideways. Later, when I had to drop something off at the FedEx inside Walmart, I swooshed through the automatic doors as if I were the only person in Walmart wearing a cape—which, of course, I was. I knew that everywhere I went to do errands, I would likely be the only person—adult or kid—wearing a cape. It was such fun for me to wear, and I was sad and teary for everyone else who had to go cape-less. 😢
It’s not that I forget about my Suzanne-made cape collection. Indeed, I think about it all the time. I’d wear a cape everywhere, all the time—except I continue to have a problem I’ve had my entire life. When I have some extraordinary piece of haberdashery, I tend to decide not to wear it, for fear I will do something to destroy its majesty. When it comes to one of my capes, I get overwhelmed with the possibilities of how I could damage it while I’m out and about. I could spill on it, get it caught in the car door, get it caught in an elevator door, get it caught in a revolving door, and on so on. So I wear a cape sparingly and only at the very special-est of special events. But guess what! Every day is a special event.
This problem of mine must change. I must have more confidence in my abilities to keep my capes safe from harm. And so what if I spill on a cape? That’s what dry cleaners are there for. I am nearly an official old person, and it’s high time I wear my capes (and other clothes I “save” for only the mightiest of occasions) as much as I want to. Remember when you were a kid and for some strange, but logical-to-you reason you wanted to wear your swimsuit or cowboy boots—or both—to bed at night? There was no crime in that. And there’s no crime in my wearing my capes to bed or to the 7-11 or wherever. I must conquer this stoopid fear of ruining my most precious duds. By the time I die, I want all my cool clothes worn thin. And I think you should, too.
For my grocery shopping venture over to Dick’s Market to pay way too much for the same ol’ food items this afternoon, I switched out my flower-power bow tie for an Art Deco Tie o’ the Day. I, of course, like this look more than this morning’s offering. This more closely resembles me: not so matchy, and a few watts brighter to the eye. The look gives off an entirely different vibe than today’s earlier bow tie, and this feel is more hip than hippie.
My denim jacket kind of dulls the bright look, rather than enhances it. I don’t have a coat collection, and I’m not gonna start one. But I should probably keep an eye out for a couple of coats/jackets that are more on my desired level of bigly eye-poppity. I need outerwear that adds to my fashion aesthetic, not diminishes it. Oh, wait—I have all my Suzanne-made capes, and they’re giving me ideas even as I type this!
As you can see from the picture, I had a run-in with the cereal aisle. It was a mistake to turn up that aisle, and it was a daunting struggle for yours truly. (Next to ice cream, unhealthy cereal is my fave junky food to eat.) Lent is really starting to bug me. How in the world can I be expected to keep from eating anything remotely in the neighborhood of junk food for a few more weeks, especially when there is a new sugarfest product I haven’t yet tried: Froot Loops with MARSHMALLOWS? Somehow, I finally found it in me to successfully keep all the boxes of Froot Loops with marshmallows out of my shopping cart, but I know I’ll find myself standing in front of them again on my next trip to Dick’s. Can I manage to do without this sugary product until Lent has been Lented out? I’m not sure. 🍇🍋🍊🍓🍒
I can tell you right now that the Froot Loops with marshmallows are going to be either extremely yummy or extremely gacky. There will be no middle ground as far as this combo of taste will go. That’s usually what happens when an already-perfect product exists, and its makers decide to tweak it: response to the new changeling edible goes off the charts as a bigly thumbs-up, or it crashes with a bigly, splatty thumbs-down 👍👎🕳. It’s gonna be either a mic drop or a hard pass. 🎤🏈 I can’t wait to taste-test the colorful, nutritionless rings and their accompanying marshmallow sidekicks. After Lent, of course. I hope I survive the remainder of these sugarless, saltless, ridiculously healthier days. No matter what, for Lent next year, I’m definitely giving up Lent.
