Category: Face masks

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The Dog Days O’ May

A couple of times a year, Skitter and I get pet-hungry. We sit around on the deck with our popsicles, wondering if it’s time to add a little critter of some kind to the household. I think Skitter needs a kitten. I think she would do well with a baby feline who would curl up with her for naps and nighttime, but otherwise demand absolutely nothing from her. Cats are so good about living their own lives as independent royalty—so separate and above us peons who feed them, change their kitty litter, and keep them supplied with catnip. Cats don’t even pretend to care about anybody but themselves—even though we know they secretly tolerate us. Skitter needs a pet like that: a pet with no needs, except to curl up and snuggle for warmth.

Skitter is usually the one who brings up the possibility of adopting more exotic types of pets, like maybe a chimpanzee or a kangaroo. I suspect Skitter watches National Geographic animal shows when I’m not around, because today she asked if we could get a meerkat. I will give Skitter just about anything she asks for, but I don’t think Centerville is a place a meerkat wold want to live—even with us. We probably could have made that work in Delta, but we don’t own a tumbleweed ranch there anymore.

Skitter and I will talk about pet options for another day or so, and then we’ll move on to another subject. My Bow Tie o’ the Day and Shirt o’ the Day in this photo scream out the kind of pet I’m always angling for. I’m a card-carrying mutt gal. Skitter doesn’t know it yet, but that means she’s a mutt gal too.

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Grumble, Grumble

This is one of my fave-rave Mask o’ the Day offerings of the pandemic year. Bow Tie o’ the Day is no style slouch either. I, on the other hand, am a mass of a mess today. For some reason I’m experiencing a convergence of all the characteristics I can’t stand myself to be, if only temporarily: grouchy, prickly, manic, depressed, impatient, agitated, pessimistic, defeated, and trapped. I hate when I feel any of these things—let alone when I feel the whole gamut all at once. Oh heck, I know this little storm o’ negativity will pass. It always does. At the very least, this mix reminds me I’m human, because I know we have all experienced the abyss. I’ve found the best cure is to reach out to help somebody who happens to be worse off—despite our own discomfort. And we all have to cut ourselves a whole lot of slack, too.

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Wearing Breakfast

My dad occasionally got the urge to make a bigly breakfast for me and Mom—his breakfast “stack,” to be precise. I’d hear him in the kitchen shredding potatoes while I was getting ready for school, and I knew I’d soon be eating a yummy, tower o’ food. The frying would quickly commence. Dad’s stack was simple, but perfect: a little olive oil, hash browns, a fried egg, a thin ham steak or bacon, cheese, more hash browns, and green onions—all stacked up high, in just that order. The stacks grew to precarious heights on our plates. It was the Leaning Tower o’ Breakfast. Dad was so very proud of his creation, which he had seen a chef make once in a nice restaurant on one of his bee trips. It’s just another thing I miss about my dad sometimes. My bacon-and-eggs shirt made me think of it today.

Fashion hint: You cannot go wrong with bacon and eggs. Just like they are appropriate for any meal, at any time of day, I believe you must have at least one bacon-and-eggs-themed piece of clothing or accessory. You can wear it anywhere, and people who see you in it will feel magically calmed and nostalgic. Merely seeing bacon-and-eggs fabric can be hypnotizing—like watching puppies or babies. Bacon-and-eggs anything causes pleasant, homey, and tasty memories for just about everyone.🥓🥚

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There’s A Skitter In My Eye

Despite Skitter’s near-constant skittishness, she goes all lovey and kissy if my face gets within two inches of her face. I don’t mind. I just have to wash my face about 9 times a day.

You’ve heard of love/hate relationships? Well, Skitter has a love/fear relationship with most of the things and activities in her life. As I’ve mentioned before, Skitter is askeered of loud noises; sudden movements; anything that moves by itself—be it gadget or human; all other animals; any humans who aren’t me, Mom, or Suzanne; falling leaves; leaves on trees; light; darkness; wind; rain; the vacuum; the car; the truck; the bicycle; the electric recliner; the toaster; the mailbox; and the tv being off. Those are just a few of the things that scare her. And yet, she is a happy dog.

For example, we took Skitter on our walk with us last evening. She was giddy when I got her harness down off the hook and put it on her. She was excited as we headed out the front door. There’s no denying she wanted to go with us, and she ultimately pranced the whole walk. But as she pranced, she also shook and carried her tail between her legs for the entirety of our trek. She had her tail tucked under her belly so tightly that I had to kneel down to double-check to see if it was still attached to her. It was still there, making Skitter’s undercarriage look like she had a muffler. She had a boatload of fun, despite her terror. She says she can’t wait to go with us again.

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A Wave O’ Cross-eyed

The first time I looked at swirling Bow Tie o’ the Day against Shirt o’ the Day’s stripes, I literally—and I mean that word correctly—felt the discomfort of going cross-eyed. Now, that’s superlative clash! 🎡 🎢

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I Finally Got The Call

Bone-and-dog-paw-print Bow Tie o’ the Day is pleased to announce that yesterday I finally got the call-back to schedule my next U of U Hospital medical adventure—which is called lithotripsy. I am so glad to finally have it inked on my schedule. Unfortunately, the earliest appointment I could get for myself is May 24, so it’s back to waiting, waiting, waiting. I’m a patient person, except for all those times when I am not. 😜

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I’m Usually A Patient Patient

Chartres-inspired Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of the few clip-on bow ties in my collection. When I played church softball as a kid, I used to wear clip-on bow ties on my softball shirts. Unfortunately, those clip-on bow ties got lost somewhere in the many moves I have made in my life. I hope whoever found them, enjoys them as much as I did.

Anyhoo… Please be aware that I have hit my top nerve, folks. My patience runneth over, and it runneth over anything in my way. I have been waiting patiently since last Friday afternoon for a call to schedule my next medical procedure. I’m doing fine handling my Hanky Panky’s current level of pain, but I don’t want to handle it for one minute more than I absolutely have to. The sooner the procedure’s scheduled, the sooner it’s done. I now impatiently scream to the world, “Let’s get this lithotripsy on the road!” I’m usually very nice about these kinds of things, because I know the world doesn’t—and shouldn’t—revolve around me. However, my patience began to boil, so I made a couple of calls yesterday—with my serious-as-heck voice—and I was told I’d get a call to finalize the scheduling today. Well, it’s today, and it’s 4:30 PM, and I haven’t even received a junk call about my auto warranty.

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An Accessory Mystery

It’s no mystery that I adore paisley, so there’s nothing to be solved as far as Face Mask o’ the Day and Tie o’ the Day are concerned. It’s all very clear. The mystery I am trying to solve is all about this yellow lapel pin I’m wearing. What kind of human being is a pin designer who decides, “Hey, I know! I’ll make a pin depicting a lemon Jello mold with a golden stapler in it! Everyone will want that lapel pin! I’ll be rich!” A person such as that sounds like an odd someone I would probably like to meet. I think we’d have much in common—if only our collections that astound and perplex normal people.

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Somethin’s Up

If you’ve had kids—or have been around kids—you will know exactly what I’m talking about here. You know how a house with at least one little kid in it is a cornucopia of noises. There’s always some kid thing going on, and it is accompanied by its own soundtrack of chatter, crashes, and glee. Even one kid will jabber away while they play. As a parent, you know that the time to get worried about what the kids are doing is when it gets quiet. Quiet means a kid is up to no good and that they are savvy enough to put on the cloak of silence in order to not get caught doing a bad, but super interesting, deed. Quiet means the ball of 1000 rubber bands in the desk drawer very well might now be in the toilet.

Our house is kind of like that still, even though I’m alone in it most days. I talk to myself. I talk to Skitter. I sing. I think out loud. I narrate whatever task occupies my time. I am often loud, just to be loud. But I’ve been uncharacteristically quiet in the house this week. It’s making me a touch nervous. I’m suspicious my own brain is plotting something bigly I don’t want to know about. 🤡

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Reckoning Justice

My “banned books” Face Mask o’ the Day reminds me that so many of these books address themes of various and sundry injustices. In 1853, The American Unitarian preacher, Theodore Parker, published a sermon called “Justice and the Conscience.” From its pages, I offer up this quote to chew on: “I do not pretend to understand the moral universe; the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways; I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends toward justice.” I’d like to think my personal little moral arc bends toward justice. I know I want it to. I guess I better check myself on that a bit more often than I do—just to be sure. I recommend we all check ourselves about that.