Self, buy a bling-y Tiara o’ the Day to match my bejeweled necklace Tie o’ the Day. ASAP!
Note To Self
Pandemic Weird Date Nights Don’t Kill People
Since the beginning of the pandemic, Suzanne and I haven’t been venturing out like we normally have in the past. We’ve enjoyed spending more time at home, but we knew it was time to get out of the casa for a Weird Date Night. A Pandemic Weird Date Night, in fact. But what does one do for a Weird Date in a pandemic? I don’t know what y’all would do, but about a month ago I told Suzanne that for our next Weird Date Night, we were going to take a Concealed Firearm Permit class—which we did last night. It’s not the most romantic thing to do, but see how happy we were to be learning about gun laws.
That might not seem like a “weird” thing to do to those of you who know me and my gun-y family. We had guns coming out the rafters. A gun here, a gun there, here a gun, there a gun, everywhere a gun, gun. My family hunted and fished and hunted some more. It is not much of an exaggeration to say that my dad killed a coyote every darn morning of his life before heading to Top’s Cafe for his morning cup o’ Joe.
Suzanne, on the other hand, had never shot a gun in her life before I took her target shooting with a quaint .22 rifle, in Millard County in the 80’s. She’s never shot a gun since. And I myself did not carry the hunting bug into my adulthood. I killed pheasants and rabbits and a deer in my teens, then I was done with the whole thing. I have no problems with ethical gun use and hunting. Guns just weren’t my thing. I haven’t owned a gun as an adult until very recently.
I’ve been around, folks. I lived in the Washington, D. C. area for 8 years in the 90’s. I taught in inner city Baltimore schools at a time when Baltimore was the murder capitol of the country. I have traveled bigly. And I have never felt the stirring need to own—let alone carry—a gun. Until now.
Why the change of mind? Two reasons: toilet paper and face masks. In short, there are some absolute nuts out there, boys and girls. Fisticuffs are flying over toilet paper. There are people throwing punches over the wearin’ o’ face masks. FACE MASKS, PEOPLE! We are so spoiled we are starting a grumbling civil war over a tiny piece of material and a few inches of elastic. If face masks are the biggest threat to American freedom in our current culture, we are in a heckuva lot more trouble than we can even imagine. If warring about face masks is the thing most worthy of our time in a pandemic, I dare say we have too much time on our hands—and we aren’t using it wisely.
Some of us have lost perspective. Being inconvenienced by wearing a face mask to keep your possibly infectious breath and spittle from flying into another person’s personal space is not equivalent to losing a Constitutional right. To say it is the same, trivializes our hard-fought-for Constitutional rights. Every Constitutional right is made possible only by what I will call our “Constitutional responsibilities” to our fellow Americans. That’s my sermon, and I’m sticking to it.
Trust me—I haven’t lost perspective. I know what’s truly important. Honeycomb Bow Tie o’ the Day is what’s important. I’ll wear it on my face if I have to.
What I Did To Celebrate The 24th
To celebrate Pioneer Day, I grabbed my red hankie Face Mask o’ the Day and paired it with my deer-and-birds-etched-into-wood Bow Tie o’ the Day. I trekked to Cabela’s. I dragged Suzanne with me to stare at the store’s stuffed bear up high in the fake tree, and to find a stuffed coyote to remind me of Dad. We have no bigly vacations scheduled for the near future, so Cabela’s seemed like a good enough choice as any for an afternoon getaway. There was plenty of hand sanitizer throughout the store, and most folks were wearing masks and social-distancing.
I have discovered a secret positive about mask-wearing. Since the wearin’ o’ the masks began, I have not had to deal with the bad breath of anyone who engages me in conversation. If the masks do nothing else (and they do plenty), their ability to keep other people’s stinky breath from attacking me is reason enough for me to almost wish we all had to wear masks forever. 😜
Pandemic Hair Was Inevitable
Got barber scissors? Tie o’ the Day has plenty.
Remember two years ago when I was growing out my hairs because y’all voted for me to grow it out for a whole 12 months? And remember when my hairs got so hideous that I created Hairs Thursday here, so you could see whatever hairsdo I could muster at that point? Well, I am inadvertently at it again. My last hairscut was at the beginning of February, right before we visited Nashville and then went into pandemic mode. I’m like Mom: I am picky about who cuts my hairs. In Centerville, I refuse to have anyone but Miss Tiffany do the honors, and she has not yet been available to chop my locks and shave the right half of my noggin hairs.
It seemed like Hairs Thursday’s were a success in the TIE O’ THE DAY chuckle department, so I’m gonna do them again for however long it takes Miss Tiffany to fit me in for my shearing.
Nuts, And Bolts, And Screws—Oh My!
I’ve got a wood-lookin’ fabric, nuts-and-bolts-and-screws Bow Tie o’ the Day to offer y’all. Purple butterfly Face Mask o’ the Day had me covered when I erranded at the bank and the grocery store. Beyond that, I’ve been unable to concoct a story or sermon for you. Even as I type this post, Skitter has her muzzle on my laptop, which makes typing tough. She has a very bad infection or something going on in her left ear, and she thinks she has to have my complete attention. You know how kids are when they don’t feel good. They neeeeeeeed you to be right there suffering along with them. Skitter’s been like a clingy dryer sheet to me all day. Thank the heavens her vet is squeezing us in, first thing in the morning.
Peek-a-boo! There It Is!
Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and parrot Face Mask o’ the Day were grocery shopping with me at DICK’S when I realized I’m not the only one who is back in the public eye. Yup, the toilet paper is back on the shelves and in mountainous stacks throughout the store.
COVID-19 has made it such that we have all had to make a few changes in our routines, like donning masks and doing our best at social distancing. During these days o’ the pandemic, I am most proud of something I HAVEN’T had to do. During the upheaval of the last three or four months, I haven’t had one toilet paper supply worry. In our house, there has been no need for toilet paper panic or toilet paper hoarding. (Well, at first, Suzanne occasionally panicked about the size of our tp stash, but it was totally unnecessary. I had it covered, with rolls to spare.)
As the li’l homemaker-during-the-pandemic that I am, I am proud to say we have never run out of the ample supply of toilet paper I always keep stocked in our garage. To be honest, I guess you could say that keeping us supplied with the correct amount of toilet paper is about the only real homemaking skill I have. I certainly can’t cook. Overseeing the household tp supply is my one skill, so I have to pat myself on the back about my stellar permanent record on that front. A lot of people were caught with their pandemic pants down about the toilet paper, if ya know what I mean. Not I.
I wonder. Is my single, house-y skill of being Toilet Paper Monitor Extraordinaire alone mighty enough to justify my entire existence on the face of the earth? Why, yes! Yes, it is. Those of you who have ever had to scramble for a square or six of “bathroom tissue” know I’m right. In fact, I’ve probably always been worth my weight in toilet paper.
FYI I have been a zillion places. I have met a zillion people. But I have NEVER heard anyone actually refer to toilet paper as “bathroom tissue,” despite what the labels on the packaging say. Talk about hoity-toity!
I Do Believe I’m Back. Cross Fingers. Knock On Wood.
Magnetic LEGO Bow Tie o’ the Day heralds my most recent return from the city of Bipolarville, in the great state of Extreme Depression. Told ya I’d be back. This is a recent photo of me in my Face Mask o’ the Day, hanging out in the flag section of the Parrish Lane Walmart—prepping for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration.
I woke up yesterday morning wishing someone would write me an utterly frivolous TIE O’ THE DAY post to make me laugh, then I realized it’s my job to write said posts. So there I was… staring at Skitter’s hairy hip mole, eating a soda cracker, and casually letting some possible tblog ideas percolate in my crazy brain. I was getting nowhere fast—when suddenly my phone honked at me and announced the caller was Mercedes.
I call her Mercedes, but most of y’all know her as my oldest sibling, Betty or BT. She has been a faithful reader of my neckwear posts since TIE O’ THE DAY was nothing more than a bigly group text. Mercedes called to check in on how her bipolarly-benched little sister is doing, AND—most importantly 😜—to check on when the heck TIE O’ THE DAY posts would be returning to social media.
I can affirm that at the very beginning of our conversation, I could hardly form sentences without great physical, cognitive, and emotional effort. The inability to think and speak easily is one of the main symptoms of my extreme bipolar depression. But by the end of the phone call, we were both heartily cackle-laughing about a smorgasbord of current events, human foibles, and what I will refer to as “Mom stories”—as in, stories starring Mom. Pick an event, pick a topic. If Mom was part of it—or even has an opinion about it—there’s sure to be a full-blown, repeatable, mostly family-friendly story to tell for generations to come. Mom and her escapades are the gift that keeps on giving. I felt demonstrably better during and after my phone call from my bigliest sister.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying Mercedes cured my depressive swing. Nor am I saying that stories about Mom conquered my bipolar speed bump. Oh, that it were so! If BT and Mom were the cure for bipolarity, I’d take our Two-Helen’s-and-a-Mercedes act on tour from town to town, and the three of us would make a bigly bucket o’ bucks rescuing folks from their own brain chemistry. Although it was not a fix-it, yesterday morning’s phone conversation with my biggest sister clearly lit an oomph-spark under my TIE O’ THE DAY muscle. If you’re sad to see I’m back, feel free to blame my Mercedes. Or Mom. Mom has given me permission to blame her for everything. I’m sure she’ll happily let you blame her for everything too.
BTW I’m so madly in love with the “Raised in a BARN” cap I got in Arkansas last summer. Out of all my hats, I find it is my go-to hat during these bipolar-y, pandemic-y, protest-y days. I just keep putting it atop my noggin, day after day. Its attitude fits me perfectly right now. Perhaps it’s a rapid-cycling bipolar thing. Perhaps it’s a redneck thing. I don’t know why, but it’s currently my thing.
We Interrupt TIE O’ THE DAY For An Important Message
My new magnetic wood Bow Tie o’ the Day’s design reminds me of an abacus. As far as face masks go, this paisley Face Mask o’ the Day is luscious with its rich hues. Think of a mask as just one more clothing accessory through which you can express your inner whatever-ness you might want to share with the masses. Masks might become a staple in my dressing style if I can keep finding funky ones.
Hey, folks! Y’all are so good to me. If I don’t post for more than a couple of days, some of you message me with concerns about my well being (I’m ok.) or to make sure Mom’s still thriving in MCR lockdown (Mom continues to entertain the troops.). I appreciate your humanity. This tblog is about much more than neckwear, and y’all truly understand that. So thanks.
I haven’t been able to write a cogent post for the last five days. This post is your FYI that I need to take some more time off. Yes, it’s because of my stoopid bipolar head. I can never predict when my head is going to bench me or for how long. No worries. I will be okay. As you longtime readers know, this is routine for me, and I learned a long time ago to not panic about it. I tread water through my head’s craziness, and the crazy eventually subsides. I’ve temporarily disappeared from here before, and I’ll likely have to do it again. That’s just the chemistry of my brain. Rest assured that TIE O’ THE DAY will return as soon as it can. Could be in a day, in a week, or in 15 minutes. Thanks for your concern and for your patience. When I can rein in my brain again, I shall resume my mission of spreading the ties-and-kindness gospel while making a clown of myself for y’all. Be good.
No Yammering. Just A Selfie.
Skitter Is Askeered, Yet Again
I thought I was lookin’ pretty hip in my geometric-pattern Face Mask o’ the Day and my wood Bow Tie o’ the Day. But after I examined the selfies I took, I realized no one can see the bow tie cuz it’s camo-patterned. On top of that, my total look apparently scared Skitter into a brow scowl rivaling my own when I’m not happy. She looks like she’s ready to jump ship and hie to Kolob in the twinkling of an eye. (Excuse the Mormon hymn reference)
Skitter is as patient with me and my clothing whims as Suzanne is, but Suzanne never gets scared of how I look—because her brain is bigly-er than a walnut and she understands I’m just weird. But I promise—here and now—that from now on, when I get dressed for the day, I will try harder to be more sensitive to Skitter’s easily-afeared canine feelings.