Today, Suzanne is officially as many years old as I am. We are now both fifty-damn-six. This photo was taken at least 50 years ago, but she looks just the same to me. As a gift to her, I gave her photo a matching Bow Tie o’ the Day. We share the same year of birth, but we do not share fashion choices. Suzanne likes her ensembles to match. I like my outfits to have strains of head-bangin’ loud clash. Suzanne puts up with my fashion style by not looking directly at me. I guess I’m kinda like the sun. My outlandish costumes—and my effusive personality—have no doubt caused her many a headache. She used to get migraines regularly, but since she started forcing her eyes to look away from my duds, she has been relatively migraine-free.
Merry Migraine-free, Pandemic Birthday, Suzanne! I love you more than my bow ties. But let’s not tell them that.
I spent my childhood living in two houses simultaneously, without ever moving. Mom and Dad lived next door to my dad’s parents, Walter and Zola Walker Wright. In this slide, my grandma is wearing a kinda Bow Tie o’ the Day. ( I can’t tell for sure if the bow is attached to her dress or her apron.) If I wasn’t found in one house, I was likely to be found in the other. Or I was out in what felt to me like one bigly yard. The horse corral and the vegetable garden and the bee warehouse were out back behind the two houses. The whole spread was like my own private amusement park. I wrung the fun out of every inch of the buildings, machinery, and the land. I hated to take the time to sleep. My world, on that tiny portion of a block, seemed endlessly fascinating, and I couldn’t wait to get started exploring and playing every day. I was free, yet safe there. I was making my way through the world on my own. I was learning, hands-on. I would never feel that free, confident, or that safe again in my life.
Looking back, I realize I was very well supervised, though I felt completely independent at the time. I must have sensed somehow that I was safe and looked after. I do recall seeing Mom and Momo having impromptu chat sessions in the driveway between our houses. Many times, I would see them both turn to me as I arrived on the scene, and I would hear a duet of, “There you are!” in my direction. I am positive these little chats were more like a conference on the mound in baseball, where the two checked in with each other about my travels and then strategized about my care and supervision for the rest of the day.
So what did I actually do with my time while I wasn’t writing TIE O’ THE DAY posts during my recent bout of bipolar depression? Well, most of what I did was try to make it through one hour at a time. I’m sure I’ll fill you in on some of my murkier activities, which—to be more accurate—were more like non-activities. But I’ve dealt with the swing of this bipolar pendulum all my life, and I know one way to make it through is to make appointments and show up—no matter how I’m feeling. I made an appointment with Gracie.
A few days earlier, Suzanne and I had participated in an annual silent auction benefitting Davis Schools. It’s usually a bigly dinner event where we dress up and make a night of it. COVID-19 put the brakes on that sort of event this year, so we sat at home and bid on items by iPhone while watching tv. The oddest thing happened! Every auction item I bid on that night—and eventually won—was for someone Gracie’s age. How weird is that? I didn’t see that coming.
I texted Gracie’s Mom, the beauteous Bishopette Collette, to set up a time I could deliver the haul. She said she’d check with Bishop Travis, my nephew supreme, for a workable drop-off time when they would all be around.
In honor of Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette, I wore my BYU Tie o’ the Day when I made the delivery. They appreciated it. Grace, however, didn’t remember me at all. I mean—I hadn’t seen her since right before X-mas, which means I hadn’t seen her for half of her one-year life! I was glad I wore my cow shoes. Grace warmed up to them and kept trying to take them off my feet. I’ll wear my chicken shoes next time, and she’ll never forget me again.
I delivered Gracie some stuffed beasts to hug, a play vet kit, and something called a Cottage Playhouse, which needed to be assembled. I apologized to Travis and Collette about bringing something in need of assembly. I have known Bishop Travis his entire life, and he is a man o’ many talents. Putting things together is not one of them. When I apologized about the cottage’s unassembled state, Travis and Collette—almost in unison—said, “That’s why we have Lela.” Lela is Collette’s neice, who takes care of Grace when Travis and Collette are working. I was glad Lela was there with them the day I delivered the gifts, and I was especially glad to know she would be the official General Contractor of the playhouse. You can see Lela in one of the pics here, actually smiling while assembling. I bet Lela whistles while she works too.
On my drive home, after I left the Blackwelder’s with a new house to build, I realized that I can forever brag that I bought Gracie her first house. And Lela can brag that she built it.
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.
See Dad’s superhuman strength. See my bigly diaper-butt reflected in the mirror. See me not wearing a bow tie. Sing with me: “He’s got the whole baby…in his hand…He’s got the whole baby…in his hand…”
TIE O’ THE DAY says, “Merry Birthday!” to my late dad, Ronald Edmond Wright. If he were still with us, he’d be 90 today. As y’all can see, Dad was never fun. 😜
Here at TIE O’ THE DAY, we try to not go too gaga over tieless supermodels—even when they turn out to be our Gracie—but when these photos showed up on my iPhone this morning, I knew we would drop whatever current projects and posts we’re working on, and go all-Gracie. I learned two major things about this young lady-whippersnapper from these pictures: 1. Gracie’s enthusiasm for mac ‘n’ cheese allows her to create smile-worthy performance art. 2. Gracie “cleans up real good,” as they say. I never doubted my grandniece would have these two important skills.
Mom made a gaggle o’ dolls over the years, but the one in this slide was not one of them. I was not yet born when this photo op came to pass. Since my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless (SWWTRN) is holding the doll, I’m assuming it was hers. Perhaps she was channeling my future earthly birth with me while I was still in the Pre-existence. C’mon—it could have happened. Notice that my sisters have both donned long Bow Ties o’ the Day for what the date on the slide indicates was Christmas of 1958.
Dad’s a looker, eh? In my mind’s eye, Dad always has his Sean Connery beard—even though this shows me to be wrong. Come to think of it, Mom started making dolls about the same time Dad grew his signature beard—sometime in the 80’s. Perhaps that was how they each dealt with their newly empty nest and their proverbial mid-life crises. I dunno. I just know that in the 80’s, Dad’s beard sprouted its salt-and-pepper glory, and plaster doll parts were perpetually scattered throughout flat surfaces in the house, in their various stages of doll-completion.
FYI Here’s the birth order of my siblings and I, for anyone who might be wondering: Betty (front); SWWTRN (back); Ron (front, middle); Rob (on Dad’s lap); a bigly time-gap (a true pregnant pause); then, yours truly.
If you ever want to rile up Mom, just tell her I said I know I was an accident. She does not abide that “accident” talk about me. I can usually get her calmed down about it by explaining I meant to say I was more of an “afterthought.” At 89, Mom still shines with her comebacks. Not too long ago when I was egging her on about the topic, she said, “An afterthought? I should say not! There was no thought after.” And then I said, “Mom, get your mind out of the gutter, so mine can roll by!” We continued the back-and-forth, and we laughed until I lost my breath and had to take a hit off her oxygen mask. We are soooooo related. We are The Two Helen’s! Vaudeville is our next stop.
BTW Mom doesn’t really have an oxygen tank. It just made the story better to paint a picture of me stealing the old gal’s oxygen. Note to self and others: The key to telling good stories is to never let the truth get in the way—as long as you fess up to it later.
TIE O’ THE DAY presents a rare sight. Here I am in a diaper, without any kind of tie, AND I am sound asleep. Those three planets haven’t aligned since this slide was snapped.
I’ve always had trouble sleeping, even as a wee sprite. In fact, I think I may not really be bipolar. I think it’s entirely possible my extremely moody brain activity is simply a result of the insomnia I’ve had for the last 50 years. I declare in all honesty that if it would help me sleep at night, or any other time, I would gladly go back to wearing diapers.
But not the cloth kind, as shown in the photo. Nope.
We, here at TIE O’ THE DAY are pleased to present this forgotten late-60’s slide, starring my hip mom, Helen Sr., and her equally stylish mom, my Oak City grandma, Martha Anderson. Check out their mod footwear. Grandma makes those Keds look sexy as all get-out, don’t you think? And, of course, they’re tied with bows.
The date on this slide is September of 1968. I don’t know what these two precious ladies were up to that day, but it’s a safe bet that yumtastic cooking, canning, and/or expert quilting was involved. (Note: It appears from this picture that Grandma Anderson still had both of her eyes, but that wouldn’t be for much longer.)
If you’ve had the chance to know these two dames, there is nothing further I need to tell you about them. These women always spoke for themselves, and presented themselves as exactly who they were and what they were about. (Mom continues to do so, even on pandemic lockdown at the care center.) What you saw and heard from them was what you got. I would say that Mom is a more sarcastic, liberated version of Grandma, but that is due mostly to the different times into which they were born. If Mom is Grandma-squared, I am Mom-cubed—simply due to historical culture.
If you haven’t had the honor of knowing either/both of them, let me offer this about Mom and Grandma: They mirrored each other in their generosity and willingness to serve others. They differed in approach somewhat. Mom won’t let anybody get away with anything mean or petty, but she’ll make and serve you scrumptious potato salad while she’s nicely putting you in your place. You end up thanking Mom, as you walk away from being shown the error of your ways.
Grandma Anderson is the only person I’ve known who truly loved her enemies—to the point that she couldn’t remember who her enemies were, or even that she had any. I recall a conversation with Grandma during which, for whatever reason, I mentioned to her that “so-and-so” had once caused her some grief. Grandma was still sound of mind at the time of our conversation, but she truly could not recall any such slight from “so-and-so,” or from anybody else. She had no time for enemies, because she was too busy loving everybody. I’m working on honing that eternally handy skill, inch by inch.
