Category: Hats

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Skitter Wants To Know: “Where’s Gracie?”

Skitter’s sad, sad, sad face at Gracie’s front door.
Here’s Gracie a few months ago.

Today is The Divine Miss Gracie’s 2nd Birthday. I cannot believe it. It seems like she just barely showed up in our family. On the other hand, Grace has taken over like none of us even existed before she was born into this world. She’s a blessing, a spit-fire, and a tornado all in one. She is also wise beyond her years, according to anyone who has ever spent time with her. When she and Skitter finally met last Christmas, I don’t know which of them was more taken with the other.

This morning, Skitter and I threw Gracie’s gifts in the car and headed to Provo. We had hoped to surprise her with our good tidings. We miscalculated and found no one at home. See how forlorn Skitter’s expression was as we discovered at the front door that our Grace Anne was nowhere to be found at her house. We should have known better. We should have assumed her little birthday dance card was full. Clearly, it was.

Skitter and I left Grace’s gifts at the front door and headed back north to our turf. Skitter was beside herself about not seeing Gracie on her birthday. I told Skitter that not being able to see Gracie might turn out to be a favorable thing for us in the end. I said, “Travis and Collette will feel so bad about missing our visit that we could probably ask them if Gracie can stay with us for a whole sleepover at our place soon.” Skitter looked at me with deep concentration as I then went on to explain the concepts of “guilt” and “manipulation”—and how to use them to your advantage, to get things like playdates, sleepovers, and extra treats. 🤡

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Yesterday, It Was Wind. Today, It Was Windy Rain.

Umbrellas-and-raindrops Tie o’ the Day and I spent much of our time gazing out the tall windows at the buckets and barrels and teaspoons of rain, which fell unceasingly for hours. The day-est part of the day is almost over now, so the rain has finally stopped. Due to the inclement weather, there was no bike ride for Skitter and me yesterday or today. I’ve embarked on a mission of teaching Skitter to sit on the bike seat and pedal the bike, while I ride behind it in her connected doggie trailer as she pumps me around the neighborhood. Skitter’s skinny mutt legs can’t afford to miss another day of pedal practice. 🚴‍♀️🐕

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Oh, Happy Day!

I was culling through my St. Patrick’s Day props this morning when I took a break to check my email. Glory be! I got an email informing me that Millard Care And Rehab is finally allowing visitors again. I CAN NOW HUG THE STUFFIN’ OUT OF MOM FOR THE FIRST TIME IN OVER A YEAR!!! You can bet I’m planning a road trip for Skitter and me to Deltabama ASAP. I’m so excited that only a bigly Bow Tie o’ the Day like this one is bigly enough to illustrate my mood. ‘Scuse me while I go cry for joy and fill a box with treats to take to Mom.

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My Mother Is My Leprechaun

Here’s a photo of Mom wearing a St. Paddy’s Hat o’ the Day, in March of 2016, while dropping by to visit me at my Delta house. You can see where I get it. And by “it,” I mean high fashion style, coupled with an I’m-here-to-entertain-you attitude. I love Mom.

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Virus Alert!

Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are pleased to introduce you to my latest Face Mask o’ the Day, which is covered in models of the specific coronavirus which creates COVID-19. Yup, because I acquired this mask, I can truthfully say I recently got COVID-19—kinda, sorta. Trust me—I’m very well aware that I’m having a much better experience dealing with my fabric virus than those who have gotten the real virus. I get through the stresses and inconveniences of the pandemic by utilizing the same tools I use to get through any predicament: factual information and humor. Those two tools will work for anyone, I promise.

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My Recent Bipolar Weather Has Been Udderly Puzzling

Everyone needs a cow-covered Face Mask o’ the Day and a crossword puzzle Bow Tie o’ the Day—as well as a pair of Bernie-Sanders-at-the-Inauguration socks. Okay, maybe not absolutely everyone needs these things, but I do. They keep me somewhat grounded in my authentic style during my times of roller coaster brain chemistry. The spirit o’ Bernie has warmed my feet on some of these days. Yes, the spirit o’ Bernie’s mittens has been punching right along with me through my most recent boxing match with my own complicated, manic-depressive head.

As my head finally started to find its balance a week or so ago, I was finally able to jot down some tblog ideas for updating y’all about my shenanigans you missed out on while I was not up to the demands of writing TIE-O-THE- DAY content. I went to bed that night, fully intending to get up at the crack of dawn and write a bigly original post the next morning, when—WHAM!—the ghost of my bum pancreas (my Hanky Panky) woke me up at 3AM with lightning strikes o’ pain. Two-and-a half years ago, I had successful Hanky Panky surgery, which left me with only one-third of my pancreas. Despite my Panky’s smaller size, I have been in relative Pancreas Heaven ever since the operation—until that night last week. Just my luck: I was thrown out of the bipolar frying pan, and into the pancreatic fire!

The sudden, old Panky pain felt entirely too familiar to me. Since then, I’ve been trying to ignore the discomfort, which has ebbed and flowed but hasn’t completely gone away. I luckily managed to wrangle an in-person appointment with my Hanky Panky surgeon at the Huntsman Cancer Institute tomorrow. I have bigly confidence that my doc can figure out what the Hell-en is going on with my Cranky Hanky Panky innard. A battery of tests and scans will follow over the next few weeks, I have no doubt. I am not askeered. Suzanne is askeered for me, but she shouldn’t be. She made me promise a long time ago that I won’t die before she does, and I consider it my main job to always keep my promises to Suzanne.

After much contemplation, I have decided I will gladly take painful flak from my teeny Hanky Panky any day of the week, over being lost in the dangerous labyrinth of my bipolar brain. Physical pain only hurts. Bipolar anguish, on the other hand, can trick you into thinking you can instantly make the world a better place by simply jumping off the nearest craggy cliff into your own annihilation. Hey, folks, how ’bout let’s none of us buy into that slick trick o’ the mind.

Anyhoo… I’m crossing my Cranky Hanky Panky that TIE-O-THE-DAY is back for a while, whether you’re ready for it, or not.🤠👔

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I Don’t Believe Anything That Makes Sense

I am wearing my footballs-and-helmets Bow Tie o’ the Day. While it is true that I am still in my bigly bipolar funk, a response to the Super Bowl came to me immediately after the conclusion of the game. I didn’t watch the game, but I wanted Kansas City to win, so I was not a happy camper about the final score.

My response to the game is this: On behalf of the Chiefs, I will not concede the Super Bowl. It’s irresponsible to congratulate Tampa Bay this soon after the game. If you count only the legal points scored, Kansas City won. By a lot. The Buccaneers rigged the game from the start. I will exhaust every legal avenue to challenge the final score, and I’ll make the Bucs pay for it. Tom Brady and his team stole the game. KC fans are mad. KC fans don’t trust the system. Besides, the whole game was a “deep fake” and never even really happened.

And now I’m going back to my unresolved bipolarity.

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Another Fine Cape For My Capers

[Here’s still another Valentine season re-peat post. My bipolar head is still out to lunch.]

Bow Tie o’ the Day is dressed in a field of red and white hearts on black silk. It clashes bigly with my newest cape. My heart-covered hat does some eye-popping clash as well.

As you probably guessed from the hearts on my cape’s pink side, this is my Valentine’s cape. Suzanne cut, assembled, pinned, sewed, and ironed it just for me. Just like she usually does. You know I have an obsessive hankerin’ for Suzanne-made capes. A girl can never have enough capes.

I’ve discovered that although wearing a cape doesn’t make me a superhero, wearing a cape does make me feel like I’m walking around in my blanket wherever I go. To me, that’s every bit as wonderful as being a superhero. I asked Suzanne to make me a flannel cape for extra warmth, and she’s all for it. A flannel blanket feels like home.

Especially as children, but also as adults, we have a tendency to mythologize our parents. We make them more than human. We make them bigger, smarter, funnier, braver, etc., than they really are. We think of them almost as superheroes. And that’s okay. I mean, to be fair, our parents think each of their kids is a genius, an all-state athlete, a musical prodigy, an artist, and a mythological character—all wrapped up into one snot-nosed brat.

Now, I know my parents aren’t perfect. You know your parents aren’t perfect. But they’re our parents. When we realize exactly how precious they are, their mistakes seem to recede into the horizon in our minds. Their greatest kindnesses and triumphs come to the forefront of our memories. We learn to forgive their mistakes and embrace their most excellent accomplishments. That’s as it should be.

Of course, we should try to improve on the worst qualities our parents handed down to us. And we should live by the best characteristics that live in them. We should carry their best characteristics with us always. We should tell stories and tall tales about our parents’ lives to our families and friends and whoever else will listen. That’s how we teach the important stuff forward.

Even when I’m wearing a fantabulous cape, I try to carry my parents’ best qualities with me. Perhaps one day, if somebody mythologizes me into a superhero, I’ll be able to fly in my capes.

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A Word To The Fashion Wise

Face Mask o’ the Day looks like I was marauded by a wandering band o’ paintballers. I think designs resembling paintball splotches are almost always a good look. And, like paisley and polka dots, the argyle design—here, on Tie o’ the Day—is a perpetual eye-grabber. Be ye cautious, however. Do not underestimate the powers of these designs. In the wrong hands, some patterns can overpower entire personalities, leaving you alone and adrift on the sea o’ fashion. Do not wear patterns that your spirit can’t live up to. That’s a key to any style you choose to wear: it must fit your authentic self. If it fits you, it works for you. If you try to project something you aren’t, you will downright disappear behind your attire. Disappearing behind your clothes is a good thing, only if you’re a spy—and most of us aren’t James Bond. Dress accordingly.

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An Interesting Household Chore

My Hat o’ the Day is from a real place: Toad Suck, Arkansas—from one of our travel adventures about 18 months ago. We had a splendid time in Arkansas, and I honor the name of this place with a couple of hats, as is my touristy way. I wear the hat today as a symbol of how I feel about my day’s bigly household chore, because the chore kinda sucks. When I have occasion to do so, I vacuum and clean the couch and love seat. But the best vacuums in the world—pet vacuums, included—cannot suck up the Skitter fur that somehow gets caught in the furniture’s seams. My mission today—if I choose to accept it, and I do—is to tweeze the trapped fur from the seams of the living room furniture. Yes, I pluck my eyebrows AND my furniture—with different sets of tweezers, of course. As Glen Campbell and I always sing, “Such are the dreams of the everyday housewife…”🤡

FYI Bolo Tie o’ the Day is a good choice to wear when cleaning. It saves the “real” neckwear from possibly being harmed in the course of housework—while still allowing me to wear my signature clothing item.