Witty & Wise Ties, Trivia & Lies
Peace is kindness at rest. May you kind folks always have plenty of it. Jolly Christmas tidings to y’all, from TIE O’ THE DAY and the inhabitants of The Tie Room!
Holiday Tie Tally: 183 Neckties. 72 Bow Ties.
#hereamaskthereamaskeverywhereamask #peaceinthetieroom #festivekindness #kindfestiveness #elbowhugstoyouall #footshakestoyoutoo #icarryhandsanitizerinmypocketwithmychapstickandmyaachip
Bow Tie o’ the Day displays Billy Bob Thornton from BAD SANTA. Santa-hatted kitty Tie o’ the Day harks from the movie too. Santa and Rudolph are listening to some rap tunes and getting their boogie on. On the other side of our Tie o’ the Day showcase, we’ve got snowflakes, candy canes, and candy cane-colored stripes. Finally, straight down the middle, is our reminder Tie o’ the Day from the Gangsta Wrappin’ Rudolph to get those gifts wrapped ASAP. Time is running out to set out the haul securely under the tree. (Make sure you see the gold $-sign bling on Gangsta Wrapper Rudolph’s neck. FYI I get a thrill out of tiny details.)
Folks, if you’re partaking of alcoholic beverages while celebrating tonight, please use a designated driver on your travels. Don’t forget your mittens and your masks, people. Be safe in your merriness! 🎄
FYI I’ll be posting a quick TIE O’ THE DAY message at midnight tonight, so if you’re awake and want to see more holiday ties before morning, give it a look-see.
Holiday Tie Tally: 182 Neckties. 71 Bow Ties.
#hohoho #bejollywhileyouwearthedangmask
7 years ago, we were finally able to get legally hitched. The minute we could, we did. Our very own American Gothic—here we are now! Some people believe in guardian angels. I believe our guardian angels are winged pigs in flight, and I appreciate each one hovering over us.
I’m taking today off for our 7th Anniversary, but I will post our celebration exploits tomorrow.
Holiday Tie Tally: 172 Neckties. 70 Bow Ties.
I called Mom this morning to see how she’s doing at MCR. I ascertained from the shortest phone conversation I’ve ever had with her that she is swell and well and dandy. She didn’t have time to talk to her 56-year-old baby because she and the other residents were preparing to watch a movie together. I don’t know any of the specifics—like the title of the movie they would be viewing, or what the care center’s social distancing plan was. I trust MCR to have figured out all of the safety details. All I know is that while conversing ever so briefly with Mom, I could hear joyous chatting voices in the background. Helen Sr. sounded as happy as the proverbial lark. Mom sounded safe and comfortable and excited for her oncoming day. Although I felt kinda cheated out of the conversation we weren’t able to have because she was so busy living her life at 90, I must admit that I was thoroughly pleased with the situation to my core. What more could a 56-year-old baby girl ask for? Mom was comfortable and exuberant, so I guess you can say I already got my Christmas present for this year. If Mom is happy, I seriously do not need one other thing.
Holiday Tie Tally: 154 Neckties. 67 Bow Ties.
In the 70’s, we playfully—and trendily—called each other “turkey.” If you called someone a “jive turkey,” that meant you were calling them on their bullsh#%. My new, lighted turkey hat has made me hark back fondly to my kidhood’s carefree “turkey” days. And it also reminds me I need to start planning the menu for the upcoming pandemic Christmas feast for me and Suzanne. How can I top Thanksgiving’s spread? I shall make it my mission to find a way.
I should probably mention that I like hats, in case you couldn’t tell. Wearing the perfect hat is an important part of starring in the circus we call life. As much as I don’t want to admit it, ties cannot carry the entire burden of making a person be their self-est self. (Don’t quote me on that if you ever visit the occupants of my Tie Room.) Hats help the hip be cool, and they help the un-hip remain disguised.
I am wearing a trifecta o’ Bow Ties o’ the Day this morning. One is red-white-and-green plaid. One is black-red-and-gray plaid, dotted with white snowflakes. The third is row upon row of ribbon-topped red-blue-and-green wrapped Christmas presents.
Shop on, folks!
Holiday Tie Tally: 134 Neckties. 59 Bow Ties.
Skitter’s Holiday Tie Tally: 16 Neckties.
#wearthedangmask #actlikeyougiveadarn #lighttheneighborhood
From my earliest days as a beachgoer at Gunnison Bend Reservoir, a.k.a, the Rez, I have loved sand, water, and sun. When I was in my older kidhood, I rode my bike the 6 miles to the western-most shore of the Rez every day of summer when I had time, unless my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless had a day off work. If she did, she drove us out to the water to bake under the desert sun on our bigly beach towels. Ah, the smell of Coppertone coconut oil lotion sizzling on our skin.
On the beach, we listened to static-y AM radio stations broadcasting out of Provo, on a clunky transistor radio fueled by D-size batteries. It weighed as much as a jackhammer. We read magazines and paperbacks we had bought at Service Drug or the Rexall, and we drank Tab and Diet Rite Cola—in glass bottles. We ate Clover Club potato chips with Nalley’s dill pickle dip. I had a one-person blow-up raft I lazily paddled across the Rez. I had a goal of crossing over and around the bend to the Sherwood Shores side of the Rez in my little raft, but I never did for some reason. I’m not crying about it, or anything. It was never a Bucket List kind of goal.
The wind at the Rez—as in Millard County, in general—seemed to breeze up almost every day around 5pm, if it hadn’t already been stirring sand up earlier. When the Rez began to get choppy, it was time to get home for a quick supper. I was always eating summer dinner in a perpetual hurry. I had places to be. I had to head uptown on my bike to Delta’s outdoor swimming pool for the evening swim session—to splash in yet another local body of water, and to walk-don’t-run-by-the-pool under what was left of the sunlight on perfect summer days. Even as a child, deep in my skin, I could feel the burn of vintage moments passing.
Holiday Tie Tally: 60 Neckties. 10 Bow Ties.
#amaskadaykeepsthecovidaway #wearthedangmask
Tie o’ the Day and I will wear anything (almost) at any time (almost). It’s sort of my job to do so. The clashier, the better. The more you-can’t-look-away-even-though-it-kinda-freaks-out-your-eyes, the better. I know I’m dressed like my true self if my attire incites at least one of two things: a chuckle, and/or a conversation—even if the conversation is with yourself. I am ecstatic when both goals are met in a tblog post, simultaneously. That’s why I make the bigly bucks, folks. I am really just a very uncomplicated, complicated chick with a brimming Tie Room.
Yup, I’m still in my pajamas. Still recuperating from being old, or whatever condition I’m in. I’ve been napping around the living room today, going from couch to love seat, then back again. I’ve been quite boring to myself and Skitter. I’m just so bloody tired. I fall asleep at the drop of a hat, or the drop of a tie. Full disclosure: I did walk upstairs to the Tie Room once to grab my afternoon post accessories. Different Hat o’ the Day. Different Tie o’ the Day. Different Face Mask o’ the Day. I wouldn’t want to wear the exact same outfit in two different posts—ever. I do, however, stand by repeating the words on my mask. We should be nice humans to other humans, over and over again, every day. That Masked Message goes with any outfit I could ever possibly dream up.
When I tell y’all about my aches and pains—whether mental or physical, I am not in search of a pity party. I am not saying, “woe is me.” I just tell you what’s up with me and the residents of the Tie Room. And what’s up is that yesterday I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a golf cart. My head ached, and I never get headaches. My whole body ached. It felt like a belt was tightening around my ribs. Even my Spock ear hurt. The bottoms of my feet kept cramping. I am the whitest person on the planet, but yesterday I was whiter than that. I made a bed on the couch, which I haven’t done since right after I was recovering from my Hanky Panky decapitation surgery. That’s been two years now.
I had my flu shot a few weeks ago, so I figured it wasn’t the flu. I could tell Suzanne was worried about me because she called me from work, via FaceTime, to ask me all kinds of questions about which of the COVID-19 symptoms I might be feeling. You have to understand that when Suzanne is at work, Suzanne is at work. She doesn’t know home exists. That is not a criticism, it is just a slight exaggeration. I am simply making the point that Suzanne was worried about me. She doesn’t text, call, or Face Time me from work unless there is a bigly problem. Yesterday morning, I guess she considered my health a bigly problem. She even ordered me not to die.
Anyhoo… I answered Suzanne’s questions about any possible COVID-19 symptoms I might be having. Suzanne said the questionnaire she was reading from said, based on my answers, I should go to urgent care. I don’t know everything, but I sort of know my body, and I highly doubt COVID-19 is the culprit. Nevertheless, I promised Suzanne if I didn’t feel better the next morning (today), I would hop, skip, and jump to the urgent care clinic to be tested.
Well, I woke up this morning feeling just enough better that I doubt I’ll be going for a COVID-19 test in the immediate future. My head still hurts, but not as much. My feet are still cramping up weirdly, but not as much. My chest is feeling bear-hugged too tightly, but not as tightly as it felt yesterday. I am still whiter than my usual whitest-person-on-the-planet pallor, but I’m not as white as I was yesterday.
I’m starting to think there is such a thing as “aging pains.” I remember having growing pains in my legs when I was about 10, and Mom rubbed them down with alcohol so I could fall asleep at night. Those kinds of pains mysteriously came and went for a couple of years. Just as mysteriously, I think I’m starting to have the opposite kind of pains: those growing old pains. Some days an arbitrary pain, ache, or twitch shows up and sticks around for a few hours or a few days, then it’s just as mysteriously gone. I will always be fish-belly white, but my aging pains will surely come and go. No worries here.
October is not just the month of Halloween celebrations, whose basic colors are black and orange. We know it is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month, whose symbolic color is pink. October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month, symbolized by the color purple. With that in mind, Skitter and I don some of our purple today to tell you about something called the PURPLE LEASH PROJECT. A huge number of domestic violence victims who have pets say a major reason they don’t leave an abusive situation is because their pets aren’t allowed to stay with them in domestic violence shelters. The PURPLE LEASH PROJECT is trying to help people and pets stay together to heal, by working to create more pet-friendly domestic violence shelters across the country. If you want to know more about how to help the situation, please visit PurpleLeashProject.com
TIE O’ THE DAY hopes you will reach out every day to do good in the world, in any way you can—for any causes that matter to you.