Category: Hats

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My Brain Says Odd Things

Bow Tie o’ the Day is proud to show off its circuitry. Hat o’ the Day reminds me I haven’t yet posted my initial impression of Tucson. When we drove away from the Tucson airport, and we could get a clear view of Tucson for the first time, I told Suzanne it looked almost like Albuquerque– where we had visited a few months before. Except, of course, Tucson has a whole lotta cacTIE. I immediately renamed the city– and will forever refer to it as– CACTUSQUERQUE.

I have never understood how my mind does that. Sometimes my brain moves at a pace I can barely keep up with– even when I’m not manic. I don’t think it has anything to do with my being bipolar. (Stay tuned for interesting, bigly news about a new thing I’ll be trying, in order to tame my rapid-cycling bipolar-ness.) My mind has always functioned like this. It cuts to the validity of what someone says, and/or it cuts to the joke. The perspective that humor can provide often shows a truth we otherwise couldn’t see.

For the past few years, I haven’t been writing many “new” poems. Instead, I have been combing through my notebooks– forming poems out of ideas, snippets, lines, and whatever I can mine from my basically indecipherable handwriting. I have spent the bulk of my time editing. I’m working to form sense and poetry out of what I wrote over the last decade. Sometimes, it isn’t pretty. It requires going back to what was happening when I scribbled these bits and pieces of language. That can be painful. Sometimes it can be exhilarating. One thing is for sure: Going back to those memories, from the perspective of where I am now, is always enlightening.

Looking at things I wrote long ago can also be mystifying. When I sat down at my desk this morning, I picked up a notebook and found some weird tidbits. Here are a handful of examples of the notes I discovered today:

“I ordered a tiara, so I can explore my princess side.” I have never ordered a tiara in my life. What could this sentence possibly mean? It is funny though.

“I never meant for that to NOT happen.” We could all make a list of things we tried to make happen, but couldn’t.

“Be angry when necessary– but always without carrying resentment.” That’s got some wisdom to it.

“My Tobasco heart” I’m thoroughly stumped about what I was thinking when I wrote this phrase.

“It’s a desert thing./ You have to be there/ In a truck,/ To get your clue/ That leads you to/ Your ghost/ Of many colors.” Puzzling, but I like it. I can probably turn it into a decent poem.

“Is there a patron saint of bipolar?” Must have been a particularly bad day.

“Scrabble and scrapple are not cousins.” WTFudge????

See. Strange. I told you so. I have my editing work cut out for me.

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What A Wonderful World!

I couldn’t sleep early, early, early this morning, so I got out of bed at 3:30 in the A.M. to watch an hour o’ JUDGE JUDY re-runs on channel 13– which is what I do if I’m not conked-out at 3:30 A.M., Tuesday-Saturday mornings. Well, my desktop computer screen stared at me as I headed downstairs, so I just had to glance at Facebook for a second. And look what Suzanne’s brother, James, had posted to me at some point last night! Thank you, James. Thank you, James. There is no way I couldn’t make this our Bow Tie o’ the Day.

I don’t know where James found the post, but it’s so me. And it’s so anyone-who-reads-these-neckwear-posts, meaning you. The caption under the picture– the author of which, I have no idea– is a swell cherry on top. Here it is: “Some days you just add a bow tie to your chicken hat and get on as best you can.” Story of my life.

Have a brave, bow-tied chicken hat day, folks! I know I will.

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Argyle Is Almost As Hip As Paisley

I have always liked to vacuum. There’s something inherently satisfying about pushing around a noisy machine and watching dog fur, crumbs, and dry mud disappear– VOILA!– from the carpet. In fact, when I was earning bucks during school breaks– while working on my Master’s at the U of U– I often worked with Mom’s custodial crew in the IPP Administration Building, on the swing-shift. My job was to conquer the floors. I vacuumed. I swept. I mopped. I buffed. Buffing was my favorite. (If I ever take up a new hobby, it will be buffing floors.) My IPSC floors and stairs were pristine when I left that building at midnight. With my Walkman blaring Bruce Springsteen and Cyndi Lauper into my headphones, I had a fabulous and clean time.

But today, for some reason, I couldn’t get myself in the mood to do the vacuum dance with the Shop-Vac on the stairs, which my the Honey-Do List I made for myself said I better accomplish. I have found that when I have to do housework I’m not in the mood to do, it helps me to gussy-up in a swell outfit– in which I then parade around the house doing my duties like I’m on a fashion show catwalk. So that’s what I did. And yes, argyle Tie o’ the Day and I sang a duet of the 1991 song by RIGHT SAID FRED as I did it. Sing with me, people: “I’m too sexy for my shirt/ Too sexy for my shirt/ So sexy it hurts/…. ‘Cause I’m a model, you know what I mean/ And I do my little turn on the catwalk/…On the catwalk, yeah/ I shake my little tush on the catwalk.” And so on.

I cannot believe I even remember that song. I disliked it decades ago when I first heard it, and I still don’t like it. There are so many other songs– and a zillion other things– I would like my brain cells to remember. But no– I’m stuck remembering this piece of trite crapola song. Why do our brains remember hideous stuff that we wish we had never crossed paths with in the first place, while our brains forget important information like our blood type? It kind of makes you wonder how smart our brains can really be, if that’s how they insist on functioning.

To be fair, my mind remembers plenty of info I want to keep. For example, I always remember my fave scripture and where to find it (Mosiah 2:17). I’m surprised by how often that clump of scripture has come in handy throughout my life. My mind also holds on to plenty of vital trivia. I’m surprised how trivia comes in almost as handy as the scripture does. Who wouldn’t want to know President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s dog’s name was Fala? Now that’s a keeper piece of trivia!

Come to think of it, my memory’s “working-properly section” is most likely full of only scriptures, trivia, visions of neckwear, and dogs’ names. And that suits me just fine.

BTW Yes, I did get our stairs vacuumed this afternoon. I can at least cross one task off today’s Honey-do List.

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It’s The Hat

Skitter and I haven’t gotten out of our pajamas yet, but we have donned our smiley Ties o’ the Day. We are happy clams this morning, and we expect to have a grin on our faces all dang day. That’s our goal. Ties will lead us merrily through our day of vacuuming and writing. Oh, about wearing my John Deere Hat o’ the Day for the second day in a row: It is my go-to hat when I can’t quite decide which of my gaggle of hats best un-matches what I’m wearing. The hat’s green-and-pink plaid generally makes effective clash no matter what duds I sport.

People have asked me if Skitter minds being a neckwear model in my posts– you know, since she’s skittish about everything on and in the earth, as well as in the heavens above it. Let me just say this: Skitter tolerates it. She’s not askeered of modeling neckwear, but she simply doesn’t understand what the neckwear photos and ensuing fuss are all about. I have often heard her mutter under her breath, “What the gobstoppers is up with this?”

Skitter is unaware she’s a star. She also doesn’t know that even our readers wonder what the gobstoppers the posts are all about. The posts just show up on the website, or on Facebook, or in their email. People read them or don’t read them. And still, I write posts and poetry. And still, Skitter watches me while I plunk away on my laptop. And still, even I have no clue what’s up with this venture, or where it will lead me. (Suzanne says there’s a book in it. I will cogitate on that.)

Things don’t have to have a clear purpose. Experiencing them– and deciding to find personal meaning in them– is plenty more than enough reason to engage in pursuits that interest us, no matter how odd those interests might be to others. Or even to ourselves.

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Just Let It Wash Over You

True art transcends language. Bow Tie o’ the Day will be the first to tell you that when you’ve created an outfit that ranks on the highest artistic level of clash fashion, words are not enough to describe it. Just wear it. Let people gaze at your get-up until their eyes hurt, which probably won’t be long if you’ve clashed your threads in a superior way. Talk about shock and awe! I can’t really see the mismatch-mix while I’m wearing this set o’ duds, but my eyes are in pain at what I can catch of it in my peripheral vision. Skitter naps all amazed at the look I’ve put together.

I love clashion days like today! It’s a mismatch score of 10. I win!

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Howdy And Yahoo!

I spread the gospel of neckwear. For example, it is my firm belief that if everyone wore a bow tie every day, the world would be a tiny bit kinder and lighter. It is almost impossible to be rude to bow tie-wearin’ folk. Bow ties are too nifty to inspire hate– whether you’re wearing one or looking at someone who’s wearing one. A bow tie is like a wink. An oversized and/or untraditionally shaped bow tie is especially lovable. Neckties can be as charming as bow ties (especially the ties I collect), but ties have the added connotations of words like “work,” “stuffed shirt,” “boss,” “authority,” “uniform,” “formal” and “serious.” Bow ties tend to escape that sort of baggage.

This afternoon’s Tie o’ the Day is here to tell you that one way to lighten up the baggage of neckties is to wear a hat. A cowboy hat works nicely, but almost any hat will do– except the Pope’s hat. His hat doesn’t really make anyone feel like chillin’ out. In my opinion, baseball caps are the top choice of hat to pair with neckties because they are casual and reminiscent of youth, play, and sunshine. They’re also cheap, which means you can own a billion of them. And I assure you that clashing a tie with your wardrobe get-up crumbles the seriousness of ties too.

In fact, the main point of clash fashion is to remind you that you do not have to dress like everyone else. If you like solid colors, muted colors, matching, or uniforms, etc., that’s ok– if it really is your style. Your solitary fashion job is to look like you. Don’t dress like everybody else just because you think you’re supposed to: express your soul. Flex your soul. Experiment. You just might find that your soul looks like a purple-and-green paisley shirt, camo shorts, and a matador hat. (Ooooh, I’ll have to try that. It sounds like a fun-a-roo get-up!) Be ye not afraid of showing your soul in your attire.

Try it. The more you truly resemble your authentic self, the more you will feel at home in the life you’re living. And that’s exactly where you should feel at home, since it’s exactly where you always are. Seems quite obvious, eh?

Do you really think I always knew I would be dressing like I dress at age fifty-damn-five; that I’d be wearing at least two ties/bow ties per day; that I’d be taking infinite selfies o’ me and my neckwear; and that I’d be writing a blog about whatever my day’s neckwear inspires? I didn’t know this is what my soul looks like until I tried a few dozen different styles and modes of living over the decades. I experimented until I met my soul. Now, my style pretty much reflects my soul, and I can live in accordance with my soul’s values. And look at me now! I’m still not famous. Yet. But I am not homesick for my true soul– which I was for much of my life.

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It’s Only Stuff

I intentionally do not have the Facebook app on my phone. I also intentionally do not have the administrative/editing capabilities of the TIE O’ THE DAY website set up on my phone. When I’m out and about and away, there’s no way I can post a darn thing until I get back to my laptop at the hotel. That’s exactly how I want it. If I’m doing something, I don’t want to even be tempted to stop in mid-activity and write a post that comes to mind about it. I do not want to miss doing the next thing or the next thing, etc. cuz my head is in my phone, posting about what already happened– at the expense of what I’m doing right now. I post about my life, but I want to live it first. Having experiences is primary. Making my experiences into stories and observations and sermons is secondary.

In Las Vegas, while out gallivanting around the Strip with Suzanne, I ran into four bow tie products I didn’t buy– although one of them caused me stop in the middle of the path through the mall of shops, in which we found ourselves. And I mean STOP. Upon seeing the luggage shown in the photo, I became a mute statue. All I could do was point. I so wanted this set of bow tie luggage. But I will have to start a GO FUND ME account if I’m going to buy it– unless any of y’all have $3000 just sitting around in a cookie jar, and are willing to fork it over so I can buy something I don’t even need.

I could have afforded the hat shown in one of these pix, but it just didn’t strike me as something I’d wear.

The same is true of the bow tie necklace. It was affordable. It has good bling, and yet it was somehow too “plain” for my taste.

Now, the tie-design necklace Suzanne is modeling was downright hideous to behold. Even Suzanne couldn’t make it okay to look at. No way was I gonna wear that object of not-art. And you know darn well that I will generally wear anything. That should prove how wrong this necklace looked.

When I am traveling– out discovering things and having experiences– I am never on the search for neckwear products. But I can’t help it if I run into pertinent objects occasionally. It’s true that when I do come across some tie/bow tie thing, I consider what I could do with it, or write about it, in a post. Rarely, do I postpone my immediate plans in order to stop and acquire it. Neckwear doo-dads are beauteous, but they don’t compare to the joy of fully participating in the adventures– bigly or small– of your own life. That’s how you build a life. You can write about what you did later– when you get home.

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Like The Wind

Since I declared yesterday to be a Pajama Day, I need to report that I did, in fact, loiter around the house in my mismatch-y pj’s and old-timey sleep hat for every minute of my Saturday. Well, I did leave the house once for about 45 seconds, for which event I changed into a striking wood-polka-dotted-pink-glitter Bow Tie o’ the Day. And, of course, I had to step into my Sloggers cow-print boots and don my harlequin-design cape for a dash to my car, to retrieve the new MUMFORD AND SONS cd I had left in there. (Oddly enough, the cd is titled DELTA.) Every Pajama Day requires tunes!

Oh, yes. I must also report that I did eat ice cream for each of my three meals, as per Pajama Day protocol. The entire TILLAMOOK tub of Caramel Butter Pecan ice cream has passed on into the vast, warm Heaven o’ my tummy. Pajama Day or not, today I’m opening up the tub of TILLAMOOK brand S’mores ice cream.

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Another Cape For My Capers

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.)

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 it.