In my position as Chief Fashion Goddess here at TIE O’ THE DAY, I am often consulted about topics of style and attire. Recently, I was asked if a person can ever go overboard by wearing too much peacock garb at one time. My answer is a resounding, “No! It is not humanly possible to wear an overabundance of peacock paraphernalia. Too much is never enough—where the peacock theme is concerned.” These selfies are my proof. I mean—really, does it look like I’m overly peacocked? Do I look like a lunatic? Do I appear to be off my clothing rocker? Of course not. I look like the redneck poet that I am. 😜🤡
FYI My peacock Bow Tie o’ the Day was made with genuine peacock feathers.
Yesterday, Skitter and I packed our various water bottles into the truck and headed south to spend some time with Mom. It was a no-brainer for me when it came to choosing Tie o’ the Day for the occasion. The tie had to be Mona Lisa—a tie o’ beauty for a visit with my beautiful mother. Skitter and I were surprised to find Mom wasn’t wearing any earrings. It’s been quite a long while since we’ve seen her ears naked. She also didn’t mention my earrings, which she always does. She did mention liking Skitter’s tie a number of times. Of course, she remarked about Mona throughout the visit. She also made a bigly deal about liking the taco socks I was wearing. Mom told me she is content with not doing much anymore. She said, “All my life I did everything, all the time.” She took a long pause, looked into my eyes, and said, “But not all of me is here anymore. Do you know what I mean?” I told her I knew. I did not tell her how many years I’ve already missed so much of her. Nor did I tell her how she sometimes melts farther away from me, even as I am sitting right next to her. And I certainly didn’t tell her how helpless and ineffectual it makes me feel that there is not one damn thing I can do for her to make it stop. 🕯
I wasn’t a bit hungry this afternoon, but Suzanne had a hankering to eat bacon. Unfortunately, the only bacon we had in the house at the time was my bacon Tie o’ the Day. So, I changed out of my pajamas I planned to wear all day after having declared a Pajama Day for myself the minute I woke up this morning, with no intention to leave the house even to get the mail. I then spent a significant chunk of time and effort digging around in the Tie Room, in order to find the exact right piece of neckwear to wear in public while doing this errand. So then, I searched for, and found, my stray keys in a place where I have never, ever put them before. After 20 minutes of looking for my wallet, I finally located it in the back pocket of a pair of jeans which I had unintentionally kicked completely under the bed, so that the jeans were not even visible to the human eye. And finally, I trudged to the store—for the sole purpose of buying one, single, solitary package of bacon for Suzanne. After Suzanne cooked and ate the bacon I brought home, she said my single-item grocery trip was well worth it to her.🥓 Of course it was. To her. I aim to please.
Last night Suzanne and I ventured to The Eccles Theater in Salt Lake City, for a performance of AIN’T TOO PROUD: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE TEMPTATIONS. It’s a Broadway musical not BY the Motown group, but ABOUT the group. If you’re too old to remember The Temptations, or if you’re too young to have a clue about the group, do yourself a favor and visit YouTube to watch a video or two of their classy synchronized dance moves which accompanied their complex vocals. The Temptations’ choreography was somehow simple but extravagant at the same time. The group’s tight moves were sweetly innocent, while simultaneously being slickly seductive. Their smooth moves were the equivalent of crushed velvet. The performances in this particular production at The Eccles stood up well to what can be seen in existing footage of the real shows. There are also the iconic songs themselves, like “My Girl,” “Just My Imagination,” and “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone.” As always, my fave Temptations songs are the most desolate, bleakest songs in their catalog—like one of their lesser known hits, “I Wish It Would Rain.”
I used the night out as a chance to finally wear my silver floppy Bow Tie ‘o the Day for the first time. I won’t mention my lapel pin, although I stand by its sentiment.😏 I even wore a new jacket to last night’s show. Suzanne didn’t seem to like it though. It is cut differently than any other jacket in my closet, and the fabric’s brown plaid pattern is more traditional than what I usually cover myself with. After Suzanne first observed me in my jacket, all she kept saying was, “It’s not like what you wear. It’s not like what you wear.”—over and over again. It was as if the very sight of me in my differently-fangled jacket had stunned Suzanne into a mystical fog of confusion and repetition. Personally, my new jacket looks kind of Sherlock Holmes-y to me. Very Heathcliff-esque, if you know what I mean. I wore a splashy golf cap to balance things out.🕵️♀️🔍
Yes, I am aware this is one of the selfies I already posted in Part 1, which was about our quest for a marriage license in December of 2013. I tried the last couple of days to find our photos from the hasty ceremony that day, but I couldn’t locate them. I’m sure the pictures are safe on a memory card in a phone about 4 phones ago—in a storage bin somewhere in the garage. It’s tangled in a ball of useless old phones and old phone chargers we don’t dare get rid of. It’s where obsolete phones and their accessories go to die. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a few elephants have wandered off to die there, as well. Seriously, we have a little bit of everything in our garage—except my new truck. No room at the truck inn.
Part 1 of this tale took us all the way from Millard County, through Juab County, and eventually to the office of the county clerk in Utah county—where we were given paperwork to fill out to get a marriage license, and after we had filled out the application, we were then told the Utah County Clerk would not be issuing licenses to same-sex couples, despite the law demanding he do so. Maybe it’s just me, but I think we should have been told the county wouldn’t issue us a marriage license BEFORE we were given the paperwork to complete. In addition to the simple illegality and rudeness of the office, we were also in a hurry to get married before a hearing that morning could possibly end in a stay of the marriages. Time was of the essence.
We headed off again on I-15, to try to obtain a license in another county ASAP. Suzanne drove, and I regularly posted updates on Facebook for friends and family—about where we were on our journey and what was going on. If I didn’t update our status in a timely manner, I got texts asking me to. We had a little posse of support behind us, cheering us on. It was pleasantly unexpected. We had no idea how many folks were hoping for us to succeed in our mission. We strategically decided to not even try our luck in Salt Lake City, because we knew the lines of people doing the same thing we were doing were long, long, long. Ain’t nobody got time for that! I mean—we were racing the clock.
We decided to keep going north, into Davis County—which happened to be our home county anyway. We were not particularly hopeful this would end well for us. We showed up at the Davis County Clerk’s office in Farmington with fingers and toes crossed. My friends, I still cannot believe how we were welcomed with open arms by everyone in the office. There were a lot of couples there, and the county staff knew we were all trying to beat the possible stay which could be the outcome of the hearing—in effect, shutting down the issuance of marriage licenses to same-sex couples. I’m sure there were extra workers there, anticipating the crowd. Watching the office workers’ well organized assembly line of various legal forms was like watching one of those Rube Goldberg chain reactions where you push one marble which rolls through tubes, across tiny bridges, under a toy train car, down a miniature water tower, and so on, you finally end up with a contraption-made slice of bread on a plate. The office workers happily helped expedite us through the entire bureaucratic process. They weren’t stuffy or standoffish. They shared in the excitement around them. At the end of the paperwork, out of nowhere, a minister approached us and asked if we wanted her to perform our ceremony. After decades of no-you-can’t-marry-the-person-you-love, a perfect stranger asked if we wanted to get married. Two other strangers near us asked if we needed witnesses to the ceremony, which we did. They were our witnesses and we, in turn, were theirs. Yes, we had made it in time. We were triumphant. Plus, the hearing ended up with a decision in our favor anyway. There was no stay that day.
Y’all are, of course, welcome to your personal beliefs about gay marriage, which might differ from mine. So be it. I certainly would never presume I have the right to tell you what adult you can/cannot marry. But I will say that the support we had from good ol’, church-going Utah folks was incalculable—before and after we got hitched. It is still. Almost to a person, our friends and family members—and the strangers we met that day—were joyous about our ability to finally legally marry. They want our marriage to succeed. I can also report to you that in my nearly 60 years on the planet, the near-palpable glimpses of eternity I have experienced have shown themselves only at rare moments when I have been in Suzanne’s presence. I have never experienced such transcendence without her by my side. If there is a forever, I do not doubt we will be together in it. 💍🎩💝
I regret only one kindness we missed-out on the day we got married. It’s something we read about in the newspaper the next day. Apparently, after we were married and well on our way back to Delta for the holidays, an older Mormon married couple showed up at Farmington where the marriage ceremonies were still going on. The straight couple showed up with hundreds of cupcakes to give to the newlyweds. They said they felt compelled to do it, because everybody should have a piece of cake on their wedding day. I cannot argue with that sentiment. Kindness wins again. ,😉
On our way out of Log Haven, after a glorious meal of celebration and gratitude for each other.We took a selfie by the coats. Nobody else does that.Isn’t Suzanne dreamy?Suzanne opted for the salmon.I chose the tenderloin with asparagus and mashed potatoes.A little bit o’ blur doesn’t matter when you are having a splendid time.Even through the blur, you can see our happiness seeping through.
Log Haven is quickly becoming our go-to restaurant for our anniversary dinner. I sense it’s a tradition in the making. Because we got married so close to Christmas, we think of our Log Haven dinner as sort of a combination Anniversary/Christmas evening in the snowy mountains.
We never intended to get hitched so near Christmas. We never knew when, or if it, would be legal for us to marry at all in our lifetime. And then suddenly, it was legal in Utah. Maybe. On Friday, December 20, 2013, the state of Utah began issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, based on a U. S. District court’s ruling that day which found barring same-sex couples from legally marrying violates the U. S. Constitution. However, there was to be another court hearing on Monday, December 23rd that could possibly stay or even throw out the ruling. We had to get a marriage license ASAP, just in case the whole possibility to marry went kaput.
The problem was that we were already decking the halls in Delta for the holidays, and it was late on Friday afternoon when we got the news. All the County Clerk’s offices in Utah were closed for the weekend. We knew we had to get a license and get married as early as possible on Monday morning—before the hearing that might possibly shatter our nuptial dreams. But where would we be able to get married? We stayed stuck to the news on tv and on our phones all throughout the weekend. Some County Clerks around Utah had been wishy-washy about issuing marriage licenses to people like us, even if they had been told they had to follow the law.
By Sunday night, we had decided we had a better chance of being able to get a marriage license if we just skipped over the iffy rural counties around us and drove north. That night, we told Mom we wouldn’t be around the next day because we were running off to get married. She was happy for us and would have come with us, but she wasn’t feeling all that well. I told her not to worry about missing out on the momentous event. I told her we thought it be fun to elope anyway. Early Monday morning, we drove out of Millard County, through Juab County, and into Utah County—where we stopped in Provo at the County Clerk’s office. We walked in and told the woman behind the desk why were there. She handed Suzanne and I papers for us to fill out. We thought: so far, so good. As we filled out our documents, other couples came in and hurriedly got to work on their own license paperwork. We had completed our paperwork, when the woman behind the desk was talking to another person and said, “The County Clerk has decided he’s not going to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples.” Hold on! Back the truck up! I said, “When we first walked into this office, we told you why we came here. You gave us the proper paperwork to fill out. Why didn’t you tell us we couldn’t get a marriage license when we first walked in?” Duh. Crickets.
This was wrong in a million ways. By this time, the legal hearing that could stay or reverse our shot at getting married was underway. We were running out of time. Fortunately, reporters from The Salt Lake Tribune were there when Suzanne and I walked out, and one asked if we wouldn’t mind talking to them. He listened, took my name, and one of my quotes showed up in The Trib the next morning. I’m sure nobody in Delta thought for a minute that the quote from “Helen Wright from Delta” came from Mom, although when she read it, she said she agreed with me completely. Anyhoo…we had to decide where to drive next to secure a marriage license. Stay tuned.
According to one Xmas present Suzanne gave me, my behavior last year got me onto Santa’s “naughty” list. I tried so hard to be good, but I won’t argue about the results. I trust Suzanne’s judgment. I didn’t just get a regular lump o’ coal for Christmas, I received a “Big Ass” lump o’ coal—in the form of an oversized bar o’ soap. I know the lump o’ coal soap is a sign I was bad, but the soap smells so heavenly I might want to earn a spot on the naughty list again this year, so I can be gifted another mellifluous “big ass” bar o’ charcoal soap for the sole purpose of washing all of my bad away.
It might surprise y’all to know that Mom has surpassed me in being naughty every year, for decades. She’s better than me, even at being bad. Every Christmas, she got an entire mountain of coal as a present from Dad. Visions of toasty fires, 24/7, in our living room fireplace danced in her head. I kid you not: Mom started a fire in the fireplace upon the occasion of late September’s first chill, and that fire kept going until at least April. She took great pleasure in feeding the fireplace one lump o’ her naughty coal after another, through winter and far into spring if the temperatures were still wintry. Yup, around the holiday season, Dutson’s would deliver at least a half-ton of coal chunks behind our house. The taller the coal pile, the happier Mom was with it. Mom thought it was the best gift every year. She tended to the fire in the fireplace as if it were one of her grandkids learning to swim. She kept her eye on the fire’s progress, and fulfilled its every need. Mom’s fire always gave off perfect warmth and was maximum gorgeous. She loved her lumps of coal, and she loved telling people that a pile o’ coal was the Christmas gift Dad thought she deserved. 🔥
I wasn’t available to post yesterday. We made an early Xmas visit to Mom’s kingdom, for my true Christmas morning. I knew I would wear the leg lamp Tie o’ the Day for our visit, because Mom loves it so. But she also likes the tie on which Richie wears—and abhors—the bunny pajamas. I decided a two-fer festive Tie o’ the Day was necessary for our get-together. (She made a bigly deal about how much she liked my “ugly sweater”-ish green holiday jacket.) Skitter was a constant at Mom’s side, in all her elf-collar glory. When I pulled the phone out for pix, Mom playfully showed off one of the soft peppermints we brought her. I showed Mom a couple of Christmas “stockings” she had made me over my kidhood, and she remembered them, mostly. As you can see in the first photo, Suzanne and I found Mom the perfect Santa hat for her gift: it matches her purple housecoat AND it sports a tiara—befitting Mom’s eternal Queen Bee status. As Mom drank from a convenience store Coke with lots of ice—which she said her friend, Dot, had brought her earlier that morning—she said to me and Suzanne, “I’ll drink FOR you, and TO you, and WITH you kids—for ANY reason, ANY time.” She was having such a good time. She sounded like she had been drinking eggnog with extra whisky in it. I’ll have to quiz Dot about what she really put in that drink she brought Mom.
I still have much to do before X-mas. I’ve got to remember where I hid the gifts I got for Suzanne so she wouldn’t find them. I secreted them away so brilliantly I can’t find ’em yet. I have to wrap our gifts for Mom, including the many candies she likes. We try to stick with sugar-free goodies for Big Helen, but we seem to “accidentally on purpose” make a habit of not being able to find sugar-free versions of what Mom likes. She’s my mother, so she will always get what she wants from me—which is real sugar. The list o’ my remaining Christmas tasks is long, so breaks are necessary to my sanity. So on this break, I’m just sittin’ around the house in my Bah Humbug Santa hat—while wearing soft antlers decorated with a ribbon Bow Tie o’ the Day on top. And I’m also showing off one of my CHRISTMAS VACATION Tie’s o’ the Day. Even as I rest, I am multi-tasking. No, wait—I’m multi-tieing!
The Bow Tie o’ the Day I’m wearing is almost in hiding. I am doing a rare thing by being blendy, and it has turned out to be a highly successful attempt—especially from a distance. Fortunately, Bow Tie has green highlights on its red background and blue paisley fabric, so it distinguishes itself from my shirt the closer you get to it.
This faux tree sits atop Skitter’s living room crate. And this is what happens when Suzanne puts up a X-mas tree and leaves me alone at home with the un-ornamented thing. The ornament-free Christmas tree looked so lonely as it stood across the room from me. The tree’s loneliness vibes caused me to start reading all kinds of bereft Robert Frost poems—one of which is actually called “Bereft.” So I felt I must dress the faux tree with a few jolly ornaments. The Christmas-colors bow tie at the top was a no-brainer, as was the mostly-green elf-ish necktie with all its crafty bling and sparkle. The Rosie the Riveter ornament is close to the top, displaying the saying that often accompanies images of her: “We can do it!” Down, and to the side of the tie, the red sewing machine ornament is in honor of Suzanne’s cape-making skills. Under the necktie, the ornament is a bag o’ potato chips—also for Suzanne. And finally, the last ornament I hung was in the guise of a box o’ crayons. I am convinced world peace could finally cover the entire planet, if every person on earth had a crayon in their hands at the very same moment. Drawing with crayons has a universal calming effect. As for the overall look of the tree, I have a suspicion the tree will look very different, soon after Suzanne gets home from work and gazes at it in all its faux magnificence. 🎄
