Category: Hats

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I’m Hungry, But The Ice Cream Is Gone

Bow Tie o’ the Day suggests I eat some fish, while Cufflinks o’ the Day suggest macaroni and cheese. Along with being out of ice cream, I’m out of those two food staples too.

But I’m happy to wear symbols of them. In fact, wearing them is sorta like wearing my shopping list. When I go shopping at Dick’s Market later this morning, how can I possibly forget to buy salmon and macaroni? Off course, that all depends on if I remember to look at what I’m wearing. I’m good at forgetting to take my shopping list to the store or—if I have my list—for forgetting to look at it while I’m there filling my shopping cart with everything except what I went there for. Perhaps I’ll have more luck buying the listed things if I’m wearing the grocery items I need. I’ll let you know if it worked.

The woman who works at the meat counter at Dick’s gives me an earful of chastisement if I end up there without wearing a tie of some kind. She particularly enjoys the bow ties. She always has something to say about whatever tie I’m wearing. She also remembers the meat items I usually get, right down to the poundage. I don’t even have to tell her my order. She just gets my order ready while we chat. After she’s wrapped it all up and printed out the price for each item, she asks if I need anything else. I rarely do. She knows my meat list well.

Since Dick’s is my regular grocery store, my ties are usually a point of conversation with whatever staff I run into. Even the folks in the pharmacy ask to see whatever neckwear I’m in, even if I’m not picking up prescriptions. The pharmacy is right next to the ice cream section, which you know I frequent. It never fails. A pharmacist will see me choosing my ice cream, and they’ll call me over so they can gaze at my tie.

I have no idea if the Dick’s folks like me, but they love my neckwear. Sometimes I feel like I work at Dick’s. It’s as if I’m the resident entertainment. My ties make the store a cabaret. Food and a show together = a cabaret.🍗

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Memories R U

I’ve been thinking about how much I enjoyed my balloon ride in Albuquerque a couple of weeks ago. Tie o’ the Day is here to tell you I had a whale of a good time.🤡 Honestly, I did. There are things you don’t even know you want to do, but after you do them, you can’t imagine what kept you from doing it for so long. My balloon flight is a perfect example of that. Why did I finally do it? Because I was there and the balloon was there. Simple as that. That single hot air balloon ride added a nifty story to the essence that is “me.”.

We should do more things like that, and for that reason: WE ARE HERE. We might be surprised sometimes about how important some things can become to us, when we didn’t even know we’d ever do them. Some of those because-it-was-there experiences might turn out to be boring, or we might even regret doing them. Or they could transform our perspective in a positive way. They could alter the course of our lives for the better. But how do we know how it’s going to turn out if we don’t get out of our comfort zone and try a thing or two we never seriously considered. I guess I’m saying to get into your “discomfort zone” and explore.

Jump off that intimidating too-high diving board. Decide where to go on vacation by closing your eyes and sticking a pin on a map. Go to a concert by a band you’ve never heard of before. Take a college course in a subject you think you don’t care about. Take up a sport you hate to watch. Strike up a real conversation with someone you don’t know very well. Ask an “enemy” to lunch. Volunteer to do good deeds you know you’re not very good at.

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Face a fear. Experience something that isn’t something the “you” you think you are would normally do. It can be a bigly feat. It can be a teeny-tiny step. Whatever it is, it will enlarge your soul. You will be changed forever, if only in the sense that you’ll know yourself and the world better than you did before.

Memory is what you carry with you wherever you go, but you have to make memories in order to have them to carry. Get a very big backpack to haul them around. And don’t be selfish: unzip that backpack and share your memories with others. 🤠

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Here’s A Lecture, But It’s Short.

Hat, Tie, Shirt, and Cufflinks o’ the Day sing out loudly in their clothing chorus: “The voting polls are still open. Hurry up and get your butt there, if you haven’t cast your ballot already.” Make sure you take the opportunity to flex your political muscle. You are a citizen, so act like it.

As United States citizens we don’t just have rights, we also have responsibilities. We forget about that bigly detail far too often. If you read The Bill of Rights carefully, you will see that our rights are interwoven with our responsibilities. I think the document would be better served by being called The Bill of Rights and Responsibilities. No, I’m not proposing we change the name. I’m proposing that we expand our perspective of The Bill of Rights to include the totality of the ideas the document actually contains.

Personally, I believe that if you have the incredible right to vote, you also have the responsibility to use that right. So use it. Just a thought.

My tiny Constitutional Law lecture is over. My name is Helen Eileen Wright, and I approved this message. 😸

 

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It’s A Do-over

Turtle-and-starfish Bow Tie o’ the Day is as eager as I am to expand my palate. The other day, I mentioned I picked up octopus salad at Dick’s Market while I was buying my usual squid salad. The store had never carried octopus salad before, so I just had to bring some home to give it a try. Thankfully, the salad is not made with bigly octopi. Those would be hard to swallow. So I guess that means the salad is made with baby octopi. Sorry, baby sea creatures.

Whenever I fix a dinner entrée for the first time, I always ask Suzanne if it’s a do-over– meaning, does she like it enough to want me to make it again. With that rating in mind, I declare this particular recipe of octopus salad to be a do-over. I would eat it again. Octopus does not taste like chicken (ha, ha, ha). Actually, it tastes almost exactly like the Dick’s squid salad I regularly eat.

While the main ingredient in each of these salads is the sea creature meats, tons of sliced ginger in each salad creates a perfect zippy flavor. Really, the only significant difference I found between the squid salad and the octopus salad was that octopi are chewier. Significantly chewier. I think I had to chew one of the octopi for at least three minutes before it was safely swallowable. They should use octopi to make chewing gum.

The only meat I’ve ever eaten which I would categorize as chewier than octopus is alligator. Yes, I once ate a dish called alligator-on-a-stick, at the Utah Arts Festival in 1987. Alligator is one tough meat, even if it’s skewered and barbecued and sold by a street vendor.

Tasting octopus salad was a teeny adventure. It wasn’t a huge deal, and I didn’t cringe about it or have to muster my courage. It wasn’t on my bucket list (which I don’t really have). In the scheme of things, it was a blip of a new thing to try. But I’m glad I did it. Doing it added a new story to my life. It changed me, ever so slightly. Small forays into the unknown add up to an interesting-er life, I think. The opportunities for tiny adventures are all around you, every day. All you have to do is pay attention to whatever’s sitting by the squid salad.

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Do You Want Halloween Fries With That?

Jack-o-lantern Tie o’ the Day decided to go with a clever costume. Tie clipped on a bow and declared, “I’m a BOW TIE o’ the Day.” Skitter and I went with the silly vibe costume, using the all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips phrase. We decided we are “all that and an order of fries.” Note that Skitter is so content and patient in her fry costume that she tends to nod off.

These are our morning costumes. We have different costumes for later in the day. But for now, we’re wearing our fries as we fill up the candy bowl. As usual, we had to wait to fill it until Suzanne is at work, because candy isn’t sanctioned on her diet, and she tends to grab any visible sweet that shows its face.

I am always the designated candy giver-outer on Halloween evening. I rule the door. I rule the candy bowl. I don’t care how old you are: you are welcome to knock on our door for a goodie. You are not welcome to come back for seconds. And you are not welcome to ask for extra candy for your siblings who are sick and had to stay home. Yeah right, I don’t think so. Believe me, if you try those ploys, I will give you a come-to-Jesus talkin’ to that will be ringing in your ears until New Year’s Eve.

If Suzanne’s home from work when the little treat-seekers come knockin’, and she wants to sneak some candy, she knows better. She’d have to wrestle me for the candy bowl, and she knows she shouldn’t try that– because she knows that despite my peace-love-harmony nature, I am one tough fighter. And, like any champion fighter, I fight dirty. The fight over candy is over before it starts. I win. TKO.

In the end, I give Suzanne a scrap or two of the sweets. You know the kind I let her have. I give her the “bad” candy that not even kids really want– like those Dum Dum suckers and Bit-o-Honey’s. I always buy “bad” candy as a back-up for in case I run out of the good stuff. “Bad” candy is cheap. That’s how you can tell it’s the “bad” candy.” 👻 🎃 🤖 👽 👾 💀 👹 ☠️

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How Do You Explain These Things To A Mutt?

Look at me! Bow Tie o’ the Day and Hat o’ the Day match. I can make that happen sometimes, but it’s usually by accident. Not this time though. I meant to do this. I’m trying to distract Skitter from what’s about to happen.

I’m trying desperately to jolly up the Skit, because in a couple of hours, Suzanne and I are off to the airport to leap on a jet which will land in L.A.. Skitter knows somethin’s up. Her face in this photo is about to break my bow-tied heart. Her eyes look sadly bereft, despite the sombrero she let me put atop her doggie noggin. I was certain that a fun hat would bring her out of her doldrums. It always has that effect on me. But sporting this sombrero only ALMOST made her smile.

It’s hard on us to leave Skitter– with all her fears, her phobias, her fruit loopiness, and her vibrating. But the minute Suzanne’s angel of a sister, Marjorie, comes over this morning to stay with Skitter for an entire week o’ sleepovers, Skitter will perk up. In fact, Skitter will shed a lot of her skittishness, at the very sight of Marjorie. Marjorie has captured Skitter’s shaking, long-legged heart.

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Ice Cream Is The Freezing-est Food Group

The things you do– they tell on you. Even Bow Tie o’ the Day can see that. Yup, that is, in fact, a teeny drip of chocolate ice cream on my chin. It’s not huge, but it is there. It might surprise you to know this, but I don’t have a make-up artist and a hair stylist to primp me every day before I snap these tblog selfies. I’m sorta wash-and-wear. As a result, this afternoon my chin tells on me that I have been eating ice cream for lunch again. What my chin doesn’t tell you is that I ate the last of the ice cream, so I’ve gotta go to Dick’s Market to replenish my supply.

To properly stock up on ice cream, you must have a plan. I can help you out with that. First, you must know that there are a number of premium brands of ice cream made with gobs of sugar and cream, and it’s better to eat no ice cream at all than to eat no-name brand, lard-laden ice cream. Go for the best. One extremely rich brand or another is always on sale.

Second, choose your flavors wisely. You never know what flavor of ice cream you’re going to crave at any given time. To assure that what you crave is always in the freezer, buy a well thought-out variety: A tub o’ vanilla is a must buy. You can eat it plain, or you can douse it with any of a variety of syrups– and you can load it with candies or fruits. Next, make sure you have some kind of chocolatey ice cream. And then make sure to get a fruity ice cream. And, if it’s to your taste, you need to stock an ice cream dotted with nuts too. You have to cover all the taste bases.

At the grocery store, after you’ve made your basic selections for the ice cream pantry you’ve made of your freezer, it is your duty to choose one Ben & Jerry’s flavor for your special self– for you only. It does not matter how much your little pint of ice cream costs. It does not matter how many calories of fat it harbors. We must think of that pint as our reward for getting our sorry asses off the couch to go grocery shopping.

Even if all we buy is ice cream.

BTW   Keep wearing your pink this month, to show your support for Breast Cancer Awareness.

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Dr. Bow Does Not Wear Bow Ties

Orange Bow Tie o’ the Day and black Shirt o’ the Day join up with pink-lettered Hat o’ the Day, for a confluence of the upcoming Halloween holiday AND Breast Cancer Awareness month.

It’s perfectly clash-ceptable fashion to throw together holidays and causes in one outfit. Call attention to as many topics in one fashion statement as you wish. Different onlookers will concentrate on whichever theme strikes them. You’ll grow your audience simply by multiplying your garb’s themes. I don’t really recommend wearing more than three or four topics in one outfit, because you risk confusing onlookers and making them dizzy. As always, though, clash fashion allows you to do whatever the heck you want. You dress yourself. Make it interesting to yourself.

I have a doc appointment this afternoon in SLC with my pain doc, Dr. Bow. (That’s not her real name, but her name has a syllable pronounced BOW in it, so that’s how I will refer to her in posts.) For Dr. Bow, I like to be extra choosy about the bow tie I wear when I see her. She expects me to show up in a bow tie that will make her “oooh” and “ahhh” at each appointment– in honor of her name. I would never dishonor her by wearing a necktie to an appointment.

Dr. Bow has been my pain doc for six years, but I haven’t had an appointment with her since the day before my surgery. I had chronic pancreatitis for 18 years before I was able to have the surgery. That meant I had chronic gut pain for that same 18 years. And that meant taking pain meds, which I hate. But they were necessary for me if I wanted to have a life with any kind of movement in it.

Getting the correct pain medication and an adequate dosage of it is tricky. To quell the pain completely would have required that I take a high enough dosage to basically put me in a coma. Being comatose is not living. So Dr. Bow’s task has been to find a med and dosage that handled enough of the pain so that I could make it through a day able to do most normal things, but without making me lethargic and loopy. And comatose. Dr. Bow helped me get the right med, in the right dosage, so I’ve been able to live a productive, fulfilling, useful life.

I tell you about all of this to give you some context about how important today’s appointment is to me. I’m hoping Dr. Bow will agree to let me cut down the current dosage of my pain med. I think I am feeling less pancreatic pain since my surgery. It is difficult for me to accurately assess my pain, however, because I still have all kinds of intermittent tugs, pulls, stabs, jabs, and pains going on in my healing innards. Dr. Bow will help me figure out some of that.

Wish me luck. Cross your fingers that I can nix some of my med. I’m crossing what’s left of my pancreas.

#iwantoffmymeds  #ithinkthesurgeryhelped  #drbowwillseemyprettyscar

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A Bigly Thing To Cover My In-Between Hair

I have to try almost everything, fashion-wise.  Sometimes I try stuff on when I already know I won’t be making it a staple of my wardrobe. Suzanne’s newly purchased sun hat is one of those items. Plaid, purple Bow Tie o’ the Day is rather surprised I took the time and opportunity to put this floppy hat on my head. It is sooooo not anything close to any hat style in my hat quiver. And the size o’ the flop! I don’t even know what to comment about that.

But I’m pleased Suzanne likes the hat well enough to give it a home. This afternoon, I took it upstairs to put it away in the closet for her, and I thought, “Why the Hell-en not at least try it on?” My verdict on this headwear is a thumbs down, as I suspected it would be. On the other hand, I don’t remember a bow tie I’ve put on which I didn’t want to adopt. But if you don’t try on a diversity of styles, you might miss what suits you perfectly. Something unexpected might feel like it accentuates the authentic you.

I’m amazed at how different our like’s and dislike’s can be– whether it’s about fashion, food, pro football teams, and on and on. I can’t explain why our tastes are so all-over-the-place within a circle of friends or within our own families. For example, I’m into neckwear, while most of my peeps prefer jewelry– as far as fashion accessories go. I like to eat only the crust around the edges of a pizza, along with the toppings, while most people eat the entire slice. I’m a decades-long Seattle Seahawks fan. Suzanne rolls with the Chicago Bears.

And there’s no logical reason that any of these things should make us feel one way or the other anyway. Doesn’t the bottom pizza crust taste the same as the edge crust? Why collect things that wrap around your neck? Have I ever even been to Seattle? No.

It’s not just that we differ in our preferences. We sometimes don’t even care about something our best friend can’t live without. My bro-in-law, Gary, thinks Kurt Busch and NASCAR walk on water, and I think, “I’d rather turn right.”

Sometimes our tastes are unexplainable even to ourselves. For example, I like ice cream. I like chocolate chips. I like marshmallows. However, I abhor chocolate chips/shavings/chunks in my ice cream. I can’t abide marshmallows in it either. WTFlip?! I dunno how to figure that one out. I’m fine with a swirl of chocolate syrup in/on my ice cream. I’m fine with marshmallow creme in/on it.

As the cliché says: It is what it is. Such minor things are not worth going to war with oneself– or anybody else– about. Embrace your you-ness, however inexplicable and weird you might be, even to yourself. Your you-ness is what I and Mr. Rogers like about you. 🙃

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And On A Sunday, No Less

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I did some grand manipulating yesterday. Suzanne was, of course, the victim of it. She always is. But I’m an up-front manipulator. I make it clear that I’m doing it. She plays along, and let’s me be successful.

For example, I wanted to go to Sunday brunch yesterday. Suzanne would have preferred I declare a Pajama Day and that we not go anywhere at all. She knew my innards had been painfully tugging at me for a couple of days, and she wanted me to rest. She was thinking of what I needed.

So I did this little speech about how I was feeling oodles better than a few days ago, but I didn’t feel quite well enough to cook breakfast, and I didn’t want her to cook because she’s been working such long hours, and then coming home to cook and clean and heft and tote and yada yada. And how I felt sooo bad she’s had to carry the whole work/home burden for two months, as well as take care of me and blah blah blah. And so I told her that since I didn’t feel quite better enough to cook, it’s only right that she drive us somewhere to brunch, and I pick up the tab. (As if our money is separate.)

The manipulation worked. I knew what I was doing. She knew what I was doing. And don’t think for one second that she doesn’t use the same manipulation tactic on me. Honest, open manipulation is my fave kind of manipulation.

So off we headed to SLC, to yet another restaurant we’ve never tried before: PURGATORY. Yes, on the Sabbath. Suzanne had a breakfast burger without a bun. I had a bacon-egg-french fry-beans-pickled onion-salsa breakfast burrito. We were both pleased with our entrees. We ate on the deck, and when we were done, we sat there for another hour or more– iPhones in hand– searching online for outlandish cowboy boots for me. I have no idea how our conversation led us to the topic of cowboy boots. But, oh, the choices we found!

I asked Suzanne if she had a problem with me wearing cowboy boots with my shorts. She was all for it. I mean– I wore them with my shorts as a kid, and the Bible says we’re supposed to be childlike. And it was, in fact, the Sabbath. So Sunday brunch was a little bit like a Sunday School lesson, I guess. My spirit is joyful that we went to PURGATORY on the Sabbath.