The boot laces are tied, which is all that is necessary to qualify this slide pic o’ me for Tie o’ the Day. I swear I can remember standing in our front yard in the sun while these pix were taken. The date on the slide is April 1967, making me a total of 3. The boots are not small enough to be mine, and not bigly enough to be Dad’s, so they must belong to one of my siblings. Clearly, even in my wee beingness I had already confidently started my amazing career as a bold fashionista rebel. I just hadn’t figured out the bow tie gimmick yet.
We, here at TIE O’ THE DAY are pleased to present this forgotten late-60’s slide, starring my hip mom, Helen Sr., and her equally stylish mom, my Oak City grandma, Martha Anderson. Check out their mod footwear. Grandma makes those Keds look sexy as all get-out, don’t you think? And, of course, they’re tied with bows.
The date on this slide is September of 1968. I don’t know what these two precious ladies were up to that day, but it’s a safe bet that yumtastic cooking, canning, and/or expert quilting was involved. (Note: It appears from this picture that Grandma Anderson still had both of her eyes, but that wouldn’t be for much longer.)
If you’ve had the chance to know these two dames, there is nothing further I need to tell you about them. These women always spoke for themselves, and presented themselves as exactly who they were and what they were about. (Mom continues to do so, even on pandemic lockdown at the care center.) What you saw and heard from them was what you got. I would say that Mom is a more sarcastic, liberated version of Grandma, but that is due mostly to the different times into which they were born. If Mom is Grandma-squared, I am Mom-cubed—simply due to historical culture.
If you haven’t had the honor of knowing either/both of them, let me offer this about Mom and Grandma: They mirrored each other in their generosity and willingness to serve others. They differed in approach somewhat. Mom won’t let anybody get away with anything mean or petty, but she’ll make and serve you scrumptious potato salad while she’s nicely putting you in your place. You end up thanking Mom, as you walk away from being shown the error of your ways.
Grandma Anderson is the only person I’ve known who truly loved her enemies—to the point that she couldn’t remember who her enemies were, or even that she had any. I recall a conversation with Grandma during which, for whatever reason, I mentioned to her that “so-and-so” had once caused her some grief. Grandma was still sound of mind at the time of our conversation, but she truly could not recall any such slight from “so-and-so,” or from anybody else. She had no time for enemies, because she was too busy loving everybody. I’m working on honing that eternally handy skill, inch by inch.
In this exotic slide, Tie o’ the Day is worn in by none other than my grandpa, Walt Wright. He was my first tie influence. We look like we were probably ready to head off to church. Note my red/orange shoes! I doubt our dog, Dum Dum, was going with us, but I’m sure Dum Dum tried to follow us. It’s just what Dum Dum did. She’s so light in this slide, she looks like a ghost. Well, we kinda all three look like ghosts. Apparently slides don’t hold up well when nobody knows where they are for decades. But that’s part of their charm too.
I’m overjoyed to share this. It is a slide, among many, I ran onto today—after 40 years of not really knowing there were missing slides of my childhood. My slide projector still works, with its 40-plus-year-old bulb. I am flabbergasted and astonished at my luck in finding these. Sorry that my walls are textured, so it makes the image look like a puzzle I put together. Be warned! You will be seeing more slides o’ my kidhood past in the near future. I’m sure tall tales and half-truths will abound. Like in my usual posts.
Tie o’ the Day knows this is my second favorite swimming suit. Despite being a forever red-and-white Delta Rabbit, I prefer the look of the sleeved green-and-white swimming suit I posted this morning. However, it has one draw-back: Its sleeves prevent onlookers from seeing my first and fave tattoo, which lives on my right upper arm. Yes, it’s my TATTOO tattoo, which I got over 30 years ago. I wanted a tattoo, but I had no idea what I wanted my tat to be. I like words, so TATTOO was an easy idea to come up with. The tattooist thought I was nuts, but oh well. Over the years, my simple TATTOO tat has gotten more attention than all of my other tats combined. People ask me to explain it, so I tell them what I just told you, and I say the idea fell out of my odd, bipolar head.I have 5 tattoos at this point. 4 of them are words. The other is a bee on my shoulder in honor of my dad, St. Ron of the Bees. One of my tattoos is not for public display. (Don’t even ask.) Right before the pandemic shut things down, I had made an appointment at a nearby tattoo studio to get two more words etched into my flesh. I’m hoping the tattoo studio will re-open soon. When it does, I’m sure I’ll do a post for y’all about the two words and the whole inky ordeal. Me? Write a post about something going on in my life—past, present, and/or future? Surprise, surprise!BTW I’m not wearing my cowboy boots in this photo, but I am wearing my Sloggers cow boots. They’re kinda sorta almost not really the same thing.ðŸ¤
Tie o’ the Day helped me out in my quest to create a few medical mask substitutes which could be used if you have absolutely no access to the real thing. From a cowgirl hot pad, to a running shoe, to a copy of a photo of Mom and Dad, and all the way to Mom’s long-time license plate, which my truck inherited when Mom quit driving her car— they all work, as far as I’m concerned.
I learned something today, after I got over my grumpy grump grumpiness. Apparently, lettuce can serve a plethora of purposes beyond being food. Lettuce can also be headwear, neckwear, and footwear. How ’bout that! A hat, a Bow Tie o’ the Day, and shoes. I never knew lettuce had a fashionable life. Now I do.
The kind comments I got after yesterday’s “unfriended” post made me feel like I was getting fan mail. Thank you so much for the uplift I needed. I didn’t even know I needed it until I got it. I appreciate that y’all seem to like reading my little tie posts about whatever carnival swirls through my brain on any given day.
In fact, I feel so appreciative of your appreciation that I am compelled to give you a Christmas-in-August gift of thanks in response to your positive words. I searched the 2018 Christmas neckwear photo archives for a speshul image. Choosing the right Bow Tie o’ the Day picture to demonstrate my gratitude to you was a no-brainer: it had to be this one.
Remember, in early December last year an anonymous TIE O’ THE DAY reader sent me, via UPS, this black bow tie attached to a festive thong. Fantabulous undies! It was a perfect gift for me and my funny bone, but not suitable for public viewing here without being worn strategically with my mixed-up pajamas, my sleep cap, and my Georgia Grayson Wadsworth-crocheted bow tie slippers. And yes, my pj pants are decked out in likenesses of The Grinch.
Please enjoy this out-of-season gift snapshot, with all my thanks for reading TIE O’ THE DAY.
HEY! Why does every photo Suzanne snaps of me make me look like a bobblehead– like in this pic? My head looks bigly and bobbly when she’s the photographer.
I need to rant. I’m having a USANA Ampitheatre hangover. Last night was my first time attending a concert at the West Valley City venue, and Suzanne and I both declare it will be our last visit to the place. I was so disappointed in the venue that I went on strike while there, refusing to click any photographs for TIE O’ THE DAY posts. That’s right, I put my phone in my Saddle Purse for the duration of the concert. But here’s a photo of what I wore, in case you want to know. And I know you do.
First, I want to make clear that the band we went to hear, Mumford & Sons, was in fine form. My list o’ complaints has nothing to do with them. Fabulous musicianship. Intelligent lyrics. Point-on showmanship. Yes, Mumford & Sons delivered. USANA? Not so much.
Of course, the standard concert complaint issues were there too. I’m talking about the things that happen at nearly every concert. For example, concerts never begin on time. I wanna tell ’em, “Hey, Performer, this is your job. You chose the time, and I signed up to be here at the designated time. Hold up your end of the performance time commitment.”
Also, to my fellow concertgoers, I wish to say these things about what happens at almost all concerts: “I did not pay 8 billion bucks for a ticket to Mumford & Sons to listen to you sing the wrong lyrics off-key right outside my eardrum.” And “Hey, you in the seat in front of me– thanks for standing up the whole concert, blocking my view of the stage and one of the bigly screens. Why did you pay for a reserved seat, if you were only going to stand in front of it the entire concert?” And to those of you who dance while tipsy, “Stumble over your own feet and your own purse if you really must. Stay away from me and my Saddle Purse.” In summary, I want to yell it out: “I’m no stern sourpuss, but YOU ARE NOT THE BAND I PAID TO SEE. Go ahead, sing ALONG, but don’t sing OVER the band. Stand if you must, but remember there are old folks like me sitting behind you, and we can’t see through you. Do your dance, but not on my toes.”
My specific complaints about USANA begin with the traffic and parking. Let me be brief: At USANA, there is too much traffic, and not enough parking. We thought of offering a WVC resident cash to let us park in their driveway for the evening. By the time we had snaked our way through what seemed like every neighborhood in WVC, and finally got into a USANA parking lot for $20, we had missed the opening band entirely. (Did I say I had paid 8 billion bucks for our tickets?)
And I’m sorry, but the slope of the floor to which USANA’s seats were attached was close-but-no-cigar. It was impossible to see the stage while sitting in the seats, when even a very short person sat properly in their seat directly in front of me in the row ahead. Suzanne and I watched the bigly monitors most of the performance. We also moved to various empty seats twice before finding a “meh” view of the stage.
And then there was the mosquito factor! I’m itching and scratching as I type. No further comment about that topic is needed.
But the worst, most egregious irritant I found on my first and last outing to USANA was the stage design itself. Of course, it’s an outdoor stage. It’s like a cavernous black box, pushed back and up against the night sky. Bigly sky + cavernous black box has the effect of making performers look like HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS characters. The performers appear to be oh-so tiny. I had the sensation of looking through the “wrong” end of the binoculars while trying to spy coyotes from atop the Delta water tower. (Yes, I have been up there. Back in the day.)
Thanks for listening, tbloglodytes. I’m feeling much better now.
I found Bow Tie o’ the Day in the pages of VOGUE magazine. This will be the perfect Fall ensemble for me. Almost. I will be wearing my cowboy boots with it. Ans the Saddle Purse. That’ll make it perfect.
From the very minute Suzanne and I got back home from our trip to the Ozarks, Skitter has been bugging me about how long it’s been since we have driven to Delta to spend the day with Mom. We all miss seeing Mom, but Skitter is downright annoying about it. Even Bow Tie o’ the Day feels annoyed at her. Skitter can fit her wish to see Mom into any sentence that flows from her stinky canine mouth.
For example, she’ll come inside from pottying first thing in the morning, and she’ll say something like, “Grandma would love to sit with me on the patio right now to watch the sun come up over the hills behind our house.” And then, after Skitter finishes her dog chow breakfast, she’ll say, “Grandma’s mush was the best. I’m glad she always saved a little to give me. I need to check on her to make sure she’s eating her breakfast.” And then, mid-morning, Skitter will say to me, “Isn’t this about the time we used to drive Peggy and Grandma to Cardwell’s every day for a drink? Do you think Grandma needs us to take her a drink?” When I fill the gas tank at 7-11, Skitter says, “I bet there’s enough gas in the car now to drive to see Grandma.” And on and on, throughout the day. You know how it is. I’m sure your kids did the same thing to you. If there was something they wanted you to do or buy, they managed to constantly insert the topic into every situation.
I miss Mom every minute of every day, too. But Skitter needs to quit pestering me about it. I go as often as I can. It’s not like I’m going to forget about spending time with Helen Sr. if Skitter doesn’t nag me about visiting her. I’ve started to wear earplugs around the house when it’s just me and The Skit, so I don’t have to hear her talk about it anymore.
And so… this morning, I put on my cowboy boots and a flip flop Bow Tie o’ the Day, and Skitter and I drove 2 1/2 hours to Delta, to Millard Care and Rehab– to spend a chunk of the day with Mom. But the old girl wasn’t there! Nope. The story I got was that Mom and two of her MCR caregivers escaped to an LDS Temple a few minutes before I showed up. You, go, girls!!!
Skitter was so traumatized and sad about not finding Mom at MCR that I had to nearly drag her off Mom’s bed so we could drive right back home. I left a MUNCH candy bar and a bag of chewy ginger cookies on Mom’s pillow so she’ll know I really was there to visit her.
BTW Notice how Mom was so excited to get to the Temple that she didn’t even straighten up her bed before she headed up north.
And another BTW Thank you again, folks of MCR, for treating Mom like the glorious damsel she is.
