In our first snapshot, the incomparable Grace Anne Blackwelder shows off her precious noggin, bedecked by her Bow Tie o’ the Day. Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette are obviously teaching Gracie the bow tie way to live. (This pic was taken on her three-month birthday a couple of days ago.)
Next pic. I displayed my disco ball Tie o’ the Day at the grocery store this afternoon as I rolled my shopping cart up and down the aisles. Some of these young shoppers have no idea what a disco ball is/was all about. I gave one uneducated young buck a brief 70’s music history lesson after he asked about Tie. He seemed quite fascinated by the cultural icon known as a disco ball, and he told me he was gonna google “disco” when he gets back to work. His boss will love that, I’m sure.
And finally, this Newchic ad showed up in my email today. You know how I never owned a purse in my life until I bought my Saddle Purse last March? And you know how I vowed that The Saddle Purse will be the only purse I ever own? Well, I saw the bow tie be-decked leather purse in this advertisement, and I was actually tempted to break my own purse vow. But just for a sliver of a second. I got over my brief brush with purse greed. I came to my senses about purse-ness. Although this purse sure enough sports a nifty bow tie, I did make a vow to my Saddle Purse, and to me, that it will be my one and only– forever and always. I chose the right. The purse in the ad is now just a wispy, never-made memory of another purse-y road not taken. I am a one-purse woman.
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 spend time on the oddest things. For example, I wanted to make the title of this post both true and punny, so I thought about it for a while, then dumped out my Saddle Purse on the dining table. Voila! “Table O’ Contents.” I think readers like discovering tiny, clever details in what they read, and the writer has to put them there to be discovered. It takes more work than you can imagine.
Cleaning out my first and last purse (I hope) for the very first time was eye-opening. I won’t explain the entire haul that had grown inside the saddle. You can tell what most things are, and you know their uses. But I do want to highlight a few items.
The cowboy hat belongs to Skitter, although I have worn it a couple of times. She wore it last week to Delta when we didn’t find Mom. Once she realized Mom had busted out for the day, and she wouldn’t be seeing Grandma, Skitter got pouty and hung her head so low her hat kept slipping off. Into the purse, I put it. The hat is perched on my Triple Combination (Mormon scriptures, for you heathens out there). I had put the book into my purse Sunday before I went to church with Grace Anne, and I hadn’t taken it out yet. The lens on top of my Triple Combo is my monocle. Yup, it’s the monocle I’ve been looking for throughout the last few weeks. I’ve missed it.
The red booklet is just what it says it is: a copy of The Constitution. It’s always a fine read when you’re waiting somewhere in a long line. This copy is usually in the center console of my car, so I’ll return it to its spot. I don’t know how it got in my Saddle Purse.
In fact, as a fledgling carrier of a purse, I can attest to the fact that it’s a mystery how most of the things I found in my purse today got there. It’s as if purses magically become the way stations on the journey to where items really belong. And sometimes, like with the tobacco pipe you see here, things get into purses because they don’t have a place to be. I have no Pipe Room, you know. The reason I have a pipe is no more complicated than the fact that sometimes what you’re wearing just needs a prop pipe. I suppose what I really need to do is create a Prop Room, but we don’t want a bigger house. More importantly, I ain’t movin’ again.
Total # of notebooks found in the purse: 6. Total # of pens/pencils, including 1 CTR pencil: 10. Clip for a thick stack of papers: 1 gigantic pink one, which Suzanne brought me from a work trip in Augusta, GA. The red Snoopy/Christmas tree bow tie is a spare, one of my “stunt” ties. It’s one I carry “just in case.” Also, I’ve been carrying around my spiffy watch to help me remember to take it to the jeweler for repair. The spiffy watch hasn’t yet helped me remember to take it to the jeweler for repair, as you can see.
The orange and black tube at bottom, center in the photo is my generic EpiPen injector, filled with epinephrine to counteract my allergic reactions to bee stings. I carry it with me at all times. The SMARTIES are the size of quarters!
The dial-looking thing above the EpiPen is a pack of spare batteries for my hearing aid, which my ear doc insists I call a hearing “device.” Just above the CUTTER spray, you can see one of my headlamps. I honestly don’t remember exactly when I needed a headlamp in my purse, but I can pretty much guarantee it had to do with being able to read and/or write in the dark without bothering anyone.
Oddly, one of the material objects it would be difficult for me to be without is the bright orange matchbook-looking thing to the right of The Constitution. It is designed to be like a matchbook, but instead of matches, it contains Post-it notes. It makes me laugh every time I see it. It never gets old to me.
But do you “see” what I didn’t find in my Saddle Purse? My wallet! I had to go upstairs and search for it. I finally found it in the back pocket of a pair of my shorts, in the dirty clothes. I try to keep my wallet in The Saddle Purse, but I have decades of a wallet-in-back-pocket habit to overcome. Besides, before this morning’s evacuation of the purse, my poor thin wallet couldn’t have fit into anyway.
BTW Feel free to ask about any of the items that cluttered my Saddle Purse. The last snapshot is the end result of its first bigly overhaul.
Every few months, I see the contents of Suzanne’s purse dumped out on the bed. I have learned this means it’s time for her to ferret through the contents, making decisions about what goes into the garbage, what gets filed where, and what gets returned to the empty carcass of the purse.
In April, when I finally bought the one and only purse I’ve ever owned, I vowed my Saddle Purse would never need one of these bigly archaeological digs for relevant purse inventory. Of course, I was wrong. In the short amount of time I have owned and used a purse, I have come to the conclusion that a purse naturally fills up to its gills. It’s the work of a purse to carry what we think we need, and we always need far too much. We put things in it, because it’s there.
My observations of Suzanne with her purses tells me the size of the purse doesn’t matter. She has all sizes of purses, and whatever purse she’s carrying at any given time inevitably ends up overflowing. The smaller the purse, the quicker the next purse-cleaning happens.
This morning, I opened The Saddle Purse to what you see here. It was time. Some things must leave the purse. How in the world did this happen? I have become a true purse lady.
These photos show the closed Saddle Purse (with Bow Tie o’ the Day sticking out), the opened Saddle Purse, and the dumped-out pile of its contents. Stay tuned for the next post, where you will see the complete inventory. And let me say right now that even I was surprised at a couple of things I found inside.
Tie o’ the Day is only one delightful part of my carefully chosen ensemble. I had to hie to a speshul Homeowners Association (HOA) meeting at the Centerville Branch of the Davis County Library system a few evenings ago. Suzanne was attending her book club, so I was on my own. People, if you have never been to a HOA meeting, consider yourself lucky.
No matter how important any topic on the agenda of these meetings might be, the meetings are kinda dull. I have not yet fallen asleep in one, but as I get older, it gets harder to keep the old eyeballs and earballs on the task at hand. I mean– there are pages of numbered articles, rules, laws, bylaws, and notes to suffer through. Snore. So I came up with this clashy attire, hoping to keep me and my fellow meeting-goers awake with the warring of my fabric patterns and colors. You’ll just have to use your imagination about how the cut-offs and cowboy boots added to the look. I didn’t think to take a photo of them. And don’t think I didn’t have The Saddle Purse on my shoulder.
I could have skipped the HOA meeting altogether, but I don’t want to take the chance the other owners might vote for something stoopid. In fact, there is one old bat owner (the truth hurts, but it’s still true) who seems to read the HOA bylaws as religiously as some people do their daily scripture study– and she wants everyone to know it. Her interpretations of the rules often do not have anything to do with the real legalities involved. In fact, the simpler the rule, the more she seems to have to fuss about it.
As a responsible member of my community, I consider it part of my duty in life to cancel out this woman’s wacky HOA vote, whenever necessary. And I want to be in the meeting to see it canceled. I take no glee in her defeats, but canceling out her HOA vote ensures the rest of us reasonable community regulations.
At this particular meeting, she piped up about the inadequate length of the towel hooks hanging on the swimming pool restroom doors. She spent a bigly chunk of time on that “issue.” I had to suppress my urge to hand her $10 so she could go across the street to Home Depot and buy a screwdriver and whatever size towel hooks she wants on the pool restroom doors. I wanted to tell her I’ll even switch out the hooks myself if she just won’t make us spend one more boring moment of our collective time listening to her talk about this “calamity.”
But I sat there, quiet and polite. I always do. I listen to her with an open mind every time, hoping for an important and/or useful idea to come out of her mouth. There’s nothing “wrong” with the woman. I think the woman wants to contribute. I think she wants to be knowledgeable. Most importantly, I think she wants to stretch out the length of the meetings because she is just plain lonely. That the woman is lonely is an assumption Suzanne and I share, after spending many HOA meetings with her.
Folks, there’s always more going on with people than meets the eye, and you might not always be able to learn exactly what it is. Simply be patient, always. Simply be kind, always. And remember: You’re not dead yet, and you just might find you’ve become a lonely old bat in your own belfry one day, in need of the exact right towel hook and a friend who knows how to really listen and not be rude. Just sayin’.
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.
It is no secret to y’all that I have a bit of a problem with matchy fashion: colors, styles, themes, textures, and so on. Wearing a hodgepodge of attire I like is more in line with my true self than matching is. I am an eclectic gal in all things, from music to food to books. I felt like wearing flip flops this afternoon. I felt like wearing cowboy boots this afternoon. Flip Flop Tie o’ the Day made it possible for me to wear both. Being not-matchy gives me the best of many worlds, all at once.
As you know, I have never owned a purse until I saw The Saddle Purse in the SLC Airport in March. It spoke to my soul, so I nabbed it. The Saddle Purse reminded me I’ve been on the hunt for cowboy boots for the last few years. If you’ve been reading this post regularly, you know I found “the” cowboy boots o’ my dreams while we were in Arkansas recently. Was I happy to finally find the boots? Not exactly. Why? They “match” my Saddle Purse.
When Suzanne took me into the boot store she ran onto in Mountain View, AR, my eyeballs less than five minutes to become glued to what were to become my cowboy boots. I tried to look away. I tried to find fault with them. I tried to focus on other boots. These boots would definitely “go with” The Saddle Purse, in a very matchy way. Oh, no! I did not want my boots to match The Saddle Purse. But it did no good to try to want a different pair. I was smitten with these.
The same boots came in a smoky rose color too. And I tried to make myself love that color more. They were purty. They wouldn’t have been anywhere near as “matchy” with my Purse. The smoky rose boots would have been so much more my clashy self. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t love the smoky rose-colored cowboy boots. They were the same, but they were not the same. Alas! I went with the boot color I loved deepest. I learned something about myself: in some things, love is more important to me than clash fashion. Don’t ever quote me on that though.
BTW For every post photo in which my white legs show, let me apologize right now. Before I got ancient, I tanned easily. That doesn’t happen to my legs anymore. No amount of sun alters their profound whiteness. It’s just their color. I suggest you keep sunglasses handy for when my leg whiteness appears in TIE O’ THE DAY posts. I do not want you to go snowblind, er, leg-blind.
The same day we drove to check out the amazing Toad Suck (as described in this morning’s post), yellow flower Bow Tie o’ the Day and I made sure we got to Pickles Gap. Pickles Gap Village is a tiny conglomeration of a half-dozen businesses on a bigly Conway, AR corner property. Pickles Gap Village boasts a playground, restaurant, fudge shop, tiny outdoor concert venue, 2 clothing boutiques, and “antique” stores. I use the term “antique” to cover the likes of thrift stores, secondhand stores, vintage stores, consignment shops, as well as antique stores. Whatever term you want to give these stores, they were everywhere we went. They were as ever-present in Arkansas as the churches. I expected boatloads of churches, but the prevalence of antique stores was a bigly surprise.
Suzanne spent so much time in one of the combo antique/boutique’s at Pickles Gap that I was certain she had moved in. She ended up finding “birthday” jewelry, of course. And “birthday” clothing, which was not a birthday suit. She already has one of those. I saw the blinged-out bow tie purse, but I didn’t need it. I have The Saddle Purse, so I shall forever pine for no other purse.
We enjoyed the antique store owners. They loved their stores. They loved each and every item on the shelves, and they knew stories about the objects and their people. Chatting with the salespeople was enlightening and jovial. We felt at ease and valued in every business. The owners/salespeople were interested to know our stories too. They asked as many questions as we did, I think.
Hey! In one of the Pickles Gap Village antique stores, I spied this little trough of plastic toy soldiers, with a thoughtful reminder to pray for real soldiers.
A common farewell we got from salespersons in almost every business as we left was, “Have a blessed day!” I loved saying, “You, too” in response to that sentiment. It doesn’t matter if you’re a believer in any god or religion, or in the idea of blessings. It matters that you can recognize others are telling you they wish your life to be smothered in good. They want to send positive vibrations your way. Look for those vibes/blessings. Find them. Be grateful for them. And then, send the hope back out there.
I must apologize for the irregular posting this week. I have more Arkansas posts to write but I’ve had odd bipolar spells since I got home from our Ozarks vacation. My storyteller has gone kaput, temporarily I’m sure.
I tried to explain to Suzanne what my brain is doing, and the best I could come up with is this: it seems as if I can feel each and every one of my blood cells race through me, while simultaneously feeling the kind of exhaustion that will drag me to sleep if I sit down and close my eyelids for more than four seconds. It’s the worst of both poles. But this too shall pass, and so I’m fine.
Anyhoo… I’ll get back to sharing tidbits from our mountain redneck trip as soon as I can. But for right now, here are some pix from last night’s BAND OF HORSES concert at The Union, in SLC. Yeah, we saw them in April in Las Vegas, but we had to get another listen. Yeehaw! Solid performance, once again. The opening act was Nikki Lane, who twanged Suzanne into a tizzy. Suzanne does not do twang. Personally, I would have preferred to listen to the clever Kacey Musgraves, but I can’t complain. BAND OF HORSES speaks to me.
Horseshoe Bow Tie o’ the Concert made sure I brought along my Saddle Purse, which Suzanne was good enough to hold for our snapshots. The photo of me being blurry is a telling illustration of my agitated state of mind and body, with my manic blood cells doing their jigs and all.
Skitter and I switched our “same” Ties o’ the Day, and we still like the look.
I’m usually full of clash fashion ideas, but I’m stumped today. What does one wear to Arkansas? And, more importantly, what does one wear for a week in Arkansas? We head there tomorrow, and I’m not sure what to expect. Of course, I usually wear whatever the heck I want anyway, no matter where I go– so I probably don’t need to stress too much about it. But an actual, paid model once told me I am “a fashion genius,” so I do fret about maintaining my bigly loud style. Otherwise, people are disappointed. And you know how my entire life’s goal is to please other people by living up to their expectations of what they think I should be. NOT!
As far as what neckwear to choose for our trip, I have found neckties tend to get in the way of vacay exploring and adventuring, so a stash of bow ties is usually the best choice for daily vacation attire. I pack the pieces carefully because they crush easily. Ain’t nobody wanna be seein’ no crushed bow ties!
I put each bow tie in its own tiny box. Hauling them in a carry-on requires expert packing skills because the boxes simply take up extra room. Think of it: We’ll be gone 6 days, so at 2 posts/photos per day (which is my goal), I must pack a minimum of 12 bow ties. And let’s not forget that I have to take along a few “stunt” bow ties on the trip, for posing in extreme vacay scenarios for TIE O’ THE DAY posts.
By the time I pack the necessities (i. e., neckwear), I hardly have room for my old timey, stripey swimming suit, socks, and bras. If we were staying in an Ozarks nudist camp for the week, I wouldn’t have to make tough packing decisions about what goes in the carry-on. And yes, if we were staying in an Ozarks nudist camp, you can bet I’d still be wearing a bow tie. I can’t even conceive of a nude-neck camp. That is the kind of sketchy place where you would never catch me walking around.
I’m sad to say that, so far, I am not planning to take The Saddle Purse with me to Arkansas. Suzanne and I try our best to fly completely “carry-on.” Aside from my carry-on suitcase, I can take one personal item on the plane, and I need it to be my computer bag. Alas, while packing for this first trip since buying my purse, I have finally discovered one thing “wrong” with The Saddle Purse: It’s not bigly enough to carry my laptop. I am devastated to not be able to take my purse with us. At least Skitter and The Saddle Purse will have each other to entertain and to comfort while we are away.
And they’ll have Marjorie, Suzanne’s sister, who will once again be Skitter’s chaperone at our house for the week. We all know what that means: The cops will be here regularly to give citations for noise disturbance complaints from the neighbors. Let the all-night parties begin!
