Category: Ties

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What I Did On My Lent Vacation

Popcorn Tie o’ the Day is here to signal that Lent is over. Trust me—there’s already ice cream in the freezer. I managed to stick to my Lent goal most days, but not all. I chose sugar over my goal on a few occasions. I give myself a failing grade on my Lent behavior this year.

In general, I can do anything I set my mind to do. I make a decision, and I have follow-through. I do whatever it takes to endure. I stick. Except, apparently, when it comes to giving up sugary, salty, junky food for Lent. Oh, I was perfect about it for the first week. Not eating non-nutritional food was no bigly deal for me. But then it was my birthday, so I gave myself a day off to eat birthday desert when Suzanne took me out to dinner. I know myself well, and I could have told you from the outset that would be disastrous for my Lent sacrifice success.

Seriously, if I can rationalize one acceptable reason to excuse myself from my stated goal—like “it’s ok, it’s just for my birthday”—I can find a million other reasons to alter my course. The “rules” of Lent don’t help either. Yup, I blame Lent for my weak-ass failure. Why? Because during Lent, according to Lent’s own rules, all Sundays are free days. You heard me: during the six weeks of Lent, on Sundays you are free to give up giving up. The Sabbath is always a day of celebration, whether it’s Lent or not. Who am I to argue with a day off doing something I don’t want to do anyway?

But that’s a cop-out. The truth is I messed up and rationalized my way into failure, knowing exactly what I was doing all along the way. I allowed myself to become a walking rationalization. I put myself before the idea of sacrifice. We sacrifice because sometimes it’s the thing we’re asked to do, regardless of how convenient or inconvenient it is to do so. I was content to be a happy asterisk during Lent 2022. I hope I will utilize a different, more positive, approach to Lent next year. I am a person who is striving to be better than an asterisk.

We all have to look at ourselves. We have to be self-reflective and turn a critical eye to who and what we are. Indeed, we have to judge ourselves at times. I don’t know about you, but my worst enemy has always shown up in whatever mirror I look into. The trick for each of us is to figure out how to live in such a way that we can reconcile the soul we are with the image we cast in the mirrors we pass. Oh, it sounds so simple.

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Two Bigly Topics

Topic #1: Lent. Lent ends today. I failed in my efforts to abstain from junky food—particularly sweets. More than once, I failed. In an effort to be transparent, I’ll repent and write about my indiscretions later.

Topic #2: Mom. My bees-and-honeycomb Tie o’ the Day is pleased to inform y’all that Mom—the Mistress of Dad’s Bee yards for decades—can breathe more easily again, and she’s back safely in her pad at Millard Care and Rehab. She’s glad to be home finally, and hopes she won’t be making a return to the hospital, ever. She says it’s a nice hospital, but she also says NO THANKS to being a patient there again. She prefers her own room at the care center. I vote for that, too.

So Mom is once again where she belongs, and we siblings can again contend with Mom’s stealthy and regular routine of accidentally touching buttons on her phone that shut it off, and then we can’t get in touch with her. That causes us to get on our group text to ask who talked to Mom last and how was she, and which one of us is gonna call the care center to ask some kindly employee to hunt down Mom and turn on her phone, so we can all try to call her at once to make sure she’s in good shape and good spirits, and then we’ll jump back on the group text to update each other about how she is and what she said. We’ll report to each other that Mom’s hanging in there. (It’s 10 o’ clock, do you know where your mother is?)

Mercedes/BT and Ron and I occasionally report and compare the length of our phone conversations with Mom. If she chats with one of us for less than 2 minutes, that means she’s on her way to BINGO or crafts or a musical program some community group has brought into the care center. We’re always happy she’s got new things to see and outside townspeople to converse with. I don’t call Mom as often as Mercedes/BT and Ron check-in with her, because my conversations with Mom tend to be lengthy, no matter what time of the day or night I dial her number. Our conversations go on and on, and on some more. I think Mercedes/BT holds the top ten records for shortest calls with Mom, with some clocking in at around 30 seconds. It’s just one example of how we siblings have our individual styles when we’re each doing the very same thing: calling Mom to check on her. 📞

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Snow = Fedora Time

Some days, I don’t know exactly what vibe I’m feeling until I see myself in a selfie. Today was one of those days. I knew I had a striking, teal paisley-on-brown Tie o’ the Day around my neck, but it was only after I shot this photo and glanced at it that I noticed I am experiencing a Dick Tracy vibe today. It’s not just about the hat. The hat adds, but my very own face—with its squinty eyes and deep-set lines—is giving off the Dick Tracy mojo. I like how it feels, very much. Perhaps I’ll go out and catch a villain who has a catchy, comic book name this evening. I’ll certainly take selfies if I do. 🤠 (Pretend the cowboy hat on the emoji is a fedora, and pretend the emoji’s smile isn’t smiling at all.)

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The Art Of The Impulse Buy

Hey! I got my first issue of GARDEN & GUN magazine. I saw a subscription for it somewhere and I just had to have it. I’m curious about everything, and I wondered what a magazine with this title could possibly be about—besides gardens and guns, of course. After thumbing through its pages, I discovered it’s about Southern living: cuisine, hunting, entertainment, homes, etc. And gardens and guns. I’m almost hooked enough on what I’ve seen in the magazine to contemplate retiring to the region. It was an impulse buy, and I’m glad I subscribed.

Toothy Tie o’ the Day was an impulse buy as well, that’s for sure. I am not a dentist or related to a dentist. I am not particularly dental in any way, except that I am an adult human and have a set o’ choppers so I can gnaw on meat and crush goodies (after Lent, which ends later this week). A colorful necktie whose print is decorated with molars is something I didn’t need for any reason I could think of or make up—except I hadn’t owned such a tie before. The tie makes me smile, so I’m pleased I bought it. People seem to enjoy chewing my ear off about the tie (pun intended).

The impulse buy is an awesome sales notion. I give a thumbs-up to occasionally buying something swell for no real purpose. I do, however, recommend that one keep one’s impulse buys to items that are relatively inexpensive. Don’t impulsively contract to buy a ruby-encrusted yacht. You probably won’t find that buy to be prudent. Real caviar scratch-n-sniff stickers? That would be a pricey DON’T. A 99-cent pack o’ chocolates shaped like poop emojis? YES! A good chocolate prank among pals is always worth a measly 99-cents. Just because a product is odd, it doesn’t mean you need it. Unless you do. If a strange object moves you, place it in your shopping cart. You’re the decider. 🛒

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The Dog Ate My Post

Here’s my excuse for not writing an afternoon post to accompany this flighty Tie o’ the Day: I had snapped the photo and was composing a lovely post for it when Suzanne came home from work early to begin her Spring break. I had to close up the laptop and pay attention to her immediately, so she knows she’s home and free to relax. Believe it, or not. But it’s the dog’s honest truth. 🐕 📄 💻

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My Personal Oil Field

Oil rigs Tie o’ the Day shows you my field o’ gushers. This tie cost me much more than a gallon of gas does currently. For some reason, owning this tie makes me at least feel like gas prices are not as ridiculous as they really are right now. Indeed, this tie makes me feel like I’m wearing my back-up plan in the event of even higher gas prices: I’ll just sell the tie to some oil dude who finds it clever. I think Tie o’ the Day’s theme gives the illusion I’m rich. And I am, in fact, filthy rich with a nearly infinite number of neckties and bow ties—prime for barter. 👔 👒

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Guess What’s Sexy

I remember when I was 5—before I was even a student at the long-gone Delta Elementary School on Main Street—I fell in love with a single word. Mom had been doing some painting around the house, and I overheard her say to somebody, “Blah, blah, blah, TURPENTINE, blah, blah, blah.” And then I overheard her say to someone on the phone, “Yadda, yadda, yadda, TURPENTINE, yadda, yadda, yadda.” I remember saying TURPENTINE myself, over and over until I could pronounce it like a pro. What was this word that skipped so jauntily through my lips? It was downright fun to say. When I asked Mom about the word, she explained what it was and what she used it for. I saw the cupboard where she kept the can of turpentine (and other paint-related stuff), and I would occasionally open the cupboard door and stand there staring at the magic can o’ turpentine. I’d look at the word and try to memorize how it was spelled. Mostly, I repeated the word to myself—well…repeatedly for days and probably weeks. Much to the annoyance of my family and pals. The word itself sounded like a catchy song lyric to me. It felt like singing to say it out loud. To me, TURPENTINE is the first word I have memory of collecting for future use. It was, in a sense, the moment I became a writer. I was hopelessly in love with this word, and I knew I always would be.

Writing is what I do every day. Sometimes slinging words together even keeps me up all night. Words are my most valuable tools. A writer is what I am. Specifically, I am a poet (mostly). I can tell you this: poets are odd. A real poet will gleefully give up eating dinner for a week to save up enough money just to buy a newer, thicker thesaurus. Yes, back in my struggling college/grad school student days, I somewhat regularly skipped meals in order to have the necessary funds to acquire books. And I would not be surprised if I find my literary self skipping meals again—just to prove I still can. The darnedest things tickle a poet’s fancy.

With that in mind, don’t tell anyone about these photos I’m letting you see. The photos show me looking at the literary equivalent of a naughty magazine. Not the content, just the form. This is poetry porn. I bought this book of poetry by C.D. Williams, and when I saw it had a centerfold, I fell in love yet again. Poetry centerfolds are my new obsession. Now that you’ve seen the centerfold, I must hide this poetry porn somewhere Suzanne will not be able to find it. I told you poets were odd, right? 😮🤣😂📓🗒✒️✏️🖍

BTW Tie o’ the Day is covered in fancy bound notebooks and various writing instruments. This tie says, “The writer is in!”

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Free-Range Helen

I survived my “crazy head” doctor appointment intact. It was a productive appointment, which means I probably won’t be jumping off a bridge or a tall building in the near future. By now, I’m sure you know: I joke about my bipolar brain. Poking fun at it helps me live with it. I have another appointment with the same doctor next week. I better hurry and make up some problems to bring up during our therapy session, since my life is all perfection and more perfection. (You do know I’m being sarcastic, right?)I took this selfie in the grocery store this afternoon. I am organic myself. I was raised free-range. I was raised cage-free. I am meat! But I am also a genetically modified organism (GMO) at the same time, because I have eaten all kinds of things that aren’t organic—like tasty, edible foods. And I’m not apologizing. 🍿🍪🥓🍟🌮