Tie-dyed Tie o’ the Day and I are having a Zoom doctor appointment right now. Yes, it is time once again for me to check in with my “crazy head” doctor—to see if I still have a crazy head. Hint to y’all: I know I’ll have my bipolar head always. These sorts of brain tilts don’t go away. In short, I have to learn to get along with my own mind. I can only work at getting better at managing my bipolar noggin. Collecting neckties and bow ties is one of the many tactics I use to cope with my brain situation. So far, so good. 🐝
This is my non-paisley new shirt. It came folded and boxed to my front porch, with an added bonus: a cardboard Tie o’ the Day stuck in its collar. A loud shirt and a flimsy tie! All in one package! Wahoo! (There were also free pins in the folded shirt, but I refuse to wear those. I gifted them to Suzanne’s pin cushion, so she can share in the fruits of my bigly bonus, too.) I am certainly a passionate and complicated gal, but—as you can tell—I am a very, very, very easy gal to please. Indeed, sometimes I am positive that The Secret o’ Life is for each one of us to simply regard the unexpected, silly things that cross our paths as if they are full-blown prizes—meant for each of us to find and share widely with those around us.📍👔📍🙌 👏🏻👌😲😃 Hey, it beats poisoning your soul thinking life’s nothing more than a dumpster fire at the site of a train wreck. 🗑🔥🚃
TIE O’ THE DAY presents an important quote to ponder upon:
Our world is not divided by race, color, gender, or religion. Our world is divided into wise people and fools. And fools divide themselves by race, color, gender, or religion.
So remember that new Ford Maverick truck I ordered on November 30? It still isn’t here. I did get an email from Ford over the weekend, in which they said they’re sorry for the delay and they haven’t forgotten my order. They said they’re still waiting for some parts they need in order to configure the truck precisely to my specifications. And again, Ford apologized for the delay. Blah, blah, blah.
Listen: I believe a vehicle is for getting people from one place to another. I’d rather spend my money for things other than automobiles. I don’t usually have a specific brand or model of vehicle in mind when I’m shopping for a new ride. My Isuzu Hombre is 24 years old, and my Pontiac Vibe will be 15 in a few months. They both still get me where I need to go. But when I saw the Ford Maverick—a true compact truck, built on a car platform for a smoother ride—I fell in love with it. I could buy a different automobile that’s available immediately, but I want a Maverick. I baby my vehicles, so they last forever. It’s entirely possible that my Maverick will last me long enough to be the last vehicle I ever buy—so I want what I want.
It’s been nearly four months since I custom-ordered my truck, and I find myself getting annoyed it’s not here yet. When I get riled up about it, I try to remind myself that in the scheme of things, this “problem” is not much of a problem at all. And then I feel foolish for getting upset about such a minor inconvenience. My old jalopy vehicles still get the job done. I’m no worse off than I was on the morning of November 30th.
It makes me consider the current gas prices. I don’t want to be paying over $4 for a gallon of gas, but gas prices go up, and down, and back again all the time, for all kinds of stupid reasons that only end up making the rich richer. Everything uses fuel, so then the price of everything goes up, too. G-r-r-r-r-! But think about wonders in the world: the pandemic is getting under control; I’ve got somebody who adores me; my feisty mother is still alive; my kids are making their ways successfully through life; and—most importantly—I’m not pregnant or in jail 🤣. Why should I be a Grumpy Bear?
My life is not perfect, it is blessed from all directions. I have always worked hard, and that has further generated blessings for me. Waiting a long time for a new truck and for criminally high gas prices to fall—heck, those aren’t real problems of eternal consequence. They are annoying irritations that come with standing upright on the planet. I recommend we all check our priorities before we spend our days griping around and blowing hot air at every turn. I certainly want my Maverick, and I want to be able to afford to fill it with gas without selling one of my inner organs on the black market. But what I most want—and I bet you do, too—is to not let things which are out of our control fester inside of us to the point of stealing our very real, very important joy in all things fantastic. 🎢 🎡 🏖 Dude, we’re alive!
Saturday, I managed to wrangle Travis’ wife, Collette, into meeting me for brunch at a restaurant named Porch, way out in the boonies of Daybreak. I think she showed up for the grits. She was in the South when she was on her LDS mission, so I figured she’d be happy to go where the good grits are in these parts. Plus, the restaurant’s name—Porch—reminded me of hanging with Mom on the porch in Delta. And, indeed, Co and I chatted for more than a couple of hours about topics tiny and bigly. When I snapped the photo of both of us, you can see I was still talking so intently that I just kept jabbering away, picture or no picture. I had a blast. We decided we need to meet up more often, and I hope we make time to do that.
BTW I wore my BYU blue for the occasion, and the bookshelf Tie o’ the Day felt appropriate—because Collette is a champion-caliber reader. Gee, I can relate to that. As an added bonus, Collette presented me with a new bow tie. It’s seersucker, and that’ll be so perfect for spring and summer. It will make me feel cool, temperature-wise and otherwise.
I’m sure you’ve noticed I have been bigly on wearing neckties recently. I consider myself—first and foremost—a woman with bow ties running through my veins, but neckties are a close second choice with me. I adore them both, but bow ties are my preference every day of the week. So what’s with all the ties lately? Well, I discovered a couple of new-to-me tie places online a few weeks ago, and so I splurged on some fantastic pieces. I ordered a whole bunch o’ new neckties to add to my collection. I am so giddy about my recent acquisitions that I just have to show them off to y’all ASAP. So this Tie o’ the Day I’m wearing gives me one more opportunity to flaunt one of my treasured finds. As you’ve probably also been noticing, I’ve gone bigly with Art Deco designs on the majority of the new ties. I enjoy the Art Deco style so much that I would buy the Art Deco-designed Chrysler Building in NYC right this minute, if I had enough money to do it. And the truth is this: I might likely have enough money to buy the Chrysler Building today—if I hadn’t spent my entire life’s fortune buying thousands and thousands of bow ties and neckties for my ridiculously extensive neckwear collection.
Hmmmm. 🤔 I gotta ponder this particular irony for a while. 🤔
I wish you could feel the pleated texture of this yellow and black Tie o’ the Day. It is soooooo touch-worthy. If you see me in person and I’m wearing this tie, you are welcome to touch it with your own clean fingers. Please ask me before you try to feel it, though: it’s the polite thing to do. Take a gander at the paisles on this Shirt o’ the Day. This field of paisley looks like it has been brush-painted. I feel like I’m wearing a painted canvas, transformed into an artsy shirt. I can pretend that’s the case, if I want to. And I do want to today. And so I will, cuz I’m the boss o’ me and my clothes and the stories I want to tell. 🎨 🖼 👔
I think this might be my fave day of the year to make a TIE O’ THE DAY post. Why? Because I get to post these amusingly glorious photos, and because Mom is my very own leprechaun. She’s just so darn cute in her St. Patrick’s Day props. I love this woman beyond all of the beyonds. She has always been the pot o’ gold at the end of my rainbow. ☘️🌈
Look at the bigly paisles on my Shirt o’ the Day, and feast your eyes on yet another Art Deco-style Tie o’ the Day. My Cape o’ the Day is, indeed, the soaring punctuation to my attire that I dreamed it would be. All the capes Suzanne has crafted for me (except the prototype) are reversible, which suits me just fine. A two-fer is more than just a nice bonus. In a way, the two-fer aspect speaks to my bipolar brain. My brain can change on a proverbial dime, and I can change the sides of my cape just as quickly. Although Suzanne has made me a gaggle of snazzy capes over the years, she hasn’t made me a new cape in the last 3 years—and I think it’s about time. I don’t know whether to ask her to make me a flannel cape for what’s left of winter, or a seersucker cape for the coming summer. But I am I, so I’m sure I’ll ask for both. And she is she, so I’m sure she’ll make me both. It’s how we roll. 😘
I had a blast wearing my cape today. I wore it around the house for a while. I twirled around in it rapidly, so it would hover in the air—making it appear that I was flying in circles, sideways. Later, when I had to drop something off at the FedEx inside Walmart, I swooshed through the automatic doors as if I were the only person in Walmart wearing a cape—which, of course, I was. I knew that everywhere I went to do errands, I would likely be the only person—adult or kid—wearing a cape. It was such fun for me to wear, and I was sad and teary for everyone else who had to go cape-less. 😢
It’s not that I forget about my Suzanne-made cape collection. Indeed, I think about it all the time. I’d wear a cape everywhere, all the time—except I continue to have a problem I’ve had my entire life. When I have some extraordinary piece of haberdashery, I tend to decide not to wear it, for fear I will do something to destroy its majesty. When it comes to one of my capes, I get overwhelmed with the possibilities of how I could damage it while I’m out and about. I could spill on it, get it caught in the car door, get it caught in an elevator door, get it caught in a revolving door, and on so on. So I wear a cape sparingly and only at the very special-est of special events. But guess what! Every day is a special event.
This problem of mine must change. I must have more confidence in my abilities to keep my capes safe from harm. And so what if I spill on a cape? That’s what dry cleaners are there for. I am nearly an official old person, and it’s high time I wear my capes (and other clothes I “save” for only the mightiest of occasions) as much as I want to. Remember when you were a kid and for some strange, but logical-to-you reason you wanted to wear your swimsuit or cowboy boots—or both—to bed at night? There was no crime in that. And there’s no crime in my wearing my capes to bed or to the 7-11 or wherever. I must conquer this stoopid fear of ruining my most precious duds. By the time I die, I want all my cool clothes worn thin. And I think you should, too.
