I wish, I wish, I wish. If I could, I would send a Valentine to my true friend, bacon. It’s the best. It has been around for me through every twist and turn of my life since I grew teeth. It has been with me during every manic or depressive ride I’ve taken on my bipolar merry-go-round. It has been a comforting companion through every relationship I’ve had—success or failure. I’m not embarrassed to say it: I love bacon. And I know most of y’all are right there with me on this. To bacon, I say, “Be my Valentine!” Tie o’ the Day is a symbol of this tasty true love I will always feel for bacon. If only bacon could hear me, or read. Alas, this thing I feel so deeply and consistently is destined to be a case of unrequited love forever. Must. Make. Breakfast.
I took my hearts Face Mask o’ the Day and my hearts-and-arrows Tie o’ the Day to my appointment with the dermatologist this afternoon. My doc relayed to me the final results of my biopsies, and now the rash on my torso is diagnosed. For those of you who want me to violate my own HIPAA rules, here’s the name of what I have: disseminated granuloma annulare. According to my dermatologist, it is not something she usually sees. It is not common, nor is it rare. She last saw it on someone over 5 years ago. It’s just rare enough that it can be difficult to diagnose without all the biopsies and x-rays I just had.
The good news is that disseminated granuloma annulare is a relatively harmless condition, although my doc says I need to be vigilant about having mammograms and “lady parts” exams more frequently than is generally recommended for a chick of my age. But here’s the bigly annoying thing: there is no cure to make my rash go away. It will go away on its own—just as it came to me—whenever it dang well wants to. If it decides to go, it can also decide to come back—repeating the process over and over. Or it might disappear tomorrow—never to recur again. Or it might decide to never leave my body at all. So I finally know what the malady is, but there’s nothing anyone can do to eliminate it. My rash has a mind of its own. Fortunately for me, it does not hurt or itch. It simply covers part of my belly and back in patches of red bumps. All in all, I remain grateful my rash is neither dangerous nor hideous. I’m also happy to report that the rash is not contagious. As long as the rash remains innocuous, I guess it’s okay if it hangs around here with me and the neckwear if it really has nowhere else to go. The more the merrier, I always say.
[Here’s a much-requested Valentine repeat post. Enjoy.]
Tie o’ the Day is content to hang in the background, while Mom stars in this morning’s pix. These are evidence of Mom’s alluring ways. Dad was born into a beekeeping family, and bees were his thing. He was crazy for bees from the minute he could toddle. Based on that fact, I have no doubt Dad thought the photo of Mom dressed up in beekeeper attire was the sexiest of these two pictures. Mom does have nice legs though.
Dad’s family lived in Delta. Mom was from Oak City, a small town about 15 miles away. In Oak City, at that time, the kids went to school there until high school, then the Oak City-ites rode the bus to Delta High School every day. Mom and Dad didn’t know each other until that came to pass.
But they had sort of met once before high school. One summer day, Dad and his pals happened to be at the Oak City swimming pool when Mom was there with her friends. Mom was standing by the edge of the pool when Dad walked by and rudely pushed her in.
Mom was ticked off, turned to her gal pals, and said, “Ignernt Delta boys!”
Dad smiled, turned to his friends, and said, “I’m gonna marry that girl.”
Valentine Teddy bear Tie o’ the Day knows that having a good thing can make you downright speechless. Whether you’re contemplating love or a pair of golf pants, sometimes words can’t convey its singular splendor. So shut up about it, and behold its glory. Bask in its beauty. Love. Golf pants. And a necktie. Stand all amazed—at peace in content silence—in your luck to have found what you were looking for. 💝👖👔
“Cupid” rhymes with “stupid,” but they are not the same thing. However, Cupid-covered Tie o’ the Day will be the first to tell you that sometimes loving someone can certainly make you feel stupid. When you love someone, you’ll forever find yourself running into burning buildings—or jumping in front of speeding bullets—to save your beloved from all possible harm. Your wallet will inexplicably look anorexic because you’re paying bills for two. You will learn how to be content with sharing almost every bit of your very time, space, and air. Cupid can make you almost glad to regularly endure someone else’s all-night snore-fest: you’re simply so grateful to be snored awake right where you are. Yup, love can be loud and demanding. And yet, I highly recommend not wearing Cupid repellant. I recommend jumping head-first into the deep end of love. It isn’t always easy or fun to grow an enduring relationship. But a relationship full of devotion and respect will turn you into a stronger, wiser, more patient person than you ever dreamed you could be. Whether or not you want to evolve, if you’re working at love, you will. You must be brave for the duration. Love done right, in its truest sense, will transform you into a childlike grown-up. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll get frustrated. You’ll fume. But even the most difficult times you share with someone you adore will be packed with perpetual wonder. Love has the power to do that—if you pay meticulous attention.
I have included here a copy of one of my favorite e.e. cummings poems. I am happy to report that when you are in love, flowers really do pick themselves. I see it happen every day. Enjoy the poem.
I named this Tie o’ the Day SHAZAAM, for its comic book-style lightning bolts. Along with what I recently mentioned as the 4 Patterns o’ Groovy Fashion (paisley, houndstooth, polka dots, and plaid), there is a somewhat close 5th pattern to be reckoned with. It is the piratey design of skull-and-crossbones, otherwise known as the Jolly Roger. From this photo, you can see why I had to acquire this apron. It sports a combo of paisley with a gaggle of neon skull-and-crossbones. The skull-and-cross machetes here are an added bonus. When I’m wearing this apron as I make dinner, I feel as if I should be cooking up shark and barnacles. I also feel like I should be wearing my eye patch and a wooden leg. I do own an eye patch to this day. I used to own a wooden leg I bought for $2 at Deseret Industries—with which I once won a three-legged race in the 80’s. I was ultimately disqualified, however, because the judges said I had to be two people running the race, not just one person running with three legs. I felt like a real pirate that day, because I was disqualified for doing something wrong. I still maintain I was the crowd favorite. ☠️
Because I own about 500 holiday ties and bow ties, I imagine you think I have many Groundhog Day pieces o’ neckwear. But I don’t. I own this single Groundhog Day Tie o’ the Day, and unless I run across some ultra-spectacular one in the future, I’m content with this one. I mean—Groundhog Day is not an actual holiday. And it’s not even a party day, like St. Patrick’s Day. It’s just a day to gab about a groundhog named Punxsutawney Phil, about how long his shadow thinks winter’s going to stick around this year, and how we’re already ready to move on to spring.
Anyhoo… I had a virtual appointment with my pain doctor this morning. So I sat at the kitchen island at the designated appointment time, and some unknown-to-me dude starts talking to me on my laptop. I knew exactly what he was going to say, and he did. He told me he’s a doctor-in-training, working with my normal pain doctor, and then he asked if it was okay if he asked me a bunch of questions before I talked to my official doctor. Of course, it was fine with me. We chatted for probably 10 minutes, and as he was wrapping up his note-taking , he said, “Your doctor told me I was going to see a bow tie today when I talked to you.” Oh, I immediately felt I had disappointed the whole world. I have worn a bow tie to see my pain doc at every appointment I’ve had with her for the last 8 years, partly because her name is Dr. Bow. This morning, I felt like I had disgraced myself. Sure, I was wearing this Groundhog Day Tie o’ the Day, but ties are too long to be as visible as bow ties on virtual appointments. I lifted Tie so the guy could see and read it, and he liked it so much he told me he was glad I chose it. I apologized profusely to him for not having a Groundhog Day bow tie. I guess I ought to shop for one, whether I want one or not. I can’t just go around letting people down. I felt so bad for not being the authentic “me” for Dr. Bow’s trainee. How could I not present as the bow tie wearer which she had clearly advertised me to be when she prepared him for my appointment?
When the doctor-in-training signed off, and Dr. Bow joined me a few minutes later, the first thing she said was, “Where’s your bow tie?” I was disgraced, yet again. I felt as if I had disappointed her. But Dr. Bow liked the tie, too. She also said, “It’s just that I barely recognized your face without a bow tie under it.”
FYI Check out my new Face Mask o’ the Day, complete with a secret hole built into it for a drink straw. Oh, happy Diet Coke day for me!
Saturday morning, we drove to Deltassippi to spend some time with Mom. Mom loved Skitter’s heart-covered Tie o’ the Day. She also told me she loved my socks, shirt, and Bow Tie o’ the Day. I think my shirt was her favorite part of my attire. She notices things, and the things she notices give her joy.
Mom’s week had been a rough one, but she is feeling spry again. Mom and Suzanne spent a lot of the visit discussing how the world works, and how to handle the bad stuff gracefully. They also discussed how if men had to have babies, every child would be an only child. Mom thinks women are really the tough ones, and I can’t disagree with that. Also, The three of us lamented the fact that we couldn’t be drinking on the porch to do this kind of solve-the-world’s-problems chatting anymore.
Every time we visit Mom, she asks how Suzanne’s parents are doing. Mom has only met them one time, years ago, but Mom has never forgotten how much she enjoyed their company. She considers them part of our family, as do I. Fortunately, Suzanne’s parents are usually doing well, which Mom is glad to hear.
Another question Mom always throws Suzanne’s way is, “Are you ready to retire yet?” She knows how hard Suzanne works, and she is determined that Suzanne retire soon—so she can just play. I think Mom will relax when Suzanne’s finally done working even more than Suzanne will.
We left Mom as she was finishing up her lunch. I said my farewell and gave Mom a mask kiss and gentle bearhug, then tearily walked away with the Skit. Neither of us wanted to go. Suzanne and Mom said their goodbyes to each other for the longest time. Skitter and I had to finally just stop and wait for Suzanne to catch up to us down the hall. I asked what she and Mom had been talking about for so long. True to her character, Mom had given Suzanne her thanks and appreciation: she told Suzanne that she’s glad I have Suzanne to take such good care of me. I second that.
So we had a fine visit with Big Helen. The next day, I was on the phone with my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless. She told me she had asked Mom about how her visit with Suzanne and I had gone the day before. Mom replied that I hadn’t been to visit her for weeks. That kind of sums up how it is with Mom these days. When you’re with her, she seems quite present and aware of the basics. But the minute you’re out of her presence, you are very much gone—except in long ago memory. She is so much closer to her past than to her recent. Still, her love for us shows through the haze, and it’s clear she can still feel ours. If she gets to the point that she retains only one vivid connection before she eventually goes, I hope it’s our love. If she does, she won’t be afraid. And neither will we. 💝
Mom digs Skitters heart-y tie.Mom explains how the world works to Suzanne.Skitter is a bed-hog.Skitter is Mom’s favorite visitor when we show up.
Even without bright colors, flowery Tie o’ the Day shines every bit as boldly as my newest golf pants. Have I mentioned lately that I have fallen thigh-over-knee in love with crazy golf pants? I mean—based on a pair like this, who wouldn’t be smitten?
A couple of my fave-rave television shows over the years are COPS and LIVE PD. They are real-life cop shows. I’m sure Suzanne and I have seen every episode of both, and we marvel at some of the dopey things captured criminals will say to the cops as they plead their innocence. Our all-time favorite defense has been used more times than you can possibly imagine. It happens when a culprit’s pockets are being searched by a police officer, and drugs are found to be in said pockets. When the cop finds the drug and shows it to the alleged criminal, the suspect will often adamantly explain to the officer, in all seriousness, “That’s not mine. These aren’t my pants!” Gosh, that sounds believable. Maybe putting on someone else’s pants is a more prevalent problem throughout the USA than I’m aware of, but I doubt it. In my entire life, even when I was a professorial-level drinker, I cannot think of one time when I accidentally or purposely slipped on a pair of pants belonging to someone who isn’t me. I still watch re-runs of those shows, just hoping to hear that not-my-pants defense come out of the mouth of captured culprits.
Sometimes when, for whatever reason, things get tense around the house, it is now common for whichever one of us is in the doghouse to irrelevantly declare, “These aren’t my pants!” We immediately laugh, and it easily breaks the tension—no matter what the trouble is about. In reality, I am loyal to my pants, and this is true: no matter what is found in the pockets of my golf pants, no matter who put it there, I will never say, “These aren’t my pants!” These are definitely my pants, and you can’t have them.
This post photo highlights my belief in what I call The 4 Patterns o’ Groovy Fashion. At least for me, these are the 4 staples of sartorial style: paisley, houndstooth, polka dots, and plaid. I try to wear as many of these patterns together as possible. Each individual pattern works against and/or with the other patterns to create a kind of eye-popping symmetry. Often, TIE O’ THE DAY fans (all 2 of them) ask me to explain what it is I’m trying to create with my fashion stylings. What is my personal fashion aesthetic? In a nutshell, I guess I can say that my goal when getting dressed is to end up wearing a get-up that looks as if it might make more sense if those seeing me are wearing those clunky, cardboard, 3-D glasses from the 70’s. Yeah, that wonky look! That’s what I’m going for. Please forgive me.
