Witty & Wise Ties, Trivia & Lies
Snazzy red Tie o’ the Day is here to announce that my new dotty Golf Pants o’ the Day finally showed up in the mail. I am so excited to go grocery shopping this morning and show them off! When I first put this pair o’ pants on, I immediately sensed that they will likely be my new favorite pants. Prepare to see them often. Where have golf pants been all my life? Clearly, I have been looking for pants in all the wrong places. 👖
I tied on a neon-hued Tie o’ the Day to change the furnace filters this afternoon. And after that was done, I sat my butt down at my desk in the loft. My intent was to make my regular call to check on Mom. I am always excited to talk to Mom, especially if I find her to be having an especially clear-ish mind. No matter her state of mind, she remains ever playful and interested in whatever, whatever.
I initially intended to call Mom yesterday, but I found myself unable to go ahead and make the call. And today, the call didn’t happen either. I was paralyzed. You see, I do not exaggerate when I say that almost every time I call Mom, I have to deliver the news of another death of someone significant in her life. At 91, she is outliving so many of her people—friends, family, and close acquaintances. It’s her own fault this is constantly occurring: she made it her life’s mission to know and care about so many people. They, in turn, have cared for her. When I finally call her this time, I must relay the news of two more people passing from her life. She will be the first to tell you that her life has been rich with good folks—so it’s sad when they pass on.
I could choose to not tell Mom about dreadful things at this point in her life, but I wouldn’t want to risk her overhearing snippets of sad news and have it not make sense to her. I’d rather be able to explain the information and answer her questions, sometimes over and over again—even if she will likely forget the news and then need help being reminded about it at a later date. Her best friend, Peggy, passed away around 4 years ago, and Mom will still ask me sometimes about what happened to her “Pegetha.”
As time passes, Mom needs more and more reminding about her own life. With a little help, she can often at least temporarily reconnect with the gist of whatever she’s trying to access in her brain. Still, occasionally—like yesterday and today—I can’t rustle up the soul-strength to make a call to her to deliver not-good news. I can’t rise to the task sometimes. I do always feel incredibly guilty about postponing any phone call to Mom, however. But all I can do about it right now is hope I’m stronger than I was yesterday and today, when I attempt to place the call to Mom again tomorrow. ☎️ 📞 📱
Argyle Tie o’ the Day and I usually have a nice view of the mountains, from morn until night. Unfortunately, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of a mountain in the mornings for days. It’s the ever-dreaded inversion time of year up in these parts. Even after the worst of the haze burns off mid-day, the skies are generally grayer than their usual winter-gray or blue. I take all this air muck as a personal insult. You see, I was born of the sky. The sky is my spirit animal, so to speak. And not just any sky. I was born of the Utah, west desert sky that makes you feel like you’re living in a snow globe. There, the sky begins at your feet and doesn’t really end anywhere. I get sky-withdrawal when the inversion comes to town.
When I lived in Virginia and Maryland, I knew it would be a temporary relocation. I knew I could not live long without bigly sky. For all the beauty and sights and things to do in the D.C.-area, there was just not enough blue sky for my taste. Too many trees, too. The most at home I felt back there was, oddly, at the beach in Delaware or New Jersey—where water and sky met, and together created the illusion of the never-ending bigly sky of my kidhood and young adulthood.
When I left Maryland for the last time, there was no question where I would move to begin to figure out a new life. When I came back home, it wasn’t to Delta itself that I was headed. It wasn’t necessarily to my mostly-Delta family I decided to return. The fact that my hometown and my family were there was added blessing. No, I was broken, so I went to the sky I knew. I bought a truck and I drove and thought, and drove and thought under that bigly sky. I did my best thinking under that sky, as I always had, while traveling on washboard gravel roads between farms.
When I was a child, I had driven those same roads on my bicycle and composed my first poems as I pumped—getting off my bike when necessary, to sit alongside ditch banks covered in asparagus, where I could write down every kid-profound word I’d strung together into whatever I thought was surely poetry and my fate. After I was done writing a kidhood masterpiece in my tiny notebook, I’d fill the pockets of my overalls with as much fresh-picked asparagus for Mom as I could carry—careful to not crush it as I peddled home to supper.
As I was staring out the tall windows at the stoopid inversion haze this morning, a bunch of new Ties o’ the Day came knocking at my front door to brighten my day. I had heard a UPS-type knock at the door, and was excited to find a package addressed to me on the welcome mat. Behold! Here are two of the six new additions that have come to live in my collection today. The Tie Room runneth over! As does my necktie joy.
Like paisley, houndstooth is always a funky pattern to wear. Let me tell you, it is impossible for a houndstooth pattern to be boring or bland to the eye. It’s been quite a while since I’ve invested in new ties, but I found these on a clearance sale on a golf clothing website as I searched for wacky golf pants that look like me. I wasn’t impressed with the pants I found on the site, but I just had to have these neckties. I’ll be showing off more of my new, “golfy” neckwear finds tomorrow.
I was stumped today about what to post on TIE O’ THE DAY, and suddenly my phone beeped. It was this picture of my first brother-in-law, Kent, gussied up in his church clothes. I had recently gifted him this teed-up-golf-balls Tie o’ the Day, because golf is his passion. In recent years, when Mom would come up north and stay with Kent and BT for a couple of days, he and Mom would watch golf on tv together for hours and days—while BT was off doing her own thing, which usually involved books and/or genealogy. And then, Kent and Mom would go grocery shopping together. Kent is the originator of our family saying: “How the Hell-en are you?” It’s what he’d say whenever he’d call Mom to check on her, beginning way back in the 70’s.
Anyhoo… BT/Mercedes says Kent received several comments about his tie today—I’m assuming at church. That makes me so happy! I want you to know that I love my neckwear collection so much that if I think a particular tie would have a better life around someone else’s neck, I wistfully—but gladly—give it away. A tie might not live under my roof anymore, but I still have the memories of the time we shared together. I love a tie enough to let it move on to a more fitting destiny. The tie’s welfare is the most important consideration.
Every January, I pay a fee to retain the rights to the domain name for my TIE O’ THE DAY tie blog (the “tblog”). Each year, the process has gone smoothly. This year, however, someone else wanted the rights to tie-o-the-day.com. I don’t know if it was for an individual person or a business or some other type of organization, but somebody—for some likely nefarious purpose—was attempting to kidnap MY domain name. They created a speed bump in my domain name renewal process. For a few days, I was a tad worried that my little neckwear website would be lost in the internet’s junkyard forever, or would belong to someone who is not me. When faced with the possible impending loss of my domain name, I immediately did what I do: I did some research and I made some calls. I spoke with The People In Charge O’ Things. I was ready for a fist fight, if necessary. Ultimately, because I had all my paperwork, receipts, and certificates in order, no interloper was able to steal the domain name from me. My beloved tblog can keep its rightful name. Whew!
Sometimes I am not in the mood to decide between two equally swell neckwear choices. Sometimes I am compelled to find a way to wear both. Fortunately for me, when I wake up in a necktie-plus-bolo-tie mood, I have the perfect Tie o’ the Day to satisfy my yearning. I have this wonder.
You’d be surprised how often I wake up in some type of double mood. I think it has something to do with my being bipolar, and not so much about any indecisiveness on my part, or any refusal to compromise my present vibes. Whatever the case, a tie like this is a perfect example of what makes my neckwear collection distinctively “me.” It is also what will make selling my collection more problematic when I decide it’s time to let the neckwear go. The right buyer will have to be remarkably like me, and what’s the likelihood I’ll ever find someone like that—besides me, of course?
I’m still experimenting with the limits of my golf pants. This total look is eye-catching, I do believe. I’m eagerly awaiting a delivery of new golf pants, but until then, here’s more of the one pair I already own. My Arkansas cowboy boots add a powerful vibe to my attire, and the bright paisley shirt is the cherry on top of my relgalia. The colors and squares of Tie o’ the Day semi-subtly echo the plaid pants.
The pose I’m offering up harks back to Delta High School’s storied and legendary wrestling program. I cannot speak for how it is now, but when I was in high school, you could not escape the long arms of the wrestling program. Region Championships and State Championships were standard for DHS. If a wrestling competition was in town, that’s where everybody was. Remember: this was back when there were only 5 channels on television, and cell phones had not yet been born. If you wanted to watch something happening live, or just hang with a friend, you showed up at the wrestles.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was learning valuable wrestling lessons from all the matches I watched. Years later, when I was teaching in an all-Black, west Baltimore middle school, I was regularly witness to near-daily physical fights. Most teachers—male and female—were hesitant to attempt to break up fights, opting instead to wait for the school police officer to show up with pepper spray and handcuffs. And I understood why nobody wanted to jump in. It was risky business for any adult, especially for a short white girl from Utah. But I was never comfortable merely standing by during a melee, and I quickly learned that I had skills I had heretofore been unaware of. Wrestling seemed to be in my blood. Somehow, I knew wrestling holds. I could slither into the middle of a fracas and skillfully take a fighting kid down. Eventually, students called me the White Coyote. I still don’t know if it was meant as a compliment or disrespect, or both. But the word “coyote” reminded me of Dad, so I was always fine with the name.
I am eagerly awaiting the delivery of more golf pants. Until more show up, I’ve been experimenting with the one pair I have. This outfit was a hit at Harmon’s this morning. Apparently, if you’re wearing golf pants while grocery shopping, people want to nod at you like they know you. At least, that was my experience today. Later, I had to run an errand at Walmart. As is usual, at Walmart—no matter what I wear—I am usually the most flamboyant dresser in the store (though not in a People of Walmart sort of way). Such was the case at Wally’s today. Score!
Tie o’ the Day is covered in patterned patches of paisley, in rich blue hues. I threw blues all over me today just because I felt like it. I am convinced I have always felt a solid kinship with various shades of blue because they are the first colors I learned to love: When I was a wee babe, I fell into an abiding love with the blue hues of my parents’ eyes. 👀
I’ve been feeling a bit “meh” about my style lately. I’ve been feeling the need to make a drastic change. Like the Baby Boomer that I am, I have been—and will always be—a jeans chick at heart. Jeans are my uniform. Jeans are my second skin: I am at home in a worn pair of Levi’s. But my legs have been itching for the occasional foray into new territory. I am always happy to oblige my legs, since they do such a fine job of getting me hither and yon. And so I spent some time scouring the websites for new and exciting pants. I wanted something off-beat and zany, of course—to not-fit in with the rest of my wardrobe. After a relatively short search, I found exactly what I was aiming for. I found loud pants. And how did I discover them so quickly? Well, the late Payne Stewart came to my mind. I googled the term “golf pants” and I was directed to the equivalent of Loud Pants Heaven—as in, a boatload of sites selling eye-catching golf trousers.
Red hanky-esque Tie o’ the Day is proud to present my very first ever pair of official golf pants. Yes, I have ordered more. The eye-catching, eye-assaulting new possibilities have jump-started my fashion passion, and my neighborhood will never be the same. 2022 “clashion” is gonna be sweet. As a precaution, please wear shades. 😎