Category: Ties

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About My Relationship With Books: Part 3

Cursive is not my strong suit. My printing suffers from sever bouts of illegibility as well.
This is the “lost” book today, as homely as when I originally “lost” it.

I once, accidentally-on-purpose, “lost” a book I had checked out from the Delta City Library because I wanted it for myself—and I wanted it right that minute. I checked it out knowing I had no intention of bringing it back. I know kids do things like that sometimes, but I must confess I was 36 at the time. It was in the year 2000, and I had just moved back to Delta from Maryland. I hadn’t bought my Hombre truck yet, so I couldn’t drive out of Delta to find a bookstore where I could try to get my own copy of the book. I couldn’t order it online because I needed it NOW. And I probably wouldn’t have been able to find a copy anyway since the book was not in print at the time. Two weeks later, I out-and-out lied when I confessed to the librarian I had “lost” the book. I paid the fine for losing it, which meant I paid the cost of the book—something like $26. Thus, I can truthfully say I bought the book, even though we all know I “lost” it with purpose and with glee.

And just what was this extraordinary book which so caused me to confiscate it for my eyes only? What book did I decide Delta library patrons could be deprived of, for my selfish benefit? It was a book about taxidermy—a field I couldn’t care less about. Its title was HOME BOOK OF TAXIDERMY AND TANNING, written by Gerald J. Grantz, published in 1969. I have no idea what specifically caused me to even pick it up and start thumbing through it s pages when I first encountered it on its library shelf. I could see from its check-out card that the book hadn’t been checked out for almost a decade before I borrowed it, so I didn’t feel too guilty for wanting to “lose” it. All I know is that when I opened up the pages of the smelly, misshapen, ugly book about taxidermy, I was inspired by sentences like these: “Spread the scalp out, flesh side up.” and, “Fold the skin once, flesh-to-flesh, roll it up and place it on a sloping surface to drain.” and, “Now fill the shell with chopped excelsior, tamping with a dowel.” I was intrigued by its jargon, and I simply had to have that book right then and there. Its pages immediately sparked in me this brilliant idea to write a book-length series of poems using taxidermy processes and terminology as metaphors for life and love.

Yes, folks, it is creativity like that which keeps me raiding my piggy bank as I approach my 60’s. I am rolling in the coinage. I have distinguished myself as a writer who has ideas about writing the absolutely least marketable books I possibly can. I live for the thrill of finding the perfect words to write the things most people don’t want to read. I’ve got a knack for it, coupled with all the wasted skills. Bearing this in mind, please be assured I’m perfectly content to know that an old book about taxidermy made me a minor thief of public resources, sort of. I got a groovy idea for writing a book of poems out of it—a book which nobody will ever publish or read. And that’s good enough for me. 😆 📄 📝 🖋 📖 🤓

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About My Relationship With Books: Part 2

In college and graduate school, whenever I was down to my last few bucks before payday, I often chose to buy a book instead of buying more practical things like socks and bacon. I’m not talking about buying textbooks that were required for my classes. This went beyond necessary books. I’m talking about buying books that could live on my own bookshelves for all time, but were irrelevant to my immediate academic or practical pursuits. It was common knowledge among my peers at that time that I would choose a book over food in almost every instance. For me, it was a no-brainer to buy a book. It wasn’t difficult to skip a meal or two, every once in a while. Yes, I had access to plenty of libraries, but one of my book-reading eccentricities involves my propensity for making notes in the book margins and underlining or bracketing a magnificent word, or a smart point, or a lovely sentence as I read. Libraries tend to frown on the type of collateral graffiti I perpetrate on books as I read, so I learned young that it was better for me—and everyone else involved—if I have my own copy of a book to read.

So how did I acquire food to keep me alive and passing my college courses when I was broke because I bought books instead of groceries? Trust me when I tell you this: Saturdays are a veritable feast of free food at the grocery store. Saturday is the day I could count on there being free samples of food products being offered to—even thrust upon—customers as they made their way up and down the grocery aisles. Of course, technically, I wasn’t shopping. But I assured myself it was okay for me to sample because I was there browsing for items I would be buying when my paycheck hit the bank and I could return to the store with check that wouldn’t bounce. The key to making this food sampling strategy work was to alternate the stores where I grazed. I didn’t want to become “that suspicious customer” who eats all the samples at the same store every Saturday, and who then ends up being trespassed from the premises forever, with the aid of a kindly police officer. On any given Saturday, I’d browse and sample at 1 or 2 grocery stores—whatever it took to get a not-so-balanced meal. The other days o’ the week were trickier. I discovered that pastry shops and delis always had free samples, so they were good targets, though their offerings were meager and not very filling. At least once a week, somebody in my circle invited me to a bbq or party of some kind, and it was okay to just show up empty-handed and leave with some leftovers. It was okay that I couldn’t contribute to the party-at-hand because when I was flush with cash I could be counted on to repay the meal by hosting the bbq or party myself. We were starving students together, but mostly—thankfully—not all at the same time.

The best how-to-get-food-because-I’m-hungry-and-I-bought-a-book-with-my-last-10-dollars-instead-of-food scheme was the funnest for me to carry out. I only had to use it when I was in college. I’d invoke the pretense of a game of scavenger hunt, for which I was the only participant. I’d write out a list of food items to be scavenged. I stuck with the basics, so as to not make it hard for the strangers I would encounter: a piece of bread, an egg, a slice of cheese, an apple, and so forth. I conspicuously carried my list with me to a stranger’s front door, so I looked legit. I’d knock or ring and the innocent soul would open the door. At which time, I’d inform the stranger that as part of a party game, I’d been sent on a scavenger hunt, and I wondered if they might have—and could give me—one or more of the items on my list. I have to say this about the Weber State University-area communities where I lived while getting my degree: nobody ever sent me away empty-handed. And then I’d take my scavenged treasures home to whatever sketchy house or apartment I was living in at the time, and I would build myself a meal—which I would eat while reading a book.

See what I did right there in that last sentence? I organically ended up right back at books, which is exactly where my higher education food trouble originated. (That’s a writer’s trick.)

BTW Keyboard keys Tie o’ the Day reminds us that books have to be written before they can be read.

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About My Relationship With Books: Part 1

In this selfie, book-y Tie o’ the Day displays the shelves its library. Honestly, there are material objects I value more than my ties and bow ties, and those things are undoubtedly books. More specifically, I have a truly-madly-deeply, beyond-reason kind of love for reading books. Books have always been a bigly part of my life, and not just as a reader. Because they have been so omnipresent throughout the whole of my life, I blame books for everything—for allowing me to survive every wild mis-step and humble triumph in my life. I also blame books for making me a writer.

I remember writing my first “book” when I was in 2nd grade, on half-sheets of blue-lined notebook paper which I meticulously “bound” with Scotch tape after I had completed writing my “manuscript.” I wrote the book in memory of my dog, Dum Dum, who had recently died. If I’m remembering correctly, one page of the book was simply empty space surrounding a solitary riddle in the center of the page. The touching riddle went something like this: What’s furry, and short, and yellow, and has a tail, and has only one eye, and died? Answer: Dum Dum. I worked dang kid-hard to make up that detailed riddle. It was worth all the effort my seven-year-old self could muster, because I was writing a “real” book. Bound together with Scotch tape.

I hope I run onto my first book one day soon. I know I would never have thrown away such a career-beginning piece of literature, so it’s got to be around here somewhere—even though I haven’t seen it for years. I’m sure I stuck it in a file folder, so it’s safe, wherever it is. Who could have known that a mere six years after I penciled that “book” about my dead dog, I would sell my first poem—for $7.00, to The New Era magazine? But I did. And reading—as much as the actual writing itself—is indubitably to blame. I make no apologies about it. To paraphrase Shakespeare, by way of ROMEO AND JULIET: If reading be my sin, give me my sin again! 📝 📖 📚

BTW Shakespeare’s plays are—and have been throughout history—often included on lists of books busybodies want to ban. Why, you ask, would anyone be threatened by those wonderful plays? Well, my theory is simple: the plays speak some uncomfortable truths and complexities about our all-too human existence, and some people—particularly those people who have never actually read or seen the plays—have a problem with facing reality. And why do some people have a problem with facing reality? Because it’s real. 🎭

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The Ties Multiply And Replenish The Tie Room

Wow! In the 4 years since TIE O’ THE DAY originally posted what is today’s FB memory, the Total Tie Tally of my all-things-tie collection has increased bigly. I estimate the current tabulation is somewhere around 2,000 neckties and 2,500 bow ties. That’s a lot o’ ties. And don’t forget: I also have ascots, cravats, and bolo ties, too. Hey, it sounds crazy even to me. But they make me so very happy. Read the re-post from 2018 below.

I’VE WONDERED ABOUT IT MYSELF

A couple of days ago, I wrote about how important asking questions is in our lives. Wendy Lowery promptly asked me a few. I will answer them all, but only one in this post.

Wendy made a query about how I got into the tie/bow tie thing. She wondered what big life experience got me hooked. Ties o’ the Day also wonder how this all came to be. What’s the origin of the burgeoning Tie Room and its inhabitants?

The honest answer to the totality of Wendy’s question is that I don’t know exactly how I got here. I know that as a kid, I was fascinated by ties. I looked forward to Sunday every week because church meetings offered up what seemed like an infinite number of ties for me to behold. (An occasional bow tie showed up in the pews, but only rarely.) Plus, it was the late 60’s and early 70’s, so the necktie designs were varied and often as wide as paperbacks. The fabrics were richly soft. They absolutely looked hip. And then at some point in my kidhood, I created a Halloween costume that required a bow tie. I don’t remember what the costume was, but I remember I liked wearing the bow tie. It felt like me. It felt like home. And I am serious about that.

Over the decades, I picked up a swell tie/bow tie here or there in my travels, if I felt like I could not live a fulfilled and clever life without it. About four years ago, I looked at my neckwear as it was doing absolutely nothing in the closet, and I thought, “Why the heck am I not wearing these grooverrific pieces all the time?” I had only twenty or so, but I began wearing them. They completed something in my soul, so I wanted others to see and appreciate their characteristics. People who saw me wearing them seemed to appreciate how they popped out from the norm. Bow ties, especially, really do make people smile. That’s when neckwear became my regular uniform—my trademark.

Of course, I had to expand my collection if I was going to wear neckwear each day. And then after I started writing the website/tblog/Facebook posts, a few folks requested I wear and post at least two per day. (BTW I call you faithful readers “tbloglodytes” since this is a “t”ie “blog”.) Gee, I was in Heaven when I realized I had to acquire even more neckwear to properly post twice per day. Although I yammer on and on about my adventures, the tblog really is all about sharing the ties.

As far as an actual count of my neckwear bodies goes, I refuse to count them. If I did, I would feel compelled to tell Suzanne the exact number, and that could cause me trouble. Even though she probably owns as many yards of fabric as I own ties/bow ties, I have determined it’s best for me to remain in the dark about the total tie tabulation, so I can keep her in the dark about it. Some things just sound all wrong when they are said out loud.

Since Suzanne’s currently where there is no internet/phone service and can’t see this post, I will tell you—if you promise to not tell her that I estimate the necktie count to be around 200. And the bow tie count is somewhere in the range of 900. I have an old wood library card catalog, where the bow ties sleep in the drawers, each dreaming mighty dreams of their turn starring in the tblog. Each morning, I hear them yell out,”ME! PICK ME!” as I enter the Tie Room to select my attire.

Some people fish. Some people craft. Some people restore classic cars. I show off ties of all ilks. In my opinion, it should be an Olympic sport. I win.

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The Paperwork That Makes It Work

Purple-striped Bow Tie o’ the Day was on display when we had a second appointment at the attorney’s office, to help us get our when-we-die concerns in order. The process is somewhat lengthy, which seems weird since our “estate” is straightforward except for a couple of things. We don’t have more than one house anymore, and we don’t collect cars or yachts, or stamps or coins. We do not have a fortune in cash locked away in a secret safe hidden behind a picture on the wall—or anywhere else, for that matter. We do have books, but there’s no money in having them. There is value in books, but not money. I doubt anybody we know has the space to adopt the whole bigly herd of slender volumes and bigly tomes we have acquired over the decades. It’s a huge job to look after thousands of books under one roof. We’ll have to do some deep thinking to divvy up the books. We know a ton of readers and I think we have a pretty fair idea of who might be interested in what. Still, it’s sad to think of our books living with other people in the not-too-near future. Yes, it’s the circle of life, but it kind of sucks anyway—to not be alive and reading, in the thick of things on the planet.

And then there is my neckwear circus. Exactly who will inherit the thousands of ties and bow ties I’ve amassed over the decades is an entirely different story. It’ll be challenging to divide them and/or designate them to go anywhere, because I can’t think of anyone who shares my adoration of the critters. Maybe I can get the Guinness Book of World Records people to send somebody to declare my neckwear collection to be the bigliest tie/bow tie menagerie in existence. That could increase the collection’s value, making it worth a tidy bit of pocket change. Rowan could then sell my collection on ebay and make enough money to buy himself a gallon of almond milk and a vegan Slim Jim to eat. Or he could just decide to open up the Tie Room as a museum and charge admission. That ought to be a negligibly lucrative money pit venture. Of course, Suzanne and I will be dead when anything happens to our belongings, so it really won’t be any of our business anymore. And that’s probably a good thing. All we can do is love the stuff we love for as long as we’re here. 📖 👔

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Clothing Can Be A Distraction

Jumbo camo Bow Tie o’ the Day and I spent part of the day erranding—with lots of pauses in our mission. I’m always aware it can come to pass: when I’m wearing a wordy t-shirt, sometimes people politely stop me in my tracks so they can read the whole thing. I don’t mind it when it happens, but it’s never happened to me so many times in a single outing before. Beginning with one of my pharmacists at Dick’s Market, I was stopped in my tracks 6 different times at various and sundry businesses, just so inquisitive folks could read every word of my shirt. It was taking me an inordinate amount of time to accomplish my tasks, so I finally retreated to the car with my half-done list, and I drove straight home. I had a bigly smile on my face. Right here in Mormonville —er, Centerville—where I was erranding, the responses to the shirt’s sentiments tallied up to be 6-out-of-6 thumbs-up. I am pleased to report that there were no dissenting opinions. Human decency wins again. 🏆

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There Is No Good Time To Not Serve Your Fellow Beings

Here’s some TIE O’ THE DAY food for thought to gnaw on.

We tend to get wrapped up in ourselves and our own wants. We lose perspective when we embrace the narrow habit of taking care of “me, me, me, me” first—ahead of those in desperate need of assistance simply to survive. I don’t think we ignore others’ needs because our human nature is evil. I think we do it because there is so much help needed in the world that we have no clue where to begin to help. We can willingly blind ourselves to the seemingly endless need of others, in order to be able to survive what we see. Knowing there is so much work to be done can paralyze us into doing nothing except looking out for ourselves. But that’s ‘s no excuse for inaction. I can’t fulfill all the needs of the entire planet, but I can do some things—beginning with helping those around me who are in need. I can’t do everything, but I should what I can do—and I should do no less. What I cannot do is nothing. There’s is no peace that comes with choosing to live a life of giving nothing of oneself to others. Nobody has to steal in order to share. We can all be rich in providing service of some kind every day, even if it is simply checking on a neighbor. Just an observation.

Below, is a revised post from 2018, which made me think about—and write about—serving others today.

IT’S FUN TO THINK ABOUT STEALING, IN A MOVIE SORT OF WAY

Robbing a Loomis armored truck as it waits in front of Dick’s Market is not a brilliant idea. Even Tie o’ the Day knows that. It’s especially not a smart idea for me to attempt it, cuz I kinda stand out. I’d be way too easy for witnesses to identify. I can just hear the witnesses in the parking lot all report the same things about the perpetrator: “I saw a woman in a purple tie, and the license plate on the red truck she drove away in said HELEN W.”

Heck, let’s all be honest. Most of us have, at one time or another in our lives, thought about robbing a bank—in a not-serious way, I hope. We talk about doing it because of the money, but also for the challenge of making a perfect plan that is soooo much better than the plans of stoopid criminals who bungle their schemes. We watch TV crime shows about the hapless thieves, and we are positive we could pull off the robbery without a hitch, whatever the thieves are attempting to steal.

“Pretend robbery” planning also leads into the amusing conversation game we all play on occasion when we talk about what we’d do if we had a filthy, obscene, bigly amount of cash. Of course, we all know we are never going to earn that kind of money from our jobs, so we’re stuck cogitating about things like winning the lottery or robbing Fort Knox. We selflessly say that if we somehow end up with a pile o’ money, we’ll buy our parents a new house, and we’ll give money to charity, and we’ll build a school in some impoverished country, and we’ll end world hunger, and so on. But guess what! We know damn well that if we hit it rich, we’d immediately quit our job. And the first thing we’d truly do with our new-found fortune is to blow it all on a fancy-shmancy car, a motorcycle, an airplane, and a yacht. And the bigliest new smart television on the market. Oh, and a case of Junior Mints. We’d likely be more selfish with our winnings than philanthropic.

Anyhoo…Entering Dick’s Market, I walked right past the armored truck, waving cordially to the driver. Inside the store, I spent the tiny fortune in my teeny pocket to buy a maple-frosted apple fritter. I can attest to the fact that the fritter was rich—even if I’m not. 😜

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Brandi Wore A Tie

Last night’s Brandi Carlile concert at Vivint Arena in SLC was a rip-roarin’ tune fest. The Indigo Girls and Celisse were the opening acts. The evening’s combination of superb musicianship and stellar performances was nothing short of amazing. These folks are all compelling songwriters of the highest order. Brandi wore a tie—just for me, I’m sure. It was a loose necklace-type tie which balanced out the ostentatiously sparkly gold sequins of her shirt. (I wore my 3D-printed purple Bow Tie o’ the Evening, which attaches itself by sliding over the top button of my shirt.) Ticketmaster flubbed our ticket order, so instead of the reasonably priced tickets for upper-level seats I had originally ordered, we were given mega-expensive terrific floor seats. We did not complain about it. Sometimes you’ve just gotta roll with the good fortune that system errors can conjure up to your benefit. Especially if it gets you closer to Brandi Carlile’s stage. 🎸 🎹

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Skitter Chilled Out Bigly

A few months ago, I posted about reconnecting with one of my college pals from way back in the 80’s. Since then, I’ve visited Jane a few times and, so far, we still seem to have plenty to talk about. We seem to be able to make each other think, and we still make each other laugh. Earlier this week, I took Skitter with me to Jane’s for one of our gabfests. Skitter wore her lemons Tie o’ the Day for the occasion.

Now, you know Skitter is afraid of every new person and every new place and every new thing. She shivers and vibrates in fear of each new noun she encounters: she’s skittish. I know Jane has two cats, and I wasn’t sure Skitter could handle being around the critters, so I anticipated I might have to leave her in the car with AC running while I socialized. I thought of all the possible Skitter-skeered outcomes, so I was prepared to improvise. When we arrived, I laid out one of Skitter’s blankets on the floor by the chair I was sitting in, so she would know where her place was in this environment which was foreign to her. However, Skitter was not having any part of staying on her blanket on the floor.

Skitter didn’t vibrate, pulsate, oscillate, or tintinnabulate. Skitter simply and nonchalantly jumped up on the couch, cuddled up to Jane, and stayed by her side the entire visit. Since then, my lower dentures have almost fallen out of my mouth on multiple occasions whenever I contemplate the whole affair—because my jaw is still dropping in amazement about Skitter’s chill behavior at Jane’s. Skitter has never acted comfortable anywhere but in our house, and sometimes she barely acts comfortable here. Skitter jumping up on Jane’s couch and making herself at home was Skitter maturing before my very eyes. I was both shocked and impressed by Skitter’s poise and determination. In fact, the Skit acted as if Jane was her old friend, not mine, and I was the newcomer to the group. It was an unbelievable hours-long event, and Suzanne still doesn’t believe it really happened. Skitter is clearly living proof that old dogs can, in fact, learn new tricks. It was fortunate that Jane was just fine with the mutt-glued-to-her-hip situation Skitter put her in.

FYI The cats ended up not being a factor in Skitter’s adventure during our visit. They stayed away from where we were conversating, for the most part. Skitter saw one of the cats a few times, but she paid it no mind. Maybe they’ll try to interact during a future play-date.

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My, What A Bigly Bow Tie Hat O’ The Day, I Have

Voting is so fundamental to the health of our representative democracy that it should be easily accessible for all eligible voters. We shouldn’t encourage only certain kinds of citizens to vote, while making voting a hardship for other citizens who are usually already under-represented in public life. The higher the percentage of eligible voters who vote, the more protected every American’s rights will be. 🇺🇸 End of civics lecture.