Yup, I’m still in my pajamas. Still recuperating from being old, or whatever condition I’m in. I’ve been napping around the living room today, going from couch to love seat, then back again. I’ve been quite boring to myself and Skitter. I’m just so bloody tired. I fall asleep at the drop of a hat, or the drop of a tie. Full disclosure: I did walk upstairs to the Tie Room once to grab my afternoon post accessories. Different Hat o’ the Day. Different Tie o’ the Day. Different Face Mask o’ the Day. I wouldn’t want to wear the exact same outfit in two different posts—ever. I do, however, stand by repeating the words on my mask. We should be nice humans to other humans, over and over again, every day. That Masked Message goes with any outfit I could ever possibly dream up.
October is not just the month of Halloween celebrations, whose basic colors are black and orange. We know it is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month, whose symbolic color is pink. October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month, symbolized by the color purple. With that in mind, Skitter and I don some of our purple today to tell you about something called the PURPLE LEASH PROJECT. A huge number of domestic violence victims who have pets say a major reason they don’t leave an abusive situation is because their pets aren’t allowed to stay with them in domestic violence shelters. The PURPLE LEASH PROJECT is trying to help people and pets stay together to heal, by working to create more pet-friendly domestic violence shelters across the country. If you want to know more about how to help the situation, please visit PurpleLeashProject.com
TIE O’ THE DAY hopes you will reach out every day to do good in the world, in any way you can—for any causes that matter to you.
Y’all know I have a one-track mind, which pretty much begins and ends with Ties/Bow Ties o’ Every Day. Some days my one-track mind is one-trackier than usual, and today is one of those days. I’m likely suffering a hangover from the final 2020 presidential debate which was last night—even though I could tolerate watching it for only a grand total of 15 minutes. Golly, I’m glad the debate farce is over for another 4 more years. Folks, whatever monstrosities exist in the world, I’m grateful to know I can always count on my mighty neckwear to revive my troubled soul. Every person needs something ever-unfailing in their life. Everyone needs a go-to passion. I hope you’ve found your thing, like I’ve found mine.
FYI My apologies to some of you tblog email subscribers who haven’t been getting pix with the text the last couple of posts. (I hope it came through on this post.) I’m working on the technical problem, which means it might or might not be fixed at some point. Photos are showing up as they should on the website itself and on the posts relayed to Facebook, so you can find them there. I hate when technology that has always worked for me suddenly stops working, for no discernible reason. Makes me wanna put on another bow tie.
Hey, boys and girls! I’m feeling a bit out of bipolar sorts this morning, so my racing brain is struggling to write any kind of sensical post for pink Bow Tie o’ the Day. However, I want to re-re-re-remind you gals to do your breasticle self-exams and/or get your mammograms. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for all the people who adore you. Guys, encourage the women in your life to do their self-exams, and to schedule regular mammograms.
I’m Helen E. Wright, and I approved this pestering ad.
Plaid pink Bow Tie o’ the Day—on behalf of all our pink Ties/Bow Ties o’ the Day—are here to remind you women once again to do your breast exams. Heck, go get a mammogram. We know dang well some of you haven’t had a mammogram for far too long, if at all. The ties/bow ties in my collection don’t mean this in a weird way, but….they love your breasticles, and they want them to be healthy. Obey this health admonishment of Ties/Bow Ties o’ the Day: Get your boobs checked, ladies!
As I’m sure y’all know, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Tie o’ the Day has a serious message for women: This month especially, please donate to breast cancer research and do your breast exams! Better yet, have your spouse/partner/significant other/etc. do your breast exam. They probably know your breasts better than you do anyway. Just sayin’. 😉
Split wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I thought we had read every Dr. Seuss book ever published—many, many, way too many times. Apparently, we missed his book that had this face mask gem of pandemic wisdom in it. Nevertheless, for nearly seven months now, we’ve done our best to live by its prescient COVID-19 advice. 😷 #drseussismyfamilydoctor
Unfinished, unadorned, speechless, wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to say absolutely nothing about that two-ring circus that was misnamed a “presidential debate” Tuesday night. Bow Tie isn’t looking to begin a political discussion. It is especially not taking sides. It is simply mute in the face of the debate’s incivility, bluster, and mendacity. It is glad it’s a bow tie and doesn’t have the right or responsibility to vote in the 2020 elections.
As far as my own “speechless” response to the debatable debate, I offer a poem by the incomparable poet, Mary Oliver, which she first published over a decade ago. In every election season since I first read it, I find myself mumbling its lines in my head as I see the various spectacles and hijinks perpetrated by many—but certainly not all—of the candidates for various offices of public service, who say they will represent us, but almost never actually do.
I think this is Thanksgiving dinner for our family at the Palomar in the early 2000’s. My Grandma Wright was the unofficial guest of honor. Mom was head cook.
Not everyone can live next door to their mother-in-law without bigly problems. We lived next door to my dad’s parents, and the only issue I can recall is that Mom felt a bit embarrassed if dad’s mom—who we called Momo—came to our door and the living room looked like a family was living in it. But that was on Mom. I don’t think Momo ever gave Mom a snooty judgement about her lived-in living room. In fact, Mom has told many a story of going out to get the clothes off our clothesline out back, and finding socks that had been hung to dry with holes in them had miraculously been darned. Momo strikes again. Mom took no offense. She considered it as the help it was, and not as a condemnation of her ability to take care of her own family.
Recipes got traded between Mom and Momo. They watched each other’s homes and cars, and collected each other’s mail, if one or the other was out of town. They didn’t belong to the same clubs, but they liked hearing about each others activities. They did Relief Society stuff together. They were in the same ward, of course. They really couldn’t get rid of each other, nor did they seem to want to.
As my grandparents got older and more bound to the inside of their house, I saw them less. At dinner, every evening without fail, Mom or Dad would ask, “Has anyone checked on the folks today?”—meaning Momo and Popo. If somebody hadn’t done it yet, Mom would come up with a message or a goodie to send over with me to their place, so I could verify Momo and Popo were alive and kicking. It was an important lesson: Love your neighbor. Yet again, kindness rules.
Boundaries are good. Good fences make good neighbors. But looking out for your Momo and Popo is always proper. Have you loved your neighbor today?
After Mom broke her hip in June of 2017, she could no longer live in her own home in Delta, so she moved to St. George with my brother, Ron, and his beautiful wife, Marie, for the next year. We brought Mom “up north” with us when we could, and she’d spend part of her “up north” time with my oldest sister in Pleasant View. We kids traded Mom back and forth like she was a fragile, prize baseball card we were trying to share with each other. (“It’s my turn to have her!”) But Mom was not done with her beloved Delta, and when a residence space opened up for her at Millard Care and Rehab in October of 2018, we were pleased and sad at the same time. Mom would be in a safe and happenin’ place for the final chapter of her long life, but she wouldn’t be having sleepover camp with her kids and grandkids anymore.
Ron and Marie were out of town being grandparents for a week when the MCR space opened up, so Suzanne and I were down at their house doing our Momsitting when we got word Mom needed to be checked in at MCR almost immediately. Suzanne and I helped Mom go through her St. George bedroom to make decisions about what she could move with her to her new digs. To say the whole process was tearful is to underplay the upheaval Mom was feeling. She knew it was time for her to make the move, but it was a huge and probably final move, nonetheless. We had all cared for her until she needed more care than we could safely provide.
That October morning we were packing up Suzanne’s SUV to move Mom from St. George to Millard Care and Rehab, I had to wake Mom up. She had a check-in time in Delta, and we needed to get on the road. As I woke her, I sat on the edge of her bed and explained, step-by-step, what we were doing that day. She said in all seriousness, “Well, I’m not going. I was quite restless in the night. I finally decided I’m not going to the care center, and then I fell asleep. I slept like a log.” I don’t know exactly what I said after that, but we talked and cried and talked some more. She got up and started to gather things together, but she had to choose which of her home-made porcelain dolls to take with her. She could not have them all in her new room. I told her we could trade them out occasionally, so she’d have them all—but only one at a time. Mom’s tears were fierce. I eventually went and got Suzanne, who was packing up the car, and said, “I need you to do one task right now. Help Mom choose a doll. We have to leave.” Suzanne was somehow successful. We eventually ended up in the car with Mom’s belongings, including one bigly doll. Skitter was in the backseat, by Mom’s side, from St. George to Delta. Mom petted Skitter the entire way. Again, we talked and cried and talked and cried, across all the miles of our journey. Gee, I’ve gone through some rough things, but this was the worst day of my life.
By the time Suzanne and I left Mom in her room at MCR later that day and headed back to Centerville, Mom was still a bit flustered. The saving grace was that she knew almost everybody in the place—residents and staff. Every one of them made a fuss over her arrival. She was already the Queen Bee of the prom. It wasn’t her home, but everybody was familiar.
I learned one thing that day we drove Mom to what will likely be her last earthly home. (Honestly, I already knew the thing. But, like any human being, I’m stubborn, so I had to re-learn it that day.) And the thing I learned is this: The right thing to do for someone you love is sometimes the most difficult thing you could possibly ever think to do. But you have to do it. Because you love them. And it’s what they need.
Damn it.
That’s why I was wearing my broken/bandaged hearts Tie o’ the Day. I knew it would be appropriate for our mission.
FYI I drove to Delta to visit Mom three days after we moved her to MCR, to make sure she was doing okay. She was already absolutely jubilant to be there. So many family members and friends were stopping by to welcome her, I only stayed with her two hours. Heck, I was in the way, and I had never been so happy to be in the way. I decided Mom’s best trick is to carry her contentment with her wherever she goes. We’d all feel better if we would do that.
Another FYI You can see Mom had already temporarily “lost” her sunglasses and her tooth on moving day, but you can also see she had her all-important clip-on earrings on her elderly earlobes. No matter how old one is, one must always wear something with a touch of class.
