See, I really do shop at a grocery store called DICK’S. ‘Nuf said. Life is funny. And life is also plenty difficult to bear sometimes, so find the funny wherever you can. If you can’t find any funny, create some.
Tie o’ the Day is a style called a “bulldogger tie.” It’s named after the rodeo event called bulldogging. Bulldogging is also known as steer wrestling. Wearing a bulldogger tie has never yet made me want to wrestle a steer, and I doubt it ever will. But I can see this would be a good tie to wear while wrestling with a steer. It’s not long or poofy enough to get in the way of completing the bulldogging task at hand, and it has just the right amount of tie-ness to be a tie.
As I was working in The Tie Room today, I was thinking about the wide range of neckwear I have– from bow ties to bolos to ascots to cravats, and more. I am enthralled with bow ties above all other kinds of ties in my collection, but I still love a charming necktie. When I first contemplated doing a website tblog (tie blog), I settled on the domain name of TIE O’ THE DAY with the idea that the general term “tie” covers all types of neckwear.
The website traffic is healthy. Facebook traffic to the posts is steady. I’ve been unfriended only twice in the two-and-a-half years I’ve been posting the tblog there. One of the folks who unfriended me after a post says I’m the Antichrist. Apparently, I am everything that’s wrong with the world. I think if I really were the Antichrist my life would be a lot more dramatic, so I kinda think I’m not. Y’all are the judge.
Please, excuse our recent absences. Sometimes we layabouts actually engage in endeavors which require our single-minded, serious attention. Everything this week has been all about Mom, who suffered a health setback a few days ago. She seems to finally be “getting her rally on,” so we are cautiously contemplating the old dame sticking around for another 88 years. At least. Mom’s tough and spunky, and still loving the party atmosphere at Millard Care and Rehab. But we also know even the toughest Energizer Delta Rabbit Oak City-bred Gal has a finite amount of “rally.” Apparently, Mom’s still got some in her reserve tank. Yahoo! You, go, girl!
When we visited Mom yesterday, Skitter wore her new patriotic Tie o’ the Day. I sported my lavender, floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day. As Skitter and I were winding down our visit with Helen Sr., Gracie waltzed in for her turn to be the center of Mom’s attention. As you can see, Grace Anne wore her own Bow Tie o’ the Day for the occasion.
Gracie happily brought Bishop Travis (in his Tie o’ the Day) and Bishopette Collette all the way from BYU-ville to visit Mom. I thought Gracie’s allowing them to come with her to MCR was an incredibly thoughtful gesture for such a young bambino to display. You know how selfish some babies can be, especially about driving! Clearly, Gracie is not all about Gracie, Gracie, Gracie. See, she’s learned one of Mom’s Top 10 lessons already in her teeny life: Be generous.
BTW When I tried to exit Mom’s room yesterday, Skitter refused to leave her. She was determined to lie on the bed at Mom’s side. At least three times, she fought the leash as I tried to drag her from the bed. I finally had to lift her down to the floor and skedaddle with her. She and Mom are sooooo connected to each other.
Tie o’ the Day is also Bow Ties o’ the Day. They’re all being a little matchy with my raggedy cowboy Hat o’ the Day. I’ll survive the matchiness just fine cuz it does look snappy.
I dressed for going out today, although I never actually went anywhere. Instead, I did all kinds of house chores in my good duds. My efforts don’t show, however. My choring ended up being mostly tasks which must get done, even though no one else will notice them. My list was full of things like the following: de-squeaking the doors (which took longer than it should have cuz I had to find the WD-40); untangling the cords under my computer table; putting new light bulbs in the high ceiling fixtures; and dusting baseboards. I swear, the work is more interesting when you dress up to do it.
A day like this is not uncommon for me. And when I have one, I begin to feel really guilty about what I did, or didn’t do, all day. This happens to me right around the time Suzanne is on her way home from work. Today, I feel the need to apologize for doing only the “invisible” housework. I will most likely apologize to her when she walks into the house, before she’s even hung up her keys. And then she’ll tell me to quit apologizing for it. I know she doesn’t give a darn what I do with my days, but I still feel like I should apologize for EVERYTHING not getting done EVERY DAY. Apologies and excuses just fall out of my face. I know it annoys her sometimes. Heck, it annoys me too.
I’ve been mulling it over. Why do I apologize for being unable to do the impossible? I know you do it too. How is it that we can know that “x” can’t ever be perfect, but we still feel the desperate need to apologize for not making it perfect, 24/7?
Maybe part of it is because we know we really could do a little better at whatever it is we do. Maybe another reason is we appreciate what someone does for us, but we don’t feel like we are doing nearly as much. We feel inadequate, but instead of thanking that person for what they do, we apologize for the x, y, and z which we didn’t get perfect. We take it out on ourselves. Maybe we need to appreciate our own efforts a bit more. Mostly, I think we need to remind ourselves we’re as imperfectly human as anyone we apologize to.
Hey, I’m gonna try an experiment. For the next 24 hours, if I feel like I need to apologize to someone for something I didn’t get done (or something I did get done but not perfectly), I’m not going to apologize. Instead, I’m going to thank that person for something they do. This experiment will be disastrous or enlightening. I’ll report how it worked out. If you don’t ever hear from me again, you’ll know my behavioral experiment was a dangerous, failed undertaking which Suzanne didn’t appreciate. 😬🙀
Tie o’ the Day is only one delightful part of my carefully chosen ensemble. I had to hie to a speshul Homeowners Association (HOA) meeting at the Centerville Branch of the Davis County Library system a few evenings ago. Suzanne was attending her book club, so I was on my own. People, if you have never been to a HOA meeting, consider yourself lucky.
No matter how important any topic on the agenda of these meetings might be, the meetings are kinda dull. I have not yet fallen asleep in one, but as I get older, it gets harder to keep the old eyeballs and earballs on the task at hand. I mean– there are pages of numbered articles, rules, laws, bylaws, and notes to suffer through. Snore. So I came up with this clashy attire, hoping to keep me and my fellow meeting-goers awake with the warring of my fabric patterns and colors. You’ll just have to use your imagination about how the cut-offs and cowboy boots added to the look. I didn’t think to take a photo of them. And don’t think I didn’t have The Saddle Purse on my shoulder.
I could have skipped the HOA meeting altogether, but I don’t want to take the chance the other owners might vote for something stoopid. In fact, there is one old bat owner (the truth hurts, but it’s still true) who seems to read the HOA bylaws as religiously as some people do their daily scripture study– and she wants everyone to know it. Her interpretations of the rules often do not have anything to do with the real legalities involved. In fact, the simpler the rule, the more she seems to have to fuss about it.
As a responsible member of my community, I consider it part of my duty in life to cancel out this woman’s wacky HOA vote, whenever necessary. And I want to be in the meeting to see it canceled. I take no glee in her defeats, but canceling out her HOA vote ensures the rest of us reasonable community regulations.
At this particular meeting, she piped up about the inadequate length of the towel hooks hanging on the swimming pool restroom doors. She spent a bigly chunk of time on that “issue.” I had to suppress my urge to hand her $10 so she could go across the street to Home Depot and buy a screwdriver and whatever size towel hooks she wants on the pool restroom doors. I wanted to tell her I’ll even switch out the hooks myself if she just won’t make us spend one more boring moment of our collective time listening to her talk about this “calamity.”
But I sat there, quiet and polite. I always do. I listen to her with an open mind every time, hoping for an important and/or useful idea to come out of her mouth. There’s nothing “wrong” with the woman. I think the woman wants to contribute. I think she wants to be knowledgeable. Most importantly, I think she wants to stretch out the length of the meetings because she is just plain lonely. That the woman is lonely is an assumption Suzanne and I share, after spending many HOA meetings with her.
Folks, there’s always more going on with people than meets the eye, and you might not always be able to learn exactly what it is. Simply be patient, always. Simply be kind, always. And remember: You’re not dead yet, and you just might find you’ve become a lonely old bat in your own belfry one day, in need of the exact right towel hook and a friend who knows how to really listen and not be rude. Just sayin’.
Remember picture day in elementary school? What I most remember about it is that girls came to school with their hair all done up in ways they never wore their hair before or after that day. Their hair did not resemble their “true hair.” Fortunately (or unfortunately) for me, I had basically the same short, straight-bang haircut until I was 11, and nothing could be “done up” with that. My hairs always looked exactly like themselves, even on Picture Day.
Grace’s current hairdo is similar to my kidhood cut. Minions Bow Tie o’ the Day declares Little Miss Gracie-thang was in fine form yesterday when I and my SWWTRN mauled and squeezed her to bits before and during church at Bishop Travis’ Provo ward.
One of Bishopette Collette’s sisters and her husband visited Gracie’s ward yesterday as well. Bishopette Collette sat between both sides of the family, so she could fairly referee Gracie’s time spent with each of us. We all seem to be pretty good Sharers o’ the Grace– at least while Bishopette Collette is looking, and we’re sitting on a pew in Sacrament Meeting. Sharing is good, boys and girls. Choose The Share! (Seriously, Collette’s family is amazing, and I wish I knew them better than I do.)
The same day we drove to check out the amazing Toad Suck (as described in this morning’s post), yellow flower Bow Tie o’ the Day and I made sure we got to Pickles Gap. Pickles Gap Village is a tiny conglomeration of a half-dozen businesses on a bigly Conway, AR corner property. Pickles Gap Village boasts a playground, restaurant, fudge shop, tiny outdoor concert venue, 2 clothing boutiques, and “antique” stores. I use the term “antique” to cover the likes of thrift stores, secondhand stores, vintage stores, consignment shops, as well as antique stores. Whatever term you want to give these stores, they were everywhere we went. They were as ever-present in Arkansas as the churches. I expected boatloads of churches, but the prevalence of antique stores was a bigly surprise.
Suzanne spent so much time in one of the combo antique/boutique’s at Pickles Gap that I was certain she had moved in. She ended up finding “birthday” jewelry, of course. And “birthday” clothing, which was not a birthday suit. She already has one of those. I saw the blinged-out bow tie purse, but I didn’t need it. I have The Saddle Purse, so I shall forever pine for no other purse.
We enjoyed the antique store owners. They loved their stores. They loved each and every item on the shelves, and they knew stories about the objects and their people. Chatting with the salespeople was enlightening and jovial. We felt at ease and valued in every business. The owners/salespeople were interested to know our stories too. They asked as many questions as we did, I think.
Hey! In one of the Pickles Gap Village antique stores, I spied this little trough of plastic toy soldiers, with a thoughtful reminder to pray for real soldiers.
A common farewell we got from salespersons in almost every business as we left was, “Have a blessed day!” I loved saying, “You, too” in response to that sentiment. It doesn’t matter if you’re a believer in any god or religion, or in the idea of blessings. It matters that you can recognize others are telling you they wish your life to be smothered in good. They want to send positive vibrations your way. Look for those vibes/blessings. Find them. Be grateful for them. And then, send the hope back out there.
Honestly, sometimes I’m idea-less. For example, I can’t think of anything to write about right now. But I always like to show off the neckwear, even if my head is empty of stories or wit or what I call my sermons o’ wisdom. So here’s Tie o’ the Day, with its red, white, and blue peace signs. It can serve as a reminder of the possibilities for peace– especially for those of us who live in our U.S. of A.
Because we are free, we are free to take it upon ourselves to solve problems. We are free to try to bring peace and calm to chaos, wherever we find ourselves– in our homes or outside of them. When I say “free”, I mean we can choose to take on the challenges. We are free to do more than grumble and gripe about discord that exists in our homes, neighborhoods, states, country, and world. Griping can be a fine pastime, but it doesn’t accomplish anything. It doesn’t change what isn’t working. Start with changing your imperfect self. Transform yourself in ways you know you want to be better. Transform yourself in ways you know you NEED to be better, as well. You’ll grow increasingly at peace with who you are. Becoming more at peace with your transforming self brings a little more peace to the bigly picture that includes us all.
Did you see that? I just started describing my tie– and suddenly, a topic fell out of my head.
This afternoon, paisley Bow Tie o’ the Day and I were cleaning off my desk, which I’ve needed to conquer for the last year. It resembles a landfill at this point, so I must buckle down. Behind the computer monitor, I found The Stack o’ Magazines. You know The Stack of which I write. You’ve got one too. It’s the pile that results when you don’t have time to read the magazines that show up in your mail, but you are hoping one day life will slow down enough for you to catch up on your mag reading– maybe on a beach. You don’t want to toss the mags yet. You still have hope for free time. Silly you. But eventually, you do give the unread magazines the heave-ho in order to not be turned in to the Health Department for being a hoarder, with mouse-eaten magazines towering to the rafters of every room in your cluttered house. That’s the Stack o’ Magazines I mined from my desk today.
I took them to the garage and threw them in the recycling can, without really paying attention to them. But one VOGUE magazine fell out of the stack and hit the floor. It sort of fanned open. And TA-DA! Look what I found: an advertisement for ballet-style shoes, with Bow Tie o’ the Day bling as ornamentation. And it happened on the same day TIE O’ THE DAY gave you Gracie in a tutu in the early post! Ballet coincidence? Ballet sign? You know me. There’s a meaning here. And even if there’s not, I’ll make one up.
At first, I thought this “tutu/twinkle-toe” coincidence meant I should buy Gracie and me each a pair of these matching ballet flats, but then I found out their price. As I perused the advertisement, I learned the shoes are $1300 per pair. I’m certain the meaning of my ballet-y Coincidence o’ the Day has got to mean something profound which doesn’t cost that much money. Seriously, if you think about it, the things with truly enduring meaning for us rarely come to us with a price tag. Maybe the meaning of today’s coincidence is simply a reminder that money ain’t what makes you leap. Gracie and I can twirl just fine without it. It ain’t the shoes. It’s the love.
If you’re reading this post right now, you are enjoying a cornucopia of gifts. You’re probably not even thinking about them, but they’re yours. You’ve got your sight, your scrolling coordination, your friends on Facebook, and you can read. There are plenty more gifts you’re experiencing right now, but you get the idea. You are floating in an ocean o’ gifts. Just notice them and say “thanks.”
Bloom-y pink and white Bow Tie o’ the Day is a gift I received from Bishopette Collette last Sunday. I’m sure it’s from Bishop Trav and baby Gracie as well, but you know darn well who probably found it and bought it. The Blackwelder’s have had the courage to gift me two pieces of neckwear in the last year or so– something Suzanne won’t even do, for fear I already have the same of whatever neckwear it is. Both neckwear gifts from the Blackwelder’s have been pieces I didn’t already have. Amazing. Their family clearly has good instincts about giving me neckwear. Having good instincts is a gift too. And always remember that a material gift is an embodiment of the true gift: someone wanted to show you affection.
Clearly, I’m thinking about gifts today. It’s been two weeks since my last Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation treatment. I’ve been giving my head a little time to settle itself down and cogitate about the whole experience and any changes I might have noticed after the entire round of 36 treatments. I decided now is a fine time to give you my verdict on the TMS. TMS was a gift. It wasn’t one bigly gift. The gift is coming in tiny waves, here and there, at random times.
The entire round of TMS treatments significantly decreases bipolar depression 50% of the time. Suzanne said I should take the chance I’d be in the lucky half, so I jumped in. I only noticed one negative side effect of the treatment itself: for a few minutes after each treatment, my vision was blurry– as if I had forgotten to put my glasses on to drive. But that was it for the negative effects of TMS treatment.
Some things from that time were a pain in the butt. By the time I drove to the University Neuropsychiatric Institute (UNI) for treatment and back home, it took a two-hour block out of each day. I didn’t like having to commit to stay around SLC for two months of weekdays. And I didn’t like paying for the TMS, which I believe my insurance should have been responsible for. But those negative things have nothing to do with TMS itself.
What I could not see as I was going through treatment were gifts accompanying the same irritants I listed above. I see them now when I look back. I got to drive to SLC for treatments before rush hour, so I enjoyed beautiful mornings. I enjoyed the gift of listening (and singing) to weird music I can’t play if someone’s with me, cuz nobody else likes it. Having to remain “up north” for over two months, meant that I was able to get a lot of domicile work done which I wouldn’t have been able to do if I’d been gallivanting across the state and/or continent. And I am grateful to have health insurance that kicked in for a bigly chunk of the TMS cost. Yes, I’m saying health insurance is a gift.
During the last week of my TMS, I experienced a day throughout which I felt lighter and more alive than I had felt in the last decade. The next day, for whatever reason, the lightness was pretty much gone. If that one day is the only big change to come out of my TMS, I will remember and treasure that singular gift.
FYI Stay tuned for Part 2 of this post topic, tomorrow. I’ll let you in on some specific changes I have noticed as a result of going through the TMS.
Tie o’ the Day is uncanny. It always knows what I’m thinking. I was cogitating about whether to address this topic in this morning’s post, and Tie voted GO AHEAD, before I even asked the question.
I’ve mentioned it before here in TIE O’ THE DAY posts, but I can’t remember ever saying it straight out: I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed of it either. I say it with humility, not out of humiliation. Those are two absolutely different things.
Today is the 12th of the month, and it’s also the 12th anniversary of my last beer. My sobriety birthday doesn’t always fall on June 12th. I go by the number of days (365 x 12= 4380), not the date I quit. This year it just happens to fall on the 12th.
And then there are AA’s 12 Steps. It is amazing how far you can rise just by taking 12 Steps. I’ve discovered I will have to take some of those steps over and over again for the rest of my life. I am careful with my sobriety, but it doesn’t stop me from living an expansive life. My sobriety is my Faberge egg. I must handle it with utmost care.
I can still be in bars or wherever alcohol is served. It’s not a problem to me that there is always a slew of wine bottles and champagne in our fridge. In fact, it’s actually one of the things which helps me not drink. When I open the refrigerator to grab a Diet Coke, I look those bottles of alcohol straight in the cork and walk away. Some alcoholics can’t do that, but I’m not the only one who can either. We’ve all got our individual ways of dealing with the baggage we carry and the wreckage we caused. And we’ve all got our lines we know we can’t cross if we are going to remain clean and sober. How we deal with our drinking problem is individual to each of us. I’m the only one who can keep me sober. I’m the only one who can keep me honest with myself.
Today, my lucky number seems to be 12. Today, I am clean and sober, just like I was yesterday. But today, I also know it’s dangerous to me if I get ahead of myself and start thinking it will be easy to get to 4381 days. That’s pride, in the worst sense of the word. That bad kind of pride lurks inside every soul. The best we can do is to get more skillful about keeping our negative pride to a minimum. (That’s meant for EVERYBODY about the pride thing, not just those with addictions.)
I still have to tell myself each day, “I can have a drink tomorrow.” So far, that little sentence has worked. “Tomorrow” hasn’t shown up yet. So far, it’s always “today.”
