Category: wisdom

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Right Place, Right Time?

All through our thinking lives– especially during the tough moments– we sleuth around to find meaning in what we do, and in how we’ve decided to live. Pink Panther Tie o’ the Day (it’s just a squirt gun he’s packing) sometimes assists me in my sleuthing to figure out how it all fits together. I’m a puzzle piece, and so are you.

When I parked my car at the TMS clinic this morning, there was one parking place left– just for me. As I swung open my car door, I realized the cow Sloggers shoes I was wearing matched the car right next to mine. It’s not a paint color you commonly see on vehicles. In fact, I believe this is the only time I’ve seen this sea foam color on a car. [Trust me: the color is not light blue, it is sea foam.]

Anyhoo… You could call it a mere coincidence, and that’s probably all it was. It was just a car and a pair of garden shoes, sharing pigment. But what if this minuscule meeting of the colors was something more than coincidence?

That would actually help me out. You see, I’ve been feeling like my TMS treatments haven’t been accomplishing their purpose of jump starting the mood section of my brain, so I can level out my depression. I haven’t felt the change I expected to notice by this point in the series of treatments. I’ve been doubting. But what if the simple meeting of these off-beat colors is the universe trying to tell me I’m doing the right thing? Maybe it’s a sign I’m right where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly the right thing for my stoopid bipolarity. That might be stretching the idea of “signs,” but maybe it’s not. Maybe we should look less for bigly signs and answers, and look more at the small things we come across in our everyday existence. How is believing in the “messages” of small things a sacrilege?

In the final analysis, it doesn’t really matter if the universe is speaking to me, or if I’m speaking to myself– about the TMS treatments or the meaning of my life or whatever. If thinking I’ve experienced a profound encounter– whether I have or haven’t– gets me through a day, that’s a good thing. If it’s just made-up meaning but it makes me a better person, what’s wrong with that? What’s the problem if we all do that?

And do you know what? After today’s treatment ended its pounding– after I’d completely forgotten about the car/shoe thing– I felt the first twinge of peace and hope. I hadn’t even left my treatment chair yet. It was only a tiny blip of peace and hope, but it was there. I’m not making it up just to make this a better story. It happened.

Once I left the clinic building, I saw that the sea foam-colored car was gone. But I remembered it had been there. Its earlier presence meant something, if only to me. I carried my little ray of peace and hope home with me, and I’m thinking I’m one step closer to fitting myself–the puzzle piece I am– into the cosmic puzzle. How is your puzzle piece doing?

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Sealed With A Lipstick Kiss (S.W.A.L.K.)

As opposed to regular ol’ S.W.A.K.

Here’s the same bigly, jumbo-ly Bow Tie o’ the Day as this morning’s post photo offered up. In this snapshot, my hairs and I were getting ready for today’s TMS treatment. In fact, it was my TMS technician, Tenzin, who finally mentioned the lip print I had on my cheek. Doh!

When Suzanne told me goodbye as she headed out to work this morning, she told me to NOT forget to wash the goodbye lipstick off my face before I went out into the world of neuropsychiatric treatments. And what was the first thing I promptly forgot to do right before I, myself, left the house for my appointment? Yup. Off I went, feeling just slightly more loved on my left cheek than on my right cheek– but unable to come up with the reason for the strange imbalance I felt.

Vonnegut Grace Vibe was gas-less, so I gassed her up before hitting the freeway. The woman I chit-chatted with at the 7-11 gas pumps didn’t point out my cheek’s lip print . Jack, the dude who seems to work at the Centerville 7-11 24/7, didn’t clue me in about it either– even as I stood at his register gabbing with him and buying a bottle of Diet Coke. The two office assistants I spoke with in the reception area at my TMS clinic spoke nary a word about it either. Finally, Tenzin commented on it.

Looking back, none of these folks seemed fazed by what was on my face. Clearly, you don’t have to know me well to figure I must have meant to do whatever I did, fashion-wise. To know me even a little is to expect to view an odd style. I decided to wear the lip print for the rest of the day, and the people who assisted me as I got a new phone at the Apple Store didn’t bring it up once.

So far, nothing unpleasant has happened to me or my cheek. In fact, the whole lipstick faux pas is generating ideas about what else I can get away with putting on my face– causing people to notice, but not tell me about. I see it as a new challenge. And I think Suzanne needs to invest in a bunch of much brighter lipstick than she already has. Like she says, “If you’re going to wear lipstick, make sure people see it.” Amen to that.

I’m positive anyone who saw me noticed my smooch print, but I think they were jealous. I was lucky enough to have a kiss on my cheek, while their cheeks were kiss-less. I think the red remnants of the kiss I received actually made some people feel unloved. Sorry. But not.

Hey, humans, kiss your people goodbye each day as they go out to conquer the world. They are going out there for YOU, you know.

BTW   Yes, I do have another pair of paw print Sloggers just like this at home.

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In Praise Of Taxes

I’m wearing my IRS Tie o’ Tax Day, displaying a cartoon icon of the poor guy who is left with only a barrel to wear after he paid his taxes. At some point this afternoon, I’ll switch to my paper money Tie o’ Tax Day. BONUS! Here’s a gander at my chicken Sloggers, as I wore them in my TMS treatment chair this morning (5 treatments down, 31 to go). Who knew garden shoes could be so clever?!

Anyhoo… Yes, it’s that time again. It’s my annual, boring Tax Day post, in which I declare that I get more for my tax dollars than for any other dollars I spend. Don’t get me wrong. I gripe about paying taxes too. But when I remind myself to look at the larger picture I get a grip on my griping. My perspective and attitude always change when I look beyond li’l ol’ me and my personal bank balance. Ultimately, I guess you could say I’m happy to pay my taxes. I even feel sort of blessed to do so. (Don’t faint about that last sentence.)

Blame my dad. He’s the one who prodded me to seriously look around at what my taxes pay for. He’s the one who made it clear to me that there is no way we could have the things we need/want without substantial taxes. He’s the one who showed me we get more than our money’s worth when we pay our taxes. Dad really, really, really, really hated paying taxes, but it didn’t stop him from understanding how much we benefit from what we pay.

We do pay a ton of taxes, but we get a ton of goods and services. Without a complicated combination of city, county, state, and federal taxes, we wouldn’t be able to live our free and secure lives. Think of just some of the “gifts” we get, just for doing nothing more than being born in this country: schools( complete with bus drivers and crossing guards); libraries; parks; sports facilities and programs; roads; bridges; infrastructure (water, sewer, landfills, and more); the military; police officers; EMT’s; firefighters; Medicare/Medicaid; etc. We get services we don’t even know we get– like super secret national security programs that secure us and the communities we have created. I could list more– on and on and on, I could yammer. There is no way I could pay for everything I use. My check helps keep me in neckwear. And it helps keep my family fed and clothed and entertained, but it’s sooooo not bigly enough for me to build an elementary school.

Are some of our tax dollars wasted? Yes. Do some people not pay their fair share of taxes? HELL, YES! We need to work on that stuff. Will I continue to gripe about paying my taxes? Yes, I will. Will I get over it? Yes.

And now I’m off to drive on a road I couldn’t possibly have afforded to build on my own.

End of patriotic preaching.

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Warning! Read Product Labels Carefully!

Tiny Bow Tie o’ the Day believes, like I do, that one of the fantastic things about having a bigly extended family and a gaggle of friends is that there is almost always a baby soon to be born. We’ve got infants on the way from all directions right now.

For the brand, spankin’ new babies and their parents, we always put together pretty much the same gift cornucopia to present to the new bambino. It’s stuff they will need. Suzanne’s special contribution to our diapers-and-wipes-and-bibs-filled offering is a pile of baby blankets she creates. She does not believe a baby needs only one of her blankets. And she is right. Any baby who receives many Suzanne-made blankets is guaranteed to be a happy baby.

My special contribution to the baby’s gift bundle is buying the diaper rash-slaying Boudreaux’s Butt Paste. With a baby product name like that, you know it’s exactly the kind of thing my eccentric self must give a newborn. Diaper rash is not pleasant. At least as far as Butt Paste is concerned, somebody can get a minor giggle out of using it.

But I am here to caution you: Do not confuse Boudreaux’s Butt Paste with Rub Some Butt bbq seasoning. Do not mistakenly put the Rub Some Butt in the baby’s room, while also mistakenly putting the Butt Paste in the pantry. That would be a tragedy. Look at the labels closely, folks. Like the television ads told us in the 70’s, reading is fundamental.

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I’m A Home Potato

It’s not an issue of codependence. It’s not that I can’t handle being in my own company. It is not that I can’t fill up my time with my own whims o’ plenty. But when Suzanne is out of town, I’m not quite totally “home”– even in my own house. Even while wearing Tie o’ the Day, I feel a kind of homesickness when I’m a bachelorette for a day or so. I walk around the entire time checking my pockets, looking through my notes, and generally feeling like I’m forgetting something significant. It happens every damn time Suzanne ventures off. The feeling is slightly irritating. It’s like a ghost pain. But I sort of like it. I know it will go away. I’ll find what I’m missing, as soon as Suzanne flies back to SLC International Airport Wednesday afternoon.

The last two years before Suzanne and I sold the Delta house, I spent most of my time alone there in Delta hanging with Mom. Suzanne spent time there when she could. At times when I was there alone, I felt like I wasn’t even wearing my own skin. I didn’t feel like my authentic self without Suzanne around to participate in my antics, or call me on my whatever-I-need-to-be-called-on. That was in my hometown, on my “home block,” in the midst of my family– next door to my mother. With all that homey-ness, I still wasn’t exactly ME. Not without my superior half.

Oh, I know who I am and how I am. I can more than competently take care of myself. I’m perfectly content with my own thoughts and games. I’m an independent gal. I don’t pout, or weep, or wail, or moan, or gnash my teeth. In fact, I don’t have a clue what it means to gnash one’s teeth. How exactly does one do that? It’s just that my inner GPS is a bit skiwampus when I’m on my own. I don’t really worry about it though. That little off-kilter feeling I feel when I’m on my own is what lets me know I’m creating a life and home with the right person. I’ll feel at home and on-kilter again when I pick up Suzanne and her bags at the airport Wednesday.

And then, that evening we will be feeling at home together at the P!NK concert in SLC. I’ve already packed my earplugs in my saddle purse for the bigly event.

BTW In keeping with the “home” theme of this post, I wanted my selfie to show me wearing a tie or bow tie showcasing a “home.” I discovered I don’t own a piece of “home” neckwear, so I’m wearing a “gnome” tie. At least the words rhyme.

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What A Wonderful World!

I couldn’t sleep early, early, early this morning, so I got out of bed at 3:30 in the A.M. to watch an hour o’ JUDGE JUDY re-runs on channel 13– which is what I do if I’m not conked-out at 3:30 A.M., Tuesday-Saturday mornings. Well, my desktop computer screen stared at me as I headed downstairs, so I just had to glance at Facebook for a second. And look what Suzanne’s brother, James, had posted to me at some point last night! Thank you, James. Thank you, James. There is no way I couldn’t make this our Bow Tie o’ the Day.

I don’t know where James found the post, but it’s so me. And it’s so anyone-who-reads-these-neckwear-posts, meaning you. The caption under the picture– the author of which, I have no idea– is a swell cherry on top. Here it is: “Some days you just add a bow tie to your chicken hat and get on as best you can.” Story of my life.

Have a brave, bow-tied chicken hat day, folks! I know I will.

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It’s The Hat

Skitter and I haven’t gotten out of our pajamas yet, but we have donned our smiley Ties o’ the Day. We are happy clams this morning, and we expect to have a grin on our faces all dang day. That’s our goal. Ties will lead us merrily through our day of vacuuming and writing. Oh, about wearing my John Deere Hat o’ the Day for the second day in a row: It is my go-to hat when I can’t quite decide which of my gaggle of hats best un-matches what I’m wearing. The hat’s green-and-pink plaid generally makes effective clash no matter what duds I sport.

People have asked me if Skitter minds being a neckwear model in my posts– you know, since she’s skittish about everything on and in the earth, as well as in the heavens above it. Let me just say this: Skitter tolerates it. She’s not askeered of modeling neckwear, but she simply doesn’t understand what the neckwear photos and ensuing fuss are all about. I have often heard her mutter under her breath, “What the gobstoppers is up with this?”

Skitter is unaware she’s a star. She also doesn’t know that even our readers wonder what the gobstoppers the posts are all about. The posts just show up on the website, or on Facebook, or in their email. People read them or don’t read them. And still, I write posts and poetry. And still, Skitter watches me while I plunk away on my laptop. And still, even I have no clue what’s up with this venture, or where it will lead me. (Suzanne says there’s a book in it. I will cogitate on that.)

Things don’t have to have a clear purpose. Experiencing them– and deciding to find personal meaning in them– is plenty more than enough reason to engage in pursuits that interest us, no matter how odd those interests might be to others. Or even to ourselves.

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I Got Scolded

I sure did, and it wasn’t even about politics– which I will gladly talk about one-on-one with anyone, in person, but I will not address the subject on Facebook or the website. So it wasn’t about that, but it was a mini brouhaha anyway. Ascot o’ the Day reminds me it is not my job to be in charge of other people’s ruffled feathers. Nevertheless, I did get called on the proverbial carpet by a reader who thought I was attacking marriage in yesterday morning’s post. Not so, my friends. Not at all. Not one bit.

I thought I was very clear in my post. My point was that marriage has its near-impossible moments of pain and discontent, as does life in general. Because of that fact, it’s helpful to have a stash of stupid tucked away in your love, in order to soldier on. Even the best of marriages get bumpy and convoluted occasionally. If you could see– before you got hitched– every land mine you’d experience in your marriage, there’s a good chance you might not have gone through with it. That’s why it’s good to be clueless/naive about some ventures. Being stupid about love is part of what makes us brave and hopeful enough to risk hitching our ball to someone’s chain. (That sounded very wrong, but you understand.) A healthy dose of stupid when you’re in love is, well, healthy.

So I apologize if anybody took offense. I won’t, however, budge on my belief in the value of stupid when it comes to marriage– and kids and all of the important people we choose to love. The stupidest things I’ve ever done, I did for love. Those stupid moves– and the courage they required– have earned me the strong, enduring relationships I have. That’s everything.

And it’s all because of stupid. Really, if you wanna know a secret, here it is: I will surely do more stupid things for people I love, until the minute I die. I recommend you do stupid things for those you love too. Will I sometimes get hurt for doing those stupid things? Yes. Will it eventually be worth it to me and to those I love? Yes. In fact, sometimes the stupider it is, the better it turns out. Why? Because The Kingdom of Stupid is where we all learn how to be better human beings. Nobody learns anything in The Kingdom of the Easy Things We Already Know.

[I really should have stuck with the word “naive” in yesterday morning’s post, instead of “stupid.” But “stupid” is probably closer to the truth. Plus, it’s funnier to say.]

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Howdy And Yahoo!

I spread the gospel of neckwear. For example, it is my firm belief that if everyone wore a bow tie every day, the world would be a tiny bit kinder and lighter. It is almost impossible to be rude to bow tie-wearin’ folk. Bow ties are too nifty to inspire hate– whether you’re wearing one or looking at someone who’s wearing one. A bow tie is like a wink. An oversized and/or untraditionally shaped bow tie is especially lovable. Neckties can be as charming as bow ties (especially the ties I collect), but ties have the added connotations of words like “work,” “stuffed shirt,” “boss,” “authority,” “uniform,” “formal” and “serious.” Bow ties tend to escape that sort of baggage.

This afternoon’s Tie o’ the Day is here to tell you that one way to lighten up the baggage of neckties is to wear a hat. A cowboy hat works nicely, but almost any hat will do– except the Pope’s hat. His hat doesn’t really make anyone feel like chillin’ out. In my opinion, baseball caps are the top choice of hat to pair with neckties because they are casual and reminiscent of youth, play, and sunshine. They’re also cheap, which means you can own a billion of them. And I assure you that clashing a tie with your wardrobe get-up crumbles the seriousness of ties too.

In fact, the main point of clash fashion is to remind you that you do not have to dress like everyone else. If you like solid colors, muted colors, matching, or uniforms, etc., that’s ok– if it really is your style. Your solitary fashion job is to look like you. Don’t dress like everybody else just because you think you’re supposed to: express your soul. Flex your soul. Experiment. You just might find that your soul looks like a purple-and-green paisley shirt, camo shorts, and a matador hat. (Ooooh, I’ll have to try that. It sounds like a fun-a-roo get-up!) Be ye not afraid of showing your soul in your attire.

Try it. The more you truly resemble your authentic self, the more you will feel at home in the life you’re living. And that’s exactly where you should feel at home, since it’s exactly where you always are. Seems quite obvious, eh?

Do you really think I always knew I would be dressing like I dress at age fifty-damn-five; that I’d be wearing at least two ties/bow ties per day; that I’d be taking infinite selfies o’ me and my neckwear; and that I’d be writing a blog about whatever my day’s neckwear inspires? I didn’t know this is what my soul looks like until I tried a few dozen different styles and modes of living over the decades. I experimented until I met my soul. Now, my style pretty much reflects my soul, and I can live in accordance with my soul’s values. And look at me now! I’m still not famous. Yet. But I am not homesick for my true soul– which I was for much of my life.

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The Optimism Of Being Smitten

I was scrolling through my TIE O’ THE DAY media gallery, and I discovered some photos I hadn’t yet posted. These are from my grandnephew’s wedding reception, which was held a few weeks ago. Tie o’ the Evening is my go-to wedding tie, which I wear to all the hitchin’ celebrations I attend.

The joyous couple is Jayden Champneys and his wife, Payton. Let me say this about them: Hottest. Couple. Ever. I am not exaggerating. There are two men who Mom can never talk about without commenting on their handsome-idity, and they are Jayden and LDS Apostle Dieter F. Uchtdorf. Mention Jayden to Mom, and the first thing she says is “Oh, he is so handsome.” Mention Dieter F. Uchtdorf and Mom says, “It’s so nice to finally have a nice looking General Authority to look at during Conference, instead of those old fossils up on the stand.” (Trust me, she loves them all.)

[FYI Mom also refers to the Utah State Legislators as “those old fossils,” who need to be voted out of office as soon as possible. If Mom has an opinion, she will be sure you know what it is. But you probably already know she shares her thoughts, because you’ve most likely heard an opinion or two of hers– whether you wanted to or not.]

Anyhoo…By getting married, Jayden and Payton have committed themselves, not just to each other, but to the most complex relationship in existence. According to marriage statistics, the odds are against them spending the entirety of the rest of their lives together. It is not a reflection on them and their love. It is simply a fact of our culture.

To take on the extraordinary commitment of marriage is a testament to Jayden’s and Payton’s hope and faith in the power of love, and in their optimism about their future. Love is, by its very nature, a formidable optimism. Love also contains an integral strain of stupid. When two people merge and commit to a lifetime (or time and all eternity, as is said in LDS culture) of facing the world together– for and with each other–, it demonstrates a healthy kind of naivete. That is not a bad thing. We need to be unaware of the difficulty of some ventures– like marriage, or having children.

If we knew the struggles and pain of taking proper care of spouses and kids, most of us would be too frightened to pair up. There is a lot of heartache involved in caring about people to whom we give our whole hearts. And for that reason, it’s good to be stupid about the complex realities of making a family. We commit to someone and– despite and because of the difficulties– we eventually grow insight and wisdom about nurturing a lasting relationship. If we pay attention, we gradually get un-naive. We eventually get un-stupid. We get better at growing the kind of love that can beat the odds. A daring stupidity is necessary to a successful and enduring marriage.