Coffee in hand. Fire in the fireplace. Rainy day.

My calm morning ritual suddenly jarring me more awake when I saw something that I hadn’t seen in a few years.

A tie bar. When was the last time you saw a tie bar? I drew on the memories of Dad wearing atie bar. That piece of metal which held the tie to the shirt. Should it be considered a piece of jewelry? Perhaps it could be related to garter belts that held nylons in place. Hmm. Maybe two hmms.

Never did I stop to wonder if the tie would flop around had Dad not worn that piece of manly jewelry. It just seemed that it was a necessity. Of course, I was a girl. What did I know about man stuff. No one talked about it. And, why not? Who in the blue blazes decided that a tie needed to be corralled?

My thoughts of the tie bar began to have background music. I was once more visited by The Unsinkable Molly Brown with Debbie Reynolds singing, “Belly up to the Tie Bar, Boys. Better loosen your belts”.

What would my grandchildren think when they heard the phrase “tie bar”?

Did a tie bar serve drinks? I hate confusing them, but now I am confused. We’ll talk about belts at another time.

As I sit here on this day after Mother’s Day, I fear for future generations who will contemplate this thing called a tie bar. In fact, I’m sure they will wonder what in the heck was up with wearing a useless tie. I’m sitting here wondering the same thing.

Well, I have scribbled this column off quickly as I am late with the deadline. I’d hate for you to miss this vital information this week. I don’t want to “tie” you up. Thus “tied” to my computer, I finish this piece of literary importance, hopefully, leaving you with a smile.

See you next week.

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Pamela Loxley Drake is a Beaverton resident and self-described lifelong “farm girl.” You can contact her at pamldrake@gmail.com.