Staying put …

I was kind of sick to my stomach yesterday.. thinking about making a decision I knew was best to make for so many reasons.

But one that I just didn’t want to do.

We cold decide to stay put in South Dakota .. where we have settled in nicely these first few days of spring break.

Or .. we could head out, leaving the Cowboy’s like we had planned, for a few days in Montana.

……….

We go to Montana every year at least once if not twice. And that’s just the two of us. My 10 year old then goes one if not two more times with her father. I don’t ever feel I can speak on his behalf nor would I want to, but I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say, we all love it. The state. The state of mind. Being there moves me and I think all of us, like few other places.. something I never expected when I moved there so many years ago for my first job. It is where my ex and I met. I’m not sure a day has gone by that my ex doesn’t wish he had ever left. His entire family now lives there, without him. That’s a whole other story.

Regardless .. If we don’t go to visit family, we go to visit all the friends who are like family to us.

The annual roadtrip usually has us swinging a big loop to see friends in Big Sky country, The Bitterroot, Missoula, Ninemile, the Flathead Valley and back toward home .. it’s a lot of driving. And never enough time with any of them.

But this trip, I really wanted and quite honestly, felt I needed time with a woman who is like a second mom to me. The Hat Maker and her family. One stop. One stop I have been looking forward to for a very long time. We had scheduled three days there .. to fall in-between two very long, wonderful weekends at the Cowboy’s.

I didn’t want to back out… but my gut was telling me I should.

The Cowboy and I have had some much needed time together and conversations we just can’t seem to have in earnest otherwise .. since we have been here. All good things.

But until my daughter asked the other night.. “Mom, can’t we stay one more day here?” .. I hadn’t really considered simply staying put for an entire week.

Not only because I’d be changing loosely set plans .. (which I’m typically and all too often, good with)

Or missing out on an opportunity to spend time in a place and with people that feed my soul ..

But because it would mean I would actually stay put, in one place, with little to do other than rest .. regroup .. think .. and have absolute down time with people I love and adore and appreciate here as well. My daughter being one. The Cowboy another.

………..

Downtime is not something I give myself permission to have very often. And I hate to generalize but, I believe it’s actually something we, as a society have gotten so far away from. Many of us, anyway. The Cowboy has been good for me in that regard.

The Hat Maker agrees .. as she adores the Cowboy and what he’s meant for us. She told me on the phone as we were talking about the possible change of plans last night, that it was probably good for us to stay put for awhile. Stop running from here to there and everywhere inbetween because often it never gets us where we want to go anyway.

We woke this morning …

And instead of getting in the car for the twelve hour drive ..

We are enjoying staying put.. heading outside where there are two horses saddled, ready for my daughter and I to ride out in the South Dakota sun .. While we wait for the Cowboy to return home.

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Setting fear aside ..

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know how to ride a bike..”

That is the reaction we would get from just about everyone who happened to come across the little tidbit of information that my 10 year old didn’t know how to ride a bike.  Not only did she not know, but she absolutely refused to learn.

“That’s just crazy,” they would say.  “Why doesn’t she want to learn?”

It’s been this way for years now.

She will go 40 mph down a mountainside on skiis despite having rammed head on into a tree when she was probably 4 years old.  No fear to get back up.  She will ride on a scooter.  A skateboard.  She will get on any horse and enjoys not just a leisurely walk.  But an all out run.

Yet she won’t get on a bike.

I don’t know if it was the 4th of July neighborhood parade incident years ago that scarred her when she fell and the decorative red, white and blue pipecleaner on the handlebar went clear through her hand ..

Or if she .. for some reason .. has just truly not wanted to learn.

“C’mon…” I used to say.  “Everyone knows how to ride a bike.  It’s just something you do.  It will be fun!  We can go together.  You have to learn.”

“Not me,” she would reply.  “Not unless it’s the law.  Is it a law?” she used to ask.

I was getting ready to call the Governor’s office.  Who I knew perpiherally through work and who used to live in our modest little neighborhood. I was certain would help me out.

“It is a law, my law.. ” and would say, laughing.  “Would it help to have a call from the Governor?”

“No.  I’m NOT RIDING A BIKE.

………..

The Cowboy and I were determined with some lovely downtime for us this week .. that she would learn.  And she’s been softening to the idea more and more .. especially since the handsome young boy she often hangs out with now and who lives next door to us rides his bike all the time.

“What do you want to do today,” we asked as she woke on Saturday.

“I want to ride,” she replied.

“Well, if you want to ride the horses later today, you’ve got to first try to ride a bike,” the Cowboy and I said, united.

“Ok.”

………

She didn’t want either of us to help, at least not at first.

The Cowboy tried.

She got off, came back to the porch and said, “I want to do this alone.”

“And two minutes.  I’m only going to try for two minutes.”

We left her alone.  For awhile.  Two minutes came and went and she was down at the end of the Cowboy’s gravel drive still trying.  I went to see if I could help.

We went down the road and back.  A couple times.  The dog in tow ..

“You can do this,” I said.  “You just need some momentum.  It’s hard to start from a dead stop.”

She actually listened.  Didn’t get mad.  Didn’t fuss.  She tried.  And after a few more attempts ..was up and pedaling.

For about 15 feet.

Next try, just a little bit more.  And a little bit more.  By this time, we were coming back up the drive and nearing the porch.

“Ok.”  I tried.  “Can we ride the horses now?”

………

The Cowboy asked if I could see the smile on her face.

I couldn’t.  But knowing that made my heart smile.

So did the fact that Sunday morning, when we came back in the house after returning from town, she wasn’t behind us.  The Cowboy looked out the window …

“She’s on the bike,” he said.

First of (hopefully not) many to come?

It is a peaceful morning at the Cowboy’s ranch.

The sun is shining.  There is a slight breeze blowing.  No tv or music playing.

It is just quiet.

My daughter and I a few minutes ago, sat down to the coffee, bacon and waffles the Cowboy made for us before leaving for an appointment.

We had slept in, rolling in early this morning after a much later departure than I had hoped for last night.

………….

This is the start to our spring break this year ..

Well, I wish this were the start.  I like this start better.  We are instead going this morning, with .. the ‘do-over’ I wrote about a few posts ago.

…………

“Mom, can I have a hug,” my daughter asks as we were still lying in bed this morning.

She’s lying on her side, looking at me with one eye.  The other eye is buried in her pillow.  We are mirroring each other in that respect.

I give her a hug.  “I love you, honey..” I say.

The hug rounds out one of the first big fights we have ever had.

Well, actually, that she had with me last night as we were trying to get the car packed and actually get out of town.  I had a long time on the drive here last night to think about what set it all off.  And, we’ve talked about it since.  But ..

This was truly the first, and quite honestly, impressive (not in a good way) rant I’ve seen from her.

Normally we might have some pouting.  Some name calling.  Some assertiveness and being bossy.  She hasn’t been terrible about that.  She’s usually a pretty great kid and under control.  But this was a no good knock down drag out throw every nasty name in the book and do what I can to hurt mom kind of fight.  That was before the threats to throw yogurt all over the car (I almost doubled over laughing about the thought of that one as she threatened while I put gas in the car), dump my coffee (gasp! she knows my weak spot) and pinch me as hard as she could.

The “I don’t love you anymore I just want my dad the rest of my life and I wish you were never born,” kind of fight.

And it all started with me simply asking her to clean the cats litter boxes before we left.

“I tried,” she fussed at me, as I went to pour in more fresh litter and discovered there was still a lot to be cleaned.

I went to look for the scooper.

It was hiding in a corner, freshly snapped in two.

“Child (insert name)?” I ask .. “How did the scoop get broken?  Did that just happen?”

“No.  And .. It just broke,” she replied.

“It didn’t ‘just break‘ honey, what happened?  We have others coming to care for the cats and now the scoop is broke?” I say, increasingly frustrated at this point.  Frustrated my child (my fault at this point) isn’t better at handling a few simple chores.  And that we’re not already on the road.

“Why are you being so mean to me,” she asks.

I try and take stock of how I’m talking to her .. thinking, uh oh, did I push her too far?  Am I that frustrated trying to get out the door I’m taking it out on her?  Or, is it that I’m holding her accountable for one of two relatively simple tasks she’d rather not do, that’s has her so upset.  But it’s too late.  She’s in a full fledged rage, screaming bloody murder as she scoops the last of the clumps out of the litter box with half a scoop saying she doesn’t want to go with me now, and just wants her dad.  I keep doing what I’m doing, trying to stay focused and let her have this moment, hoping meanwhile that the neighbors aren’t getting concerned something else more traumatic is going on.  Next thing I know she’s unpacking all of her things from the car.  And on the phone.  To dad.

Now.. thank goodness he and I are in a place where .. even in divorce .. this no longer even remotely pits the two of us against each other.  If anything, her growing up and trying to play either of us has us talking and getting along better than we perhaps ever have.  And he knows she has called me at the slightest point of upset on his end.  It’s good to know we’ve got each others backs here.

(If I have learned anything important to pass along through my own divorce, it’s that .. if there is even a chance as a mom or dad you can present a united front .. despite separate homes, it makes a huge difference.  Not always in the moment, but in the big picture.  That’s for just about anything that may come up.)

But it was brutal.  For quite some time.  I let her keep going with it and ignored her for the most part, wondering how long she might keep it up.  And I was generally impressed with the steady stream of insanity that flowed from her healthy vocal chords.  I didn’t realize she had that in her to be honest.  At a few times I had to hold back a smile.  Which upset her even more.

It only ended as we were finally on the road about 20 minutes from home and she was furious I hadn’t started to cry.  My 10-year-old took off her seatbelt and threatened to open the door and jump out because it would be better than staying in the car with me.  And then she went for the gear shift and power button.  (Yes, my car has a power button.)

It was time to put this to an end.

She begged me to stop so that she could go to the bathroom and I told her that was perfect because she had gone on long enough and I was concerned now about both our safety.  And lucky for us, I knew that State Patrol headquarters was right next to the string of restaurants and gas stations we were heading for.

“If you can’t get this under control for yourself,” I said .. “perhaps we need to go and talk with the police.  Because I’m worried you’re going to hurt either yourself or both of us and  can’t let you do that.”

Snap.  She’s out of it.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

We pull up to Culver’s and get out.

“I’m so sorry, mommy…..” she says as she walks around the front of the car toward me offering her arms for a hug.

“I think it’s puberty.  I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m doing this.  Can I have some ice cream?”

………….

I pray this is not a regular occasion.

But I also know, I gave my own parents a few doozies when I was her age.  Probably not to the extent I got last night, because I knew there would be a hand on my face at the first utter of some of the words she chose last night or a hand mark on my behind.  But I’m sure my words at that time, cut close.

I’m not proud of that.

In fact, and my daughter and I have talked about this already this morning.  If I have any regrets from a life otherwise well lived .. it is that I ever said some of the things I did to my parents.  That I know had to have stung .. just a bit.  In particular, to my own mother.

She used to say .. “I can hardly wait until you have your own kids…” with a smile on her face.

I am learning, day by day .. what she meant..

…………

It is still quiet here at the ranch this now Saturday afteroon.

The dishes are cleared and put away after a late brunch..

And I’ve had a few wonderful moments to sit and write again after a chaotic week…

I can hear the truck coming up the drive ..

The Cowboy is has returned.

And we’re going outside to learn how to ride a bike ..

Which, she also doesn’t want do.

Let’s see how this one goes..

Help wanted: Someone who can …

There are about 10 topics I’d like to write about given the events of the past few days .. 9 of them serious, and one totally frivolous but life changing.  For women anyway.  I swear.  About shaving.  A fun fact my own mother never knew, but that I feel .. now that I have had the knowledge handed down to me, I should pass on .. especially as my own daughter starts to consider whether or not she has enough hair on her legs to start.

But I haven’t had time yet to really sit down and write about any of them.  The pace has been non-stop for days.  I think that’s what happens before you leave on vacation in general.  But it’s also because, it’s just been ridiculously busy.  Spring seems to be that way every year no matter what, doesn’t it?  I don’t know why.  Can’t put my finger on it.  But it is.  And I know I’m not alone in feeling this way ….

Regardless.

Because of how busy it has been, the overarching thought in my head the past 3 days has been:

Living on caffeine and out of my car too often ...

(sorry for inside glimpse of my coffee mug .. just painting the picture here)

I would really love a personal assistant.

…………..

I work in a business where you have to be incredibly self-sufficient to get done what you need to everyday.  Not always.  I am surrounded by great people who are hard workers and get a lot done that, I won’t lie, in turn, helps me look good each day.

Don’t most of us, really, in some capacity have that as our scenario?  We’re part of a team that comes together to produce whatever the product is for our business.  Each day.  That’s just what teams do, to be successful.

But like any profession, mine happens to be news… there’s a lot of individual responsibility.

I’ve always managed it.  Not as well as some others.  And far better than some others.  But I’ve managed.

When I look back, I have worked – hard – relying on my own performance since I was probably 12.  I delivered papers.  I mowed lawns.  I babysat.  I worked in a feed mill.  In a cornfield de-tassling.  Shearing Christmas trees.  Waitressed (much of my adult life) for years where I – at times – was the only server on the floor.  I know how to get a job done.  I can and will do what it takes to get a job done.  And I take pride in doing it well.

So when I left news for a few years, went into another profession and was given an assistant to work with ..

I had NO idea what to ask of this person.

………….

I went overnight from having only a reporters notebook, a desk phone, a computer, a small quarter cubicle wall big enough to maybe post a few snapshots in a tiny shared workspace, a deadline daily and people that shouted across the room to each other when they needed something to get done – and now .. to two beautiful, spacious offices, a long range multi-million dollar fundraising project, all of the electronic devices I might need to make that happen, access to some of the most influential people in the field I was trying to raise money for .. and, an assistant to make it all happen.

“What can I do to help you,” my awesome assistant (and he really was) would sincerely say.  Daily.

I had no idea what to tell him.

Ever.

Until …. that is, the day the lightbulb went on and I realized how much better two working together could be .. how much more I/we could get done .. how he could potentially help with the monumental tasks at hand .. behind the scenes .. taking care of the always important little details that I hate dealing with .. so that in turn, I could do what I think I do best and that is focus on the big picture… and that it was okay to ask for help.

But by then, he was gone.

He was working for others who did know how valuable he and the work he was capable of doing and loved to do .. was.  And still is.

And, while I am talking about all of this now in terms of the world of work..

At this particular moment in time .. again, I would give anything for a personal assistant.

…………..

Do people really do this?  Is there a niche career here?  Personal assistants?

Yes there is.  In fact .. I may give http://www.justaskchelsea.com/index.html a call tomorrow now that I’ve finally taken the time to google something I’ve been pondering for years.  Because I’m pretty sure me paying her for one hour .. even two to do something like .. run to the DMV for me would have been far less than the ticket I found on my windshield yesterday for expired plates.  Just one example of where I would sincerely appreciate some help.  A partner of sorts.

Many of you have them in the form of a spouse.

Know that I understand how pathetic it is I feel I could use an assistant.  To help me manage my time/life outside of work.  But I’ve gotten to the point I don’t really care what anyone else thinks in certain areas of my life.  It is what it is at this particular moment.  I am doing what I can to work toward more time with family and friends and less time with everything else.  But much like spring cleaning .. sometimes you have to make a bigger mess in the process .. to get to that cleaner house.  That’s kind of where I feel I am at in life.

Someone to help .. (the Cowboy and I .. I know, would do this for each other, if we actually lived closer to each other .. or in the same place) would not only make the chaos more manageable.  But also, more fun.

‘Want more fun and less stress?  Do less,’ you say.

If it were only that easy.

There is a huge market here.  Why are so few doing this?  Do running other people’s errands stress out those doing it for work, too?  Is there not enough money in the world someone could pay you to run errands because you have enough of your own?

Budding entrepreneurs – just a thought:  If you are looking to start your own business, have a clean driving record, can be trusted, are good with confidentiality, love kids, and are happy to work with people who might really appreciate your work..

Consider.  And please apply, within.

Not a pretty sight this morning …

I was halfway through an entirely different post here ..

When I heard it.

You know.. the sound animals make when they’re heaving .. getting ready to throw up and just lay it all out there.

And if you have pets, you know it’s usually in the worst possible place.  For instance, they may have just gotten in the trash, devoured all your leftover pesto, garlic cloves and tomatoes to boot (no pun intended.  well, maybe it was) and they find the middle of your white plush rug to get sick.

I know better anymore than to have a white plush rug.  And yes, from experience.  Because out of an entire house of hardwoods, which I have always had, the one area rug I might have in the house, has always been the preferred site for my animals to gather and look for comfort apparently, when they are getting sick.

……………….

Back to the events of this morning.

I hear it happening .. And as I make a mad dash to get her to the hardwood floors before she actually throws up.. There it is.  The heave.

………………

My parents, as I was growing up, wanted just one pet.  We usually had one small breed dog.  And that was it.

I, on the other hand, wanted them all.  I’d bring home cats.  Ask for a horse daily.  Rabbits.  Goldfish.  A parakeet.

Our dog Bugsy growing up and the parakeet ..

Even rats.  God bless ’em.  I started with one.  One rat.

I eventually ended up, thanks to a breeding mishap in the back of our 7th grade science classroom, with 24.

“No.”  

That is what my parents said when I asked if I could bring more than the one home.

So, at the end of my 8th grade year, the rats were fed to the eagles at the MacKenzie Environmental Center.  Because no one else wanted them.  Or maybe they did, but their parents didn’t want them, either.  Traumatic for me, but apparently a wonderful treat for the eagles.

……………..

One pet.

I never understood why one was great .. but more wouldn’t be even that much better.

Until recently.

Don’t get me wrong, I love them all.  Dearly.  The two dogs I have (one that I share with a friend… I’ll explain that one later), the cat (we used to have 3) .. the horse (used to have 2) and the goldfish (which recently passed, and this reminds me, we have yet to ‘bury’ him.  Oops.) have all been wonderful companions.  I’m so grateful we have been able to give them all a home and a family and I wouldn’t trade their company for the world.

And if I made even one trip to the Humane Society or saw a stray running down the street .. chances are I’d do everything I could to save them all and make sure they found a good home.  Mine or otherwise.

My daughter is exactly the same.  In fact, she may be worse than I am in the animal lover department.

But it’s been increasingly exhausting .. the constant level of care, the upkeep, the running home everyday at some point to get the dogs out no matter what the day looks like or how tough it may be to get there .. the financial strain .. and the constant hair, cleaning, picking up after, litter, poop bags, paper towel, vet appointments, I could go on.  If you have pets you know what I mean.  It all gets to be a lot.  For anyone.  But especially for someone who is single, gone much of the time and wanting post-divorce, to rebuild financially.

I now understand why my parents said, ‘No’.  And wanted just one.

I’m exhausted.

…………..

After a funeral this morning .. I have to stop by to pick up the cat who is at the vet.

Off to the vet ...

Yesterday was cleaning up after her.

I finally realized, after trying to deal with certain issues she’s been having myself here at home, she needs more help than what I can give.  Chances are, my aging cat has issues that are medical.

I’m fully expecting a significant bill.

The fish still needs to be buried.

The ants are now gone from the kitchen.

But the trash I took outside to get rid of the ants brought raccoons.  A whole other thing to clean up this morning.

Which I discovered, taking the puke I cleaned up from the dog, out to the trash.

Feeling better ..

She’s feeling better ..

I on the other hand, if I didn’t have a day full of running around already, would be ready to go back to bed.

Don’t expect much, if you don’t put in ….

The Cowboy’s daughter said to him last night, “Good job, dad,” as they were leaving the rodeo..

He replied, “No, I didn’t.”

“Well,” she said, “you tried your best.”

The Cowboy, doesn’t like to miss.  He missed last night.  His partner broke the barrier. Disappointed, he thought this might be an opportunity to remind himself of a good lesson.. and one to teach his kids.

“I’m a little rusty,” he told her.  “And I didn’t prepare.  You do your best by being prepared, by practicing.  Not by just doing your best the one day you go do something.  That’s true of a lot of things.”

I’m getting a recap this morning via the videophone .. it’s good to see him again.

“I didn’t even rope on my horse before I went.  It’s my fault.”

……………..

According to the Cowboy, his horse hadn’t been roped on in six months.  He himself, had roped only a few times the past couple of weeks.

He said he had been thinking on the drive there last Friday, not to expect much.

“I can go to the practice pen right now and never miss.  When you’re a team roper you have a  partner that relies on you.  You feel bad.”

………………

The past year has meant big changes for the Cowboy, changes that had him scaling far back from a whole lot of roping and riding.

Until that point however .. his family and the rodeo had been his life.  He spent most of his time, from what I gather .. on the road working, roping, hosting schools.  Things were tough at home because he was gone.  When he was home things were tough.  Something many of us, in various ways, can relate to.  We wonder .. how much more could we have put into a marriage, a job, a hobby or a sport .. and where would that leave us now?  Or would it have changed anything.  Had we ‘practiced’ more.  Focused.  Been better prepared and known then what we know now.

One can only guess – sometimes.

What we do know for sure is, and we were chuckling about how universal the message is this morning.. you can’t change anything looking back.  In life.  Or in the rodeo.

“Don’t expect much if you don’t put out much,” said the Cowboy.

More laughter.  That can be taken so many ways ..

I think the old saying goes, ‘Don’t expect much, if you don’t put in the work’ .. but his phrase might be more fun to use.

Either way .. as I sit here eating a cupcake for lunch .. wondering why I’m struggling still to lose weight.. I’m thinking, touché.

I’m off for a run.

Don’t look ’em in the eye..

We got sidetracked over the weekend .. (which has me now 2 days behind in posts but I’ve got some great stuff to work with .. so no shortage of material, just time.)

We were heading to a friends place in Chicago.  I wanted to make three stops along the way… and none of which entailed a bar.  Which, is apparently where most of Chicago likes to hang on St. Pattys day so we may have to make that trip again and do it appropriately.

I wanted to see the Chicago River turned green, a longstanding tradition .. (I’ve seen it look rather green, but probably not on purpose)

http://www.suntimes.com/news/metro/11345105-418/they-dye-the-chicago-river-and-a-few-other-things-green.html

And, I wanted to stop in at two stores, both of which are essentially a few doors down from the river.

One where I usually go anymore if I’m going to buy a new suit (http://www.benetton.com/) …not that I want or need anymore than I already have.  But my job demands I dress well and stay up to date with current trends.  And people are very vocal (like last Friday) when they don’t like what you are wearing.  So I have to make an attempt anyway .. I walked in .. tried on one blouse .. and walked out.

(I walk out by the way, to the Cowboy and my daughter, who have found comfy chairs across from each other in the mall, seeing who can stare the other down first without laughing.  It made me smile.)

The other…

… http://shop.nordstrom.com/c/womens-shoes-shop?origin=topnav was just down the hall.  One where my daughter was very much a participant.  And the funny faces she was making here.. were in the mirror, at herself.  As she asked for pair after pair of shoes to try on.  Heels and all.  (10 years old mind you.)

Quite honestly, she’s the one who needs new shoes the most.  She’s gone from a size 5 last fall to a size 7.  I’m pretty sure she’s been cramming her feet into shoes that don’t fit for months.  Regardless ..

………..

Nordstroms on Michigan Ave.  (Yes, I’m quite certain there other other more magnificent shoe departments but this one is closest to home.)

I don’t always buy.  I swear I don’t.  Not any more.  I used to, perhaps twice a year.  I’d go and buy one new pair.  Something I feel pretty good about given I usually see women buying several at usually upwards of $150/pr if not $300-$500.

Slowly and steadily, I’m trying to get rid of shoes I don’t wear anymore and only buy comfortable shoes for my busy lifestyle and aching feet.  Ones that are stylish enough to wear to work, for everyday or to the ranch.  (They do exist.)

I bought one pair for myself.  Cute, casual.  But wearable for work.  Under $100.  And most importantly, while they may not look it, comfortable.  Like, crazy I’m walking on pillows, comfortable.  And we got a pair of glittery flip flops for my daughter so that she could remove the tall, sweaty cowboy boots she had on that 80 degree day.   Because she had no other warm weather shoes that fit her.

The Cowboy had no intention of spending any money.

No intention.

But on the way back to the car .. we, meaning, I.. or my daughter..  apparently made eye contact with the guy at the kiosk in the middle of the mall.  Well, actually we didn’t make eye contact.  But he noticed we were strolling, friendly folk and likely suspects .. and he reeled us in.  You know, those kiosks where they say here, try this hand lotion and if you stop you’re in trouble.  The Cowboy has apparently been reeled in by this kiosk before, at a different mall.  I have too.  These people are good.

But I was prepared.  And wasn’t spending any more money.

The owner realized that.

Then started talking with the Cowboy.

We were there a good 20 minutes.  Had fun.  And we walked away having spent some money.   Not on beer.  Shoes.  A suit.  Or anything Irish this St. Patrick’s Day.  But it was still refreshing and hopefully worth the price.

It’s okay to get sidetracked.  But eye contact in the big city isn’t what it might always be out on the back roads of South Dakota.  Where all it might cost you, is a friendly wave.

“No more eye contact,” says the Cowboy, laughing, before we’re even done.  We went off and had what I thought was a wonderful rest of the weekend..

…………

What I realized this morning.. ironically .. is that I should have made more eye contact with the Cowboy over the weekend.  Because I may have then realized,  there were other discussions to be had.  And that would have been good to have, when we could have looked each other in the eye.

Instead .. I get a text.

Sometimes conversations with a cowboy.. heck, anyone, aren’t easy.  Or fun.