Boots, arches and dreams ...

Did you ever want something so badly when you were a kid that you would have given up 

candy and soda for life if only your parents would just buy it for you?

You would spent days, months and years dreaming of having that one thing that would make life 

just perfect.  

But it would never come to be.

For whatever reasons ... it just never happened.

And then, some point in your life, you decide to act upon that long ago held dream.

No matter how silly or small or large or crazy it may seem to others.

You turn that dream into reality.

~ ~ ~

 I did just that this week.

I ordered myself a pair of boots.

Now you might think that a small matter.  But it wasn't to me growing up.  Every since I was a wee tyke, I wanted a pair of boots.

 Not just any boots ... but COWBOY boots.  You know the kind ... the pointed toe etched in colors.

But my parents would never buy me a pair explaining that I had a high arch.  

As a 5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12 year old, I had no idea what a high arch was nor did I care.  

I just knew I wanted, NEEDED a pair of cowboy boots.

Well, here we are, 50 years later, and this week I bought my first pair of boots.

Not quite the COWBODY boot of my childhood dreams.

BUT ... these are even more awesome than I could have imagined!

They are Frye's and oh my, are they incredibly comfortable.

I'm wearing them right now ... breaking them in ...

clomping around and annoying the cat.

 ~sigh~double sigh~

: : : 

As you can see by me in the pic below, still at the age of 12, I wanted to be a

cowgirl.  That's me with my childhood pony Sparky.

We would ride in our small town Columbus Day parades

promoting my granddad's Pioneer Seed corn business.

Really now.  Don't you think my new Frye's would have completed the outfit?

Ok, I agree.  The boots could not have helped that outfit.

And by the way, I was always jealous of my friend in the cart.  She had

cowboy boots, jeans and a bolero tie.  But then,

I had the pony!

P.S.  By the way mom and dad, my arch is not too high!

As ever,

Summer

My irises have pretty much faded away.  June has arrived and with it ... summer.

I love summer.

As a kid, I would spend my days wandering the woods that surrounded our farm.  Sometimes on horseback, sometimes on foot.  Sometimes a cowgirl, sometimes a hunter.  But most times, just a curly headed little girl making up daily adventures.

By the way, have I mentioned that I was a bit chunky as a kid.  My parents used to call me "solid".

She's solid.  Such a solid kid.

Now what in the hell was that all about!  I was so proud of the fact that I was solid!

S.O.L.I.D.

Harrumph!

But I guess they were right.  Look at me!!!

Look at my waist!  And why oh why is my shirt tucked in!  What a chunk of love I was.  No wonder they called me solid!

That's my brother, Marty.  He so annoyed me growing up.  I remember when he would want to tag along with me in the woods, I would always make him walk ahead of me.  I figured if there were any snakes or such, they'd get him first!  What a loving big sister, I was .... not.

Oh, well, he's pretty much forgiven me.

Speaking of forgiving.  Have you been following the Casey Anthony trial.  What is wrong with that girl.  I have no forgiveness for the likes of her.  Just lock her up and throw away the key!

Well ... this "solid" woman better get on with her day and do her daily walk!

I'm linking up today with Texture Thursday at the

The Daily Wyatt

Later, my friends ....

Love at the Five and Dime

"We don't remember days, we remember moments."

~  Cesare Pavese  ~

Looking forward to a nice long weekend and I will be kicking it off by seeing one of my 

favorite musicians in Annapolis.  

Nanci Griffith

One of my her songs, "Love at the Five and Dime", takes me down memory lane and the Woolworth store in Muscatine, Iowa, a small river town 

that sits on the Mississippi.

My grandmother and I would frequent it during the hot summer months.

I have great memories of sitting at the counter at that five and dime store

and ordering ice cream sundaes! 

A rare treat for a farming family of modest means.

It's a beautiful song as well as delightful!

Hope you enjoy.

Love at the Five and Dime by Nanci Griffith

By the way,

what are you doing this weekend?  

Do share!

: : :

Forever Changed

Memories come to us sometimes, not in full sentences, but in images or groups of words that hold more meaning than any other narrative.

These words today reflect a memory of when I was four and struck by a car.  I was crossing the blacktop road that sat in front of our small Iowa farmhouse.  My mother, who was only 15 when she married, was on the other side, gazing down the road as my father steered his tractor to a nearby pasture for spring plowing.

Me at age 4 in Cairo, Iowa

When I Reached for Your Hand

I should  have known
you could not be there

when I reached
for your hand

you had already left

freeing yourself
of me
dreaming of another place
and time

I wonder

did you ache 
for what you left behind

or yearn for what
may never come

when I reached for your hand
and it was gone

left alone
I was not afraid

to cross over
to you

on that bright warm
early spring day
with the damp dark earth

beckoning to be split open

from the cold metal
that would carve through
its soft underbelly

not afraid
to reach for you
to call to you

but you would not hear
my cry

you had already left
and went away
to another place
that I was not allowed
to follow

you with your lost
innocence and wonder
and dreams

never to be realized

unaware
of what was left behind

me

who was reaching out
for you to take my hand

me

who was taking
that step
closer
to you

to bring you back
from that place that
stole you
and
left me behind

I reached for your hand
but it was gone

I was unafraid

to cross over
to you

and my life was
forever changed.


missing the mom gene

Chop Chop

I hate going to the hair salon. 

Finding a hairdresser is like ...
well, like gambling ...
spinning a roulette wheel 
betting at the race track
buying a lottery ticket

Rarely do I win, most times I loose.

Just too many bad bad memories as a child.

I have this sort of thick wavy curly hair that seems to have never been in style.

Except maybe when I was 3.

As far back as I can remember, we have constantly fought

My hair and I

Way too much trauma

and drama

when for picture day

in fourth grade

this was as good as it was going to get.

So sad.

Wish me luck today!

As Always,
Hairdresser Hater

missing the mom gene