What I Learned From My Cowboy Boots

What I Learned From My Cowboy Boots

My cowboy boots are too tight. The cowboy who sold them to me in the boot store said they would loosen up after while. I believed him. After all he looked like a cowboy. He spoke with authority. He was young and cute. 

So I believed him. I am glad God looks out for me because I think I would be terminally naïve if it wasn’t for Him. He gave me “horse sense,” after all. 

My cowboy boots are beautiful. I have wanted them since I was 13. Since I got Silver. I had beautiful boots once but they were stolen at the Clarion Co. fair because I left them out instead of putting them in my mother's car. (naïve of me, huh?)

Fifteen years ago when we were in New Mexico I wanted boots, but I had no opportunity to buy them. Then, this year, I got to visit the kids in Lubbock Texas. I thought, “I’m getting the boots.”  The Bank of Roger authorized my purchase.

We took Wonderful Jen and Dave with me to the store. I counted on Jen to tell me why I shouldn’t buy the boots. She is much more sensible than I am and has taught me a lot about buying things. So I trusted her.

But I waited forty years to own boots. 

 Now I faced a decision. Good boots are costly. How much would I wear them? Did I need to spend $XXX on boots or would $XXX do? Finally I found some on sale. Now I own cowboy boots.

I wanted to sleep in them, to put them under my pillow that night. I did take them out of the box and kiss them on the way home.  Jen, in the front seat, thought i gave Roger a kiss to thank him. First things first.

They are too tight. Right now, but I know I could “ride ‘em and rope ‘em” if I only owned a rope and a buckskin Quarter Horse. And if my boots loosen up a little. So I can actually walk.

What I Learned --Grand Canyon 3

What I Learned Traveling to the Grand Canyon 3

I miss my bed. 

I sleep in a bed every night. In what I call a Roger hotel.  He finds them under his price point and they have to have a free breakfast. I want them with a pool. So we pull into a town and crusie around and pick a motel.  

Then comes the crucial test. How does it smell?  I have no idea if smell has anything to do with cleanliness. But in my head it does. We’ve had a couple non-smoking rooms that had a whiff of smoke in them. Like maybe they cleaned the wall paper instead of removing when the room went from smoking to non-smoking.

We had one room that smelled like old ladies. We opened the door and window and turned on the air conditioner to air it out.   

I tell myself that I will only be there one night and I pray for God to protect me (from bedbugs, etc.) and I go to sleep. 

BUT 

I miss my bed. I miss the Leslee-shaped groove I sleep in, and wake in, and walk around in everyday.

New is getting old.  

Then I think, “Wait a minute! You’re driving all over the southwest in a convertible! With one of your favorite people! He doesn’t grumble about the tenth bathroom stop. He’ll make latte stops and he doesn’t even drink coffee!”

Then I get in the convertible and off we go. I think, “The fresh air blows off the old lady smell. The Grand Canyon is coming up. I’ve wanted to do this since I was 13.”  

And the next night when we find a Roger motel, I just grin. There’ll be hot water for a shower and maybe even a nice pool. 

What I Learned--Grand canyon 2

What I Learned Traveling to the Grand Canyon #2

I learned that I am so much an easterner. 

We drove along this little twisting road through a state park in Utah. It was beautiful country with huge rock formations and blue, blue sky. 

Roger slowed as we rounded one more snaky corner.  We came upon an accident in the opposite lane. People were around the car that had gone off the road and run into the rock wall just off the road’s shoulder. We drove on because others had stopped. We decided to call 911. 

Only there was no cell phone reception.

We drove 12 miles before we came to the first place we could call for help. It was a ranger station at a camp ground. We called 911 from there.  Nobody had called the accident in yet. 

If the accident had been on interstate 80 or 81 the roads I know and we had waited 12 miles to call it in, the police would have already been on the scene. 

I had no idea how different one part of the USA was from another. 

We talked to a young man who took care of his sick grandfather and moved to a different town so his grandpa could get to a hospital if he needed to go there. There was is no hospital in Silverton, Colorado. And the road can get snowed closed in the winter.   

He couldn’t just go to the urgent care walk-in, or the grocery store.

We heard a pastor talk about an accident where a couple guys in pickup trucks had first aid equipment and flares to help out.

  

I really admire the scenery out here.  And the people? They are pretty amazing.

Just like at home.

What I Learned Traveling tothe Grand Canyon 1

Greetings from St. Joseph Missouri ! We are heading west in the convertable. So far we have traveled about 1400 miles and we are still speaking to each other. I think we are, let me check.
Les: Roger?
Roger: What? I'm trying to read.
Les: Oops.
 Well maybe I shouldn't bother him now.

Anyhow mostly we are having fun, watching Ohio, Illinois, Indiana and Missouri roll by.  We looked at the land of Linclon and the land of Mark Twain.  We looked at an oplulent Frank Lloyd Wright house, and the little house that Abe Linclon owned, and even littler house that Mark Twain lived in in Hannibal.

We are going to find out about the pony express and Jesse James and Harry Truman,  tomorrow.

And we are finding out how to give each other space when we are in a small car and one room in a hotel. So far so good.

Sometimes its okay to chat and sometimes its okay to be quiet. And we have to invent ways to do that without bugging each other too much.

So . . .  here goes
Les: Roger?
Roger: Hmm?
Les: I love you.
Roger: I love you too, Babe.

That always works!

What I Learned

This blog is about what I learn, about what I welcome into my world.  Life lessons like: when I have the flu I eat chicken soup, doze in front of old movies on TCM, but mostly I’m sick until I’m better. 

Same as grief.

I’m sad until I’m not. First I’m debilitated by sadness.  A half-hour goes by and I’m amazed I’ve had the strength to breath that long. Slowly nanoseconds pass and I’m still on my feet. I function like a person with a cold. As my mother used to say, “she’s not running on all eight cylinders.” Too bad if anybody thinks I should or even I can. 

Eventually a year staggers by. I’m sad on all the firsts: first Christmas missing someone, my birthday, her birthday. Then the firsts are done with.  

Time begins again but I don’t let anybody lie to me by saying time heals all wounds. I don’t feel like an amputee anymore, but that’s because I’ve learned to adapt.  

I’m still sad when I need to be. I know what reminds me of the missing one, but I also know I’m better off letting the sad in for a day or two. It’s like housecleaning. I hate it but it’s good when it’s done.

Eventually ten years go by. I still want to call the missing one when something big happens. I find myself making a plan to talk to her later. 

Only it will be much later. I am God’s, and she is His. Later will be eternity. Where I won’t get the flu or deal with bouts of grief. Anymore. Forever!

What I Learned From Jeanne Valentiner

I learned a lot from Clara Louise Jeanne Valentiner.  I could blog for a lot of lessons. But here is one that I think is remarkable.

Ten years ago was almost a year after 9-11 and I was asked to read my 9-11 poem at WVIA, the radio station.

Too nervous to drive I asked my friend  Jeanne to drive me. She went to the station through Wilkes-Barre and my directions were thorugh Scranton so we got lost and arrived a half hour late.

I wanted to say something harsh to her, but a really loud calm voice in my head said,  "Which is more important? Your friendship or your stupid poem?" I was still upset we were late but I kept my mouth shut.

At the radio station we found out they were running a half hour late that day. So we were really right on time. I read my poem, while Jeanne kept the front office laughing at her charming stories.We went to lunch and laughed and had the best time ever. 

Early the next day I left for vacation.  When I called home Sept. 7, 2002, I found out that Jeanne had died Sept. 6.  If I had strained our relationship by yelling at her it would have stayed that way. I never had time to fix it. And I never needed too because for once in my life I kept my mouth shut.

I still miss my good friend Jeanne. I wanted to call her and tell her all about the wedding, Sammy dying, my latest literary rejection. I know I will see her someday, and it seems like a short time ago, when I read my stupid poem on the air.

What I Learned While Strolling With Anny

Anny has several colorful tattoos adoring her little white skin. As you walk toward her and she’s wearing a summer skirt, you notice a walrus face looking at you from her knee.  The walrus is melancholy, with a sweeping mustache. If he spoke he’d sound like Eeyore, the donkey from Winnie the Pooh. 

I think he’s a little scary with his big old tusks and greenish flippers adoring her knee cap, but my Aunt Charlotte, Anny’s great aunt, raves about him. She wants to see the Walrus every time she sees Anny. The Walrus tattoo honors one of Anny’s friends. And even looks a little like him.  

The other day we walked down a summer Scranton Street and Anny said, “They’re staring at my Walrus. That happens all the time.” Maybe they’re just looking at Anny’s pretty legs, or appreciating Walrus art.

And maybe If we all had tattoos nobody would look twice at anybody. Or everybody would and we’d all appreciate each others art work and be friendly.

I can hear you saying, “If we all had tattoos there’d be one person who didn’t and then we’d all stare at her.” And we just might.

 An extremely obese friend said, “Once at the mall two girls walked by me. Once they were past the first girl said, “If I ever get that fat, shoot me.”  Mega-unkind staring.  

So, how about this? If you see me out and about, and my hair is all wild and I’m wearing purple Chuck Taylor’s, grin as you stare. Be kind while you gawk at me, or Anny, or at anybody. And we’ll be kind as we grin and stare right back.

What I Learned As the Mother of the Bride

Yes the wedding was beautiful. When I have processed some more you can hear about it. To see it look at my facebook page. 

I really had a great time and I am so glad Jesse is in our family now.

I hope Kathy Littleton has gotten some rest. She threw quite a party!

Jesse and Margaret are hiking now. Not my idea of a honeymoon. Of course my idea of exercising is to read a book on the porch swing. I mean, you have to move at least your foot to keep it going right? That's enough for me. 

Margaret's address is the same, she moved upstairs from where she used to live because Jesse's apartment is bigger. She can still look out the window and see the Roundout Creek flowing by.

I will never forget how beautiful they both were and how happy. Jesse cried. He was adorable. They're going to have some beautiful children.

I think I like this kid getting married stuff. Four years ago we got wonderful Jen. Now we have Charming Jesse.

Hooray!

I will write you more when I can think again. This mother of the bride stuff is exhausting.

What I Learned From Hand Me Downs

What I Learned From Hand Me Downs 

I have an amethyst ring that belonged to the mother of our neighbor back in Clarion when I was a little girl. I got the ring because I was the only one my neighbor knew that was born in February, the same month as the mother of my neighbor.

I called my neighbor Aunt Snoonie, everybody else called her plain old Snoonie, or Louise. Her mother was Grandma Mock.  (No comments out there about last names. Kroh to Clapp---after all!)

Anyhow, Grandma Mock used to come visit Aunt Snoonie and I would go over and play with her. I used to be Wagon Wheel. I put on my six guns, and my cowboy hat, climbed on my stick horse, and I made everybody call me Wagon Wheel. That was my rootin'-tootin' cowboy name. 

So Wagon Wheel would go play with Grandma Mock when she came for a visit. I was too young to understand when she died, but one day I noticed a ring box on my mother’s living room book case.

“What’s in this pretty box, Mom?” I said.

“I will show you, but it’s very special,” my mom said. She got the ring box down and snapped it open to reveal a gold and amethyst ring. “Do you remember Grandma Mock?”

I did. My mother explained that this ring had been hers and it was now mine but I couldn’t touch it until I was a big girl.

I remember looking at it once in a while when I was growing up. Then I got old enough to wear it to homecoming, to prom. Then I took it with me when I got married. 

It is part of my childhood and I plan to wear it at Margaret’s wedding Saturday. (Yipes!) I want to remember all those people that were at my wedding but will not be at my daughter’s. 

So ask me on Saturday to see Grandma Mock’s ring. It stands in for all the people in Clarion who would wish Margaret and Jesse well, and eat my pies, and clink their forks on their glasses, and dance the night away with all of us young and old.