.Not Too Young To Care.

We're old enough to know better. 

And I've written these words a thousand times before in different incarnations, always erased if not from the printing, then from my mind. My dear, I have always adored you.

You, though; not that show you put on for the little wild things. I was wild once and maybe it suited you. But I was never so wild that I forgot where my heart lived...it damn sure wasn't some cowboy bar at last call, despite what you've heard.

Maybe I've got it all wrong but either way I just don't have a good feeling anymore. It's like never having enough quarters for the pay phone; you always run out of time.

We never did belong to each other.

If you don't know where you stand then it's time to start walking. I don't know how far I'll get but I'll give it a try. I think that sorrel horse of yours is fast enough to catch me. And if you can get a loop settled on, you better pull your slack and never fucking let it loose.

.The Greatest Love.

Of all the things I don't believe in anymore, romance was the easiest to let go. God knows I've probably never been in love and now I realize it too. Infatuation is an illusion, a distraction, a crutch for a broken soul. But Loving and being In Love are two different things...I've loved enough for a thousand hearts, because what is love but caring about someone and caring about what happens to them? I've wished them well on their journeys and thought of them on mine, but no one has ever been Home. They remember me a pretty face, legs for days, dangerous curves. I remember me using parts of myself to patch up their old wounds. There's more of me now than there was before both in the flesh and in the spirit and it's finally enough to fill the gaps and empty spaces, gild the cracks with gold and wear them like jewelry. You may think me a fool to turn you away but, my darling, you're the fool. You weren't the feather in my cap or the jewel in my crown...I'm the jewel, goddamnit. I'm the sparkle and the shine and the glittering symbol of my own queendom. I'll leave you with my perfume on your shirt on your own empty bedpost and I'll curl up with myself tonight, because I'm the greatest love I'll ever know.

.Postcards From Paris.

I want a postcard from Paris

and fingers perpetually stained with ink.

I want to wear my hair wild every day

with horse's hair braided in

and lipstick on bare skin.

I want peaty black tea every morning

and pink toenails hidden

in hand-knitted socks

and to make oatmeal and milk messes

with a blue-eyed little boy.

I want to believe in second chances.

I want to believe in romance.

I want your calloused hands and quiet soul

because I'm loud enough for the whole

world.

I want to ride bareback on a big sorrel horse.

I want an old claw-foot bathtub.

I want a Navajo rug.

I want a postcard from Paris.

.Love, I Think.

I used to love the chase.
I used to love late night text messages and last-minute plans, a swipe of C.O. Bigelow peppermint lip gloss and pulling on my boots at midnight for an adventure.
I used to love empty beer cans in the back of my pickup and Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket.
A Metallica song came on the radio. "I should marry you..." he said when I turned it up and sang along.
"If you were smart, you would."
He was probably joking.
I was probably not.
I used to love the dark side of mornings, shooting stars over the desert punctuating thoughts I'd have been better off not having, and the highway home after nights that lasted too long.
"I'm going to be on the wagon...I'll call you when I get to town next time."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I never really knew what love was.
In my mind Love was bucking horses and pick up horses and big loops and years of conversations in a language of what-ifs and probably-nevers, Seven and Sevens, you-should-come-see-mes and maybe-I-wills.
In my mind love was a possibility.
I never wanted to know what was in his mind.
I still really don't know what love is.

"I heard you're gonna calve out."
"That's a hell of a way to put it."
"I'm gonna lose service...I'll call you when I come off the wagon."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I can't stand the chase.
The phone doesn't ring anymore and I barely notice it...a year's worth of wagons and works have gone by since I wore that lipgloss. I don't even remember where I left it.
Sometimes I find myself craving a Marlboro red and the scent of smoke and booze on a breath that touched my face.
A Metallica song comes on the radio. "He should've married me..." I say, then I turn it up and sing along.
If he was smart, he would've.
The baby's with his grandma and I'm going ten miles an hour over the speed limit to get home.
Home is finally where my heart is.
At least that's a love I do understand.

.The Newest Adventure.

What is it about learning that you're becoming a mother that changes you so completely?

I don't know, it hasn't happened yet.

In the five days since I discovered that I am expecting, I have waivered in between various states of shock, panic, and sheer terror. THERE IS A TINY HUMAN BEING INSIDE MY BODY. I, the girl who forgets to feed the dog and has spent my entire life floating from place to place with no cares in the world, am going to be responsible for a little baby boy.

Oh, sweet Jesus, bless his teeny heart...I apologize in advance.

But underneath the anxiety, I know that we're going to be okay. I have a great support system in the form of my momma and my grandma who have been holding my hand through the whole process, easing my paranoia and laughing at my discomfort as only a woman who has been there can...I think I'm dying half the time, but they assure me that I'm not really, and that this is nothing compared to what's coming in the next few months (thanks, thanks a whole lot).

I find myself worrying when I lay down at night. How will I teach this little boy everything he'll need to know about being a good man? Will his daddy someday be around to teach him, or will I have to figure it out on my own? How will I protect him from all the bullshit in the world that surrounds him, when it seems that there is more and more sadness and anger and negativity and pure evil every single day? Will there still be sagebrush country for him to ride when he grows up? So many questions and I have no answers.

Still, I look at the women that raised me and the men that served as father figures to me, and all the wonderful people that helped me through life and taught me the things I know and I am confident that my son will be surrounded by the best people there are to grow up with. He'll have a few good wings to huddle under and a few good brains to pick, and somewhere along the way I'm sure he'll grow up having learned all he needs to be okay in the life he'll make for himself one day.

I used to pray for a good man to love forever. I had no idea that one would be made from my own heart. It isn't what I had in mind, but creation knows what its doing. So for now, I'm going to get used to the flutters in my tummy and not being able to button my pants, and look forward to what's coming. After all, it's only once in a lifetime that a girl goes on the adventure of being a brand-new momma.

.Dream Catcher.

When is it time to give up a dream? Or is there ever a time to give up?

Do you struggle for so long before you decide that it just isn't meant to be, or do you keep struggling, pushing, reaching, grasping...even if you can't see what you're reaching for?

There's a dream catcher in my window. I don't remember where it came from or exactly how long it's been there, but I see it every single time I walk into my bedroom. Tradition and lore say that bad dreams get tangled in the webs of dream catchers and are held there, while good dreams flow freely through the center, drifting down the feathers hanging below and floating gently to the dreamer they're intended for.

Sometimes I don't wait for sleep to find me...I imagine all my dreams passing through my dream catcher, loosely, fluidly, ever-changing. The dreams are always there, even when I'm afraid they've left my heart. They may not always look the same, they may not always travel in the same directions, but at the root, they are the dreams that have always followed me. Some get stuck in the sinewy web, as if to say, "Not right now...it's not time yet." Some buzz around my head like fireflies begging to be chased and caught and held.

Perhaps there's never a time to truly give up on a dream, any dream. Maybe there are only times when you need to watch your dreams shift, take new forms, follow new paths, and be open and willing to chase them in whatever directions they fly. The best adventures are the ones that happen when you get lost...maybe your dreams know better than you do what they are meant to become.

Maybe the best way to honor a dream is to let it run as wild as your heart is. Maybe that's where true freedom is waiting...

.About A Dog.

“A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his." ” --  John Grogan, Marley & Me.


There are times in life that seem unbearably lonely; times when it's as though there's nobody a girl can trust with her heart, her soul, her troubles, or her triumphs -- it's like everyone is just waiting for her to become vulnerable and then take advantage of her when she's down. It's times like this when I'm glad I have a dog.

I've had my dog, Pepper, for eight or nine years now -- I lose track of the time, but it seems like he's always been with me. He rides along with me on most of my adventures unless it's too hot or too cold for him to sit in the pickup should I have to get out, and he gets shotgun -- rarely does he ride in the back. He likes to play tug of war with bailing twine, and he likes to run fast. He always gets gravy on his supper, and always half of my tater tots every time we go to Sonic. He sleeps next to my bed every single night on a fluffy pink (yes, pink) rug -- unless I'm having a bad night, then he sleeps next to me up on the bed.  I swear my entire existence is covered in white dog hair. I don't mind.

 

 

He always seems to know how I'm feeling. When I'm having a bad day, he'll come put his head in my lap and lay there quietly while I fiddle with his ears and tell him my problems. When I'm having a good one, he's always down for a long walk somewhere to run and explore and see what we can see. His calm and quiet demeanor somehow manage to quell the anxiety in me when I feel a panic attack coming on...I've always joked that he should be able to go everywhere with me and save me the cost of  my anti-anxiety medication. Sometimes he'll put his paw on my leg as if to say, "It's all okay, Mom. Just pet me and everything will be okay." And it always is.

 

 

I know there are some out there who don't understand the bond between a person and their dog (or horse, or any other pet for that matter). I don't understand those types. Studies have proven that owning a dog is actually good for the health of your heart, and I totally believe it. In my opinion, the love of a dog is like the love of God (is the spelling just a coincidence?). It's unconditional and ever-forgiving, and you are never alone with either -- or both -- by your side. Every single night when I go to sleep, I thank One for the other without fail.

 

 

 



.Nothing Good Gets Away.

I have discovered an amazing website called Letters Of Note and it is literally a blog of transcripts of personal letters and vintage correspondence. As a lover and letters and notes, especially from the time when that was the way in which people communicated with each other, I devoured pages and pages of letters, and stumbled upon this one, written by John Steinbeck to his son. I've read it many times before and it has always been one of my favorites. It's so simple, poignant, beautiful, and such very sound advice...enjoy ♥


New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love.

But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone—there is no possible harm in saying so—only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.

Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.

We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

Love,
Fa