When I thought I was all set to write my own Western

Posted on January 6, 2008

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(You’re reading this a day late because when I was in the middle of writing this my neighborhood lost power because of the weather.)(Convenient, I know.)

Tonight I wanted to pretend to be a cowboy.

I say cowboy instead of cowgirl because cowgirls usually stay on the ranches. I wanted to ride through the desert, round up cattle, wear spurs on my boots, chop down trees, and do all those westernly things that I read about in books like Shane by Jack Schaefer.

I just bought Dustin Kensrue’s album “Please Come Home”. It’s oldschool, bar-stool piano and acoustic guitar country. It set the perfect soundtrack so I was almost set to become a cowboy.

But, you see, there was one tiny problem:

I don’t remember the desert being this damp.

It doesn’t help that I live in an area known for it’s lakes–though usually I can ignore that–but tonight our fourteen inches of snow was melting fast from fifty-degree weather. There were puddles and mud like we haven’t seen in months.

Oh and I think I missed the memo about the clouds leaving their lofty residences to come down onto the ground to migrate east. When I drove past lakes it seemed like someone had taken a pencil eraser to a map and left a blank spot, a glaring white hole. You could not look out onto the lakes because they had been fenced off by endlessly tall walls of white fog. When driving I could see the clouds rolling out onto the road in front of me like tumbleweed.

The tumbleweed-like clouds were the closest thing to out west I could find.

Oh well.

I’ll just have to save the Western for a (non)rainy day.

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