Do not lend me a movie, specifically this movie, because I might drop it from the side of the four wheeler on the ride from your house to mine and then get too scared to look for it when the coyotes come out and/or it starts lightning.
Dang. I was so ready for a good ballet fight.
Every time I hear a car drive up to the house, it’s like a pistol’s been fired. I’m in a race to see who beats whom. Will they get to the door before I can reach my pants?
I haven’t lost yet, but there’s a first time for everything. I’m focused on one thing: do my underwear coordinate with my shirt? If so, and if I ever come in second place, I may be able to play it off like I meant it.
My affection for this guy is waning at an alarming rate. Really? You must cock-a-doodle-doo every hour on the hour?
I’d have him for dinner except he’s just a teenager. I don’t think he’s even, you know, been on a date yet.
I’ll be patient…
Man, fried chicken sounds good!
“You are a Prewitt woman,” my aunt says to me as I’m snotting uncontrollably over her dining table. “You are strong. You are a descendant of Belle Starr, for goodness sake!”
I grab a paper towel to scrape the slick off my face.
“We have crossed deserts and climbed mountains. And when someone gives us trouble? Well, we shoot ‘em.”
I learned two things: Paper towels hurt and I’ve temporarily misplaced my gunslinging hand.
Sure it smells good. But, do you know how many skunks had to DIE in the making of this scent?
Yeah, right. Probably just the one.
Okay, try this: Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of a scent? It ain’t easy.
That’s what the guy in Prague told me when I drove the bajillion miles to fill up my uncle’s Chevy truck. I thought Sure, I’ll do that. And when I get back to the farm, I’m gonna make that old salt box look good too.
I took the salt box on a nice, slow rotation. It held me more snugly than it did when I was seven. Some things become more affectionate with age. I’m sure that old salt lick did more for me than I did for it.
On a personal odyssey this week. Drove back to my (sorta) starting place, and it welcomed me with open fields. I’m the bald one. The baby, not the old guy with wrinkles.
