Cows without borders

13 Jun

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time lately perusing the Pioneer Woman’s website, flipping through her cookbook, and reading the novel of her romance with Marlboro Man.  I guess that you can say that I’m sort of obsessed with this woman’s life right now.  Obsessed, in a mild, non-harmful kind of way.  In the kind of way that’s grounded in reality.  I mean, when I asked Alex if he would consider ranching, I knew that he would PROBABLY tell me no. 

You know, life has a way of making you wonder what you were thinking, exactly.  I’ve been complaining a bit, internally, that I don’t have this fabulous ranch, and that I have to do stuff like go to work, and I can’t spend my days cooking things like chicken fried steak, and that life isn’t SIMPLE enough.  Then, I paused for a minute, and realized how utterly ridiculous I was being. . . and how amazing it is that the past and present are so intermingled and that life can be simple and hectic all at the same time. . . that it’s possible to work a job 40 hours a week and spend the weekend forging an existence that hovers between suburbia and country living. 

For instance, I spent a good deal of this past week, searching on the internet for a tuturoial on constructing bow tie quilt squares. . . because I need to finish patching up an old quilt that’s worn down in a few places.  Over the weekend I quilted, made friends with the neighbors, sewed up a blouse with my new super awesome shirt pattern that I made myself, thank you very much, hung laundry out on the clothesline, and squeezed in a family reunion somewhere along the way. 

Oh, yeah, and did I mention?  The cow got out of the neighbor’s pasture again, and was hanging out in our yard. . . again.  Boy does she love us.  Since we, for some odd reason, didn’t get the owner’s phone number the last time that she made a break for it, we got to call the police again.  I can’t say that I didn’t ask for it. . . moping about not being a rancher. . . ha.


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