Friday, February 27, 2015


I get tired of playing the part. We all want to be so strong. We all want to be the perfect role model. I am as guilty as anybody because I have this overpowering fear of being weak or of failing. I know better than to be fake, hell we all know better but we still do it. I've done it so much. My mind gets running head strong and I start believing myself. I get thinking that I need to be the most accomplished of my age; the most impressive.
Here's the thing though, perfection is overrated. 
I may be up in the night or whispering words that mean nothing in your ears. But for me, I've finally found that real is awesome.
My role models became my role models when I saw them with a zit on their face and they admitted that tears had known their cheeks all too well. Or when they told me that they used to be so dumb and they've learned so much. I have so much more hope for myself when I hear them say they used to throw trash shots in the branding pen and how unbroke their horses were compared to now.
You're good enough to be happy with what you are darlings.

Friday, February 20, 2015


I got really sick one night and I remember laying in the fetal position on my bed trying to avoid doing the ugly cry. My sissy came in, curled up behind me and whispered "Is my Gussie gonna be ok?" as she poked her bottom lip out.
Sisters are different than friends.
You can't get pissed at your friends about how they sit on the bathroom counter.
You can't con friends into driving you around while you rant and rave.
Required forgiveness allows you to scream across arenas at each other.
Friends are far less likely to tell you the bloody truth and say "He's just not that into you."
Anybody can tell you you're going be ok and nothing is wrong with you but sometimes it just means more.
Kricket and me got up at 3 a.m. and we stumbled to the coffee maker and she smiled at me. This was 3 years ago now. We shivered and whispered and giggled through chattering teeth. She had hell catching her horse and they snorted at the trailer door. We sang "Picture" by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow with the windows cracked and the cold breezing in. I drifted off with my eyes glazing over the Top Stop neon sign that said 4:08. Her eyes are so blue in the morning. We watched the sun smile over the mountain tops between palomino ears. She left her lip balm on the dash and when she opened it that night it had melted and spilled ruining her favorite jeans. We cussed and joked and drank 44 ounces of Mountain Dew way too damn fast. Then we laughed, mocked each other and rubbed the dust off our faces.


Saturday, February 14, 2015

A Valentine's Special

I tend to lean towards sarcasm. 

Sissy has always been better at being serious about these sort of things so I think I'll leave it to her to give you a Valentine's special.

Here's what she's got to say:

Follow this link:

Happy Valentine's Day dolls! 

Hugs and kisses, 

Thursday, February 12, 2015


We sat under the moon and talked about life and old horses.
The rain was coming down splattering on my hat and we'd smile as we gestured with our hands.
So many horses that lingered in the backs of our minds were surfacing and the way they moved was coming back to us. 
We'd fall on moments of silence lingering on the thoughts that consumed our minds. 
Our boot heels were digging into mud and with every repositioned stance our spur rowels whispered a lullaby to the corralled ponies.
Shredded denim elbows leaned on aged fence posts as he told me about the colts he'd broke and the quirks that laid within each one. 
I remember thinking that this was what it was all about.
My green eyes held his gaze and my fingertips were iced up.
I'd look down at the ground, draw a brand with my boot toe and glance up to see him mid-rave and we'd be grinning. 
He had so many stories and I shoved my fists in pockets with the same icy feel and I listened.
We watched the moon grow more brilliant with each hour and we meandered aimlessly to the barn. 
Our silhouettes stood leaning loosely on the door frame breathing cold, heavy air.
Every hour brought deeper conversation and by 3 a.m. our darkest secrets were entrusted. 
When the sun came rising we were sitting on dusty floors half indian legged spinning a spur rowel with a chilled middle finger, our hats setting kind of sideways and back on our heads.
That night the rain had revamped into icy bits that came spitting down our necks.
Silky horse hides were now frozen coats stretched over shivering and trembling flesh.
My fingernails bent backward and tore as I pulled the latigo up.
Sorrely must have felt the same discomfort because there was a hump growing in his back.
The fog didn't ever lift much that day.
I remember sitting on his lap in the truck holding our bridle bits and I remember telling him to be careful.
He smiled the same way he always did. 
The way that told me thanks for the thought but you know me better.
There was no more mascara on my eyelashes or paint on my lips and I was actually o.k. with it.
I remember being in the truck throwing my head back laughing as he belted out punk songs with copenhagen in his lip. 

Some kind of a Throwback Thursday!

Thursday, February 5, 2015


I go through stages of obsessions. It used to be mane and breathe then it was wind and now blood. Only metaphor obsessions of course, because I actually hate the wind and well, no one likes blood. I've been in this weird slump the last couple of days. I was on the phone the other night and I said something about liking to think of myself as an optimistic, upbeat, happy person. I keep shielding myself like I'm scared of something but I don't know what. My usual talk-everything-out self has been more silent and I'm getting nervous because whenever I stop talking canker sores take over my mouth. Yesterday I laughed so I wouldn't cry and that is just not like me. I went to lunch with my friend and he quizzed me incessantly about bosals and bridle bits, different kinds of reins and horsehair. Then we discussed our confusions with relationships and people. Running errands yesterday I started to realize how different phone calls are than actually whispering in someone's ear. I keep seeing this smile that has always made me laugh when I wanted to cry. Yesterday I finally felt good when I was loping Biscuit bareback, free. I'm so confused. Hell, you're probably confused just reading this. It has no point, I'm just telling you where I'm at, maybe you're here too or been here anyway. And damn do I need to stop listening to T. Swift.


Sunday, February 1, 2015

To fall.

I fall in love in damp, dark barns with dust hanging in the air. I fall in love whispering to the blackness and letting my words just fall on your ears. I fall in love when the sun is settling at nightfall and my delicate and ruined fingers are intertwined with yours. I fall in love with simplicity and quiet words that have meaning deaper than the voice that spoke them. I fall in love with horses heaving loggy breathes and a calf on the end of the rope. I fall in love with anything that speaks to my soul. I've fallen in love with horses and I still love the way they move out longing for more country beneath their hooves. I feel their eagerness to travel. I've loved some ugly bits and pieces of life. I've loved people's scars. I've loved people that hurt me and I'm sure I will again. I'm in a love-hate relationship with pain. To feel everything is to be subject to an aching, to feel nothing is to willingly accept a life of numbness. I fall in love as I drape hackamores, bridle bits, horsehair and rawhide over old wooden pegs. I fall in love with everyday that leads me to the musty tack shed. I fall in love at night when my gaurd is lowered with the sun and words slip less nervously from my lips. I fall in love at 4 a.m. saddling horses and mumbling sweet nothings as the sun winks at us. I fall in love with your silhouette and the obnoxious hair beneath your hat. I fall in love with stingy horses that snort at dawn.
I fall in love to damned easy and I think I love that.
Goodnight darlings.