I woke up this morning at 5 am eternal still processing my own take on Good Friday.
Uh, I mean processing yesterday. That good friday.
CMT was on the boob tube, Jamie O Neal singing the International Association of Rodeo Princesses theme song..."A Girl Trying to Find a Perfect Man is Like Trying to Find Atlantis..."
I can see all the pretty rodeo princesses, emerging at dawn from their single wides and sky high mansions. Whether their rides to the rodeo consist of single-horse trailers pulled by running on last prayer pick'em up trucks, or the full meal deal of four horse slant loads, complete with living quarters, this Saturday morning is dedicated toward "All Rodeo Princess, All the Time" . I can visualize both the real and the imaginary ones, in full smeared Saturday Morning Honky Tonk Recovery. Now, as I write this, I see 'em. Painted up, saddled up, entering the arena, hoping that when its all said and done- that their horses will work the pattern, keep the barrels standing and that everything goes all deadly in the alley for the final home stretch. Legit Rodeo Princesses live on hope. They score their winning times any way they can get 'em-Last call, dance floor tested, Wranglered up and Cowboy'd Up.
But, no matter how it goes in the arena, come Saturday night, it won't matter none. There's always the bonus, consolation event to think about-round two, held at the exhibitor's party. Standard timed, two-timed, and two-stepped all over, yeah maybe this time some roughstock rider will take notice of all that talent, cleavage, and dazzling, princess-in-waiting style.
Yeah maybe. Stranger things have happened. Sweethearts of the Rodeo, I salute you in all your Saturday morning glory.
I know of a few Pend Oreille Girls who eventually scored well in that found a man in Atlantis department and these days their dedicated cowboy hatted men pull hard time at the logging yard, the railroad yard, and at the machine shops while their girl shirl's slog it out on the circuit. Their prize, best in show marriages, inspire the remaining Rodeo Princesses to get with the program and ride like they mean it.
Cus' hot damn, eventually someone's gonna notice.
I'm also feeling plenty of Sugarland this morning, now that I got some coffee in me. "Dear Mom and Dad, please send money...tis the wake-me up line from their great Country Western video "Baby Girl", and if a song is gonna put you on the map as a CW entertainer-I sure as hell can't think of a better one to do it than this tune.
Maybe at 5 am, uncoffeed up, these "up with Saturday"! thoughts seemed damn unreasonable. Especially starring at the Atlantis video and recognizing that Ms O'Neal looks like a dead-on definition of "Rode Hard, Put Away Wet". But now with the inspiration of Sugarland, the sun breaking through, the allusive miracle mile translates into a hopeful, maybe.
Saturday's got all our names on it.
Oh, and one of ya asked me the other day to 'splain what "Rode Hard Put Away Wet" meant-I think I got an email about this a few days back. Here's your answer. Google the Jamie O Neal video. That's exactly what it looks like. Hold the Tsunami.
But add an extra helping of surfer dudes.
~~~
So I guess by now, y'all got a warning, this is going to be a long blog. Longer than most cus I am doing the whole unthinking, thinking man act today. My cowboy hat is sitting pretty, I'm unshaved, unkept, and unconcerned about where I'm going. I'm a bit unfocused. A bit un-cola, feeling like 7-Up and looking for the lime in sublime. Pucker up. Get yer own coffee. Let's talk.
Yesterday was niece-uncle bonding day. I hung out with my brother in law Tracy. We did the guy thing. Strung speaker wire through a crawl space under the house, hung shelves, and went seeking wisdom and satiation at the "real men" house (s) of worship-ACE Hardware, Home Depot and Lowes. We took along Tracy's three year old girl just for shits and grins. I saw lots of hot guys everywhere, but I seemed to attract the attention of the still ringless Ms. cashiers, wives, and other single white females. The babes adored the ever wonderful Ms Kelcy. And yeah, from earlier blogs I've been corrected. It's not "Kelsie"...it's "K-E-L-C-Y". Duh.
So anyway back to the story. I've been learning this new definition of lightness of being that Three Year Olds chase. Completely uninhibited, I like how it feels, now that I been trying it out. Three is different than 40. We could all learn from it. Cracks in the cement floors at Lowes, buzzing overhead lights at Home Depot, and the prickly Cactus in the garden department inspire awe. The same wonder that seems completely missed by so many rushed into oblivion adults.
I realized yesterday after putting Kelcy down for her nap, that I've been hanging out with a "seeing-eye" toddler. Someone who embraces the tactile, the rough surfaces, and rather than calling these realities flawed, she finds endless inspiration in that texture.
I also realized I'm not alone in needing the guidance of a "seeing-eye" toddler. I recognize a similar lack of wonder in the eyes of all those tired contractors and do it yourself'ers wandering dazed through the lighting and storage and lumber departments. I am not alone.
Maybe all us real men ought to have a communal moment, on our knees, all of us holding on for dear life to the small fingers of a three year old. Amazed that the fur on a Cactus, something that looks so soft and welcoming, is actually the best defense against harm a plant could devise. Maybe we need to spend some hard time looking at the beauty of those cement cracks on the floor or really hear the symphony of an overhead fluorescent hum. Maybe, if we did, our lives might just seem a bit more miraculous. All those "Honey Do" projects might just turn into "Honey Get to Do's".
Yesterday I also witnessed two very bad days, both played out in slow motion. Bad day one is the status of my father's waterfall, which I've previously blogged about. "A River Runs Through It: The Nightmare" seems to describe the mood of my dad's landscape guy, who is on the verge of crisis mode. Right now, dad's serenity pond more represents a giant $15,000 leak. So the waterfall guy, the guy who created it, came out to inspect and troubleshoot the problem. The landscaper's name is Randy, and he's not really sure what's wrong.
As I stood there beside him, on the edge of the pond, holding the official remote control waterfall turner on'er and turner off'er, I gained a new definition of distressed, pulling out your hair male pattern baldness. I've never seen this exact variation before.
Randy and I charged the pond system, rejoicing as the water started falling, drowning out the sound of all those Seattle bound jets, but as if on cue, suddenly about 50 gallons of water just went somewhere. Disappeared. Gone. We couldn't keep the water replenished fast enough. Randy did a really good imitation of a guy imitating composure.
The poor waterfall guy scratched his head. I scratched my head. The pump started sucking air, and we came to a mutual agreement that my fathers future Salmon Run had leakage issues and thus, no Salmon could yet inhabit dad's backyard. Which means that Sea Tac International Airport will not be faced with any wetlands mitigation issues. That's when Randy demonstrated the pulling out his hair, acting out behavior. Somewhere between validation, closure and small claims court, Randy finally left disgusted. Especially after I photographed him and told him it was for my blog that gets read by all these thousands of people. But, don't give up on Dad and Randy yet.
My father's determined. He's no quitter. Besides he's always really wanted to shut down a fly way. Dad's a Lutheran Scorpio, which he says he doesn't believe in, but he is definitely a Scorpio. As soon as he can create the proper endangered Salmon environment, well those overhead planes are so history. Salmon need quiet to spawn.
And Randy, he's no dummy either. He doesn't want to get on the bad side of former Lutheran Minister. I have faith he'll be back to fix the waterfall, because he's the type of guy who stands by his work. I believe him. And besides, he's got to come back. He's still got my father's Waterfall Remote. Even Randy knows you just don't want to be the one caught still holding a minister's AWOL waterfall remote at the last judgment.
Bad day number two belongs to the tractor trailer driver who was minding his own business, just doing the whole "Have Load, Will Travel" thing, when the front spool on his load dropped through the trailer deck, getting lodged in his drivers. Completely stalled, the powered axle of his Kenworth stuck. Naturally this didn't happen anywhere but smack dab in the center of a very important Tukwilla, Washington freeway intersection.
As a fellow trucker, I prayed for his soul. It's all you can do in a moment like this.
The final thought for this Saturday AM has to do with longevity. Last night I hung out with these wonderful guys who've been together for 27 years.
I mean 27 years!
Now, here's the kicker-as I was hanging out with them in W. Seattle, I discovered that I shared the exact same birthday with the older of the two. I mean, if that Aquarian commonality didn't scare the shit out of partner number two, nothing will. Although my birthmate has 15 years on me, you'd never know it by his appearance, top physical condition, and zest for adventure. He easily puts many thirty year olds to shame.
During the evening, I also witnessed something intensely powerful and truly inspirational about these two guys. Their interaction is a display of soul mates. Tracing familiar trails that only those who've walked side by side for so long can understand, the two men seemed perfectly choreographed. Especially the way they completed each other's sentences. The way they communed together in the kitchen, task sharing, and instinctively becoming one as the meal was prepared, the table set, the wine poured, and the conversation burst forth. Splashing everyone-I fell at ease until all of us became drenched in mutual goodwill.
I've often heard "the solo life" and it's wandering journey compared to that of a river. Representing a channel, a current, and a necessary element, a river translates into both source and destination. But seeing the affirmation of a long term romance, the action figure version, their life long embrace reminded me that this journey becomes a stronger force when one tributary joins another.
As I think about finding men in Atlantis, about drowning in the wisdom of a three year old, and about colliding and harmonious currents, I think Saturday was meant for such channel surfing.
Figuratively. And literally.
Both Sugarland and Jamie O Neal's videos can be accessed by logging on to http://www.CMT.com
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