I have been feeling guilty about, once again, neglecting poor Mr. Blog. I’m not sure why. It’s not like many people read it anyway. Sara… Marquita… Mom. That’s it. Mom already has more visits than I do and she hasn’t had her blog half as long as I’ve had mine! Okay, I will quit griping now. And start talking. Which is what I do best. =D
About what though? Hmmm. I guess I will start with Amarillo and then begin to solve the many mysteries of the universe!
Or wander off onto my familiar course of spouting off strange and random thoughts.
So last weekend we went to Amarillo! Woohoo! It’s the only time Daddy ever leaves the ranch overnight, and the only time we all as a family go anywhere. It’s the WRCA. Ohhhh yes. Working Ranch Cowboy Association who sort of “hosts” the World Ranch Rodeo. Ranch Rodeos are a lot different from regular rodeos. The events actually are based on actually things that happen out on a working ranch. Often the rules pull the event away from how such an… activity… would happen out on a real ranch, but they have to make it competitive I suppose. There is the Wild Cow Milking, where a ‘wild’ cow is released into the arena. (Meaning she ain’t no tamed Guernsey names Bessie.) One feller is horseback, ropes the cow, and the other two have to “mug” the cow and there is another one on foot who has to milk the cow. Or sometimes it takes 3 to tame the wild beast and the guy on horseback jumps off and milks the cow. Anyway, they have to milk into a glass beer bottle (or glass coke bottle, I guess it could be) and run to a circle where the Milk Judge Dude stands, and the time stops once inside the circle marked with white flour. Or white… something. The Milk Judge Dude tips the bottle upside down- if there is milk, they get a time, even if there’s only one drop. If he can’t get ANYTHING to come OUT of the bottle, no time, even if there is just a bit stuck to the sides of the bottle, it has to come out. There is Team Penning, where there is a herd of cattle with numbers on them. For each number there are 3 cows (or steers or heifers or whatever) and each team is assigned a number, lets say it’s 7. They have to hold the herd at one end of the arena and sort off the 3… bovines… with the number 7 on them. Then they must herd em all into a panel pen and the clock stops. There is a line just in front of the pen, and if 5 cattle cross it, you are disqualified. Stuff like that. It’s a heck of a lot of fun! It’s a 4 night rodeo and there are LOTS of people there, and I think 22 teams. There is also a huge trade show there with tons of booths. Everything you can imagine. Stuff for the guys-- chaps with fringe and conchos, boots with spider-web patterns on the tops, bits with handsome tooling, reins and headstalls galore, well crafted saddles, hats of every color, trim and crease. Stuff for the women folks: candles smelling of leather, lotions that smell like “Fresh Country” (fresh country, in my perspective, is manure, so fresh wisps of steam still escape from the patty), finely tooled earrings, turquoise jewelry, even expensive makeup or a relaxing massage. Face paints- gross. Massages- people touching me? In weird ways? I don’t think so…. Anyway, I usually do my Christmas shopping here, but I didn’t find anything except something for my Daddy, which I won’t say if just by chance he happens to read this. Which is extremely doubtful. But better safe than sorry! Yep, that’s me, Miss Safety. Hehe. Anyway…. The only thing I bought was a belt, and it pretty much drained me of $$$. It’s just brown cow hair with little clear rhinestone studs, not too many so it’s too fancy, but pretty simple. Me mucho likey! I’ve been wanting one so yeah…
While we were in Amarillo we went to this place called Cavenders. It’s a ginormous Western wear store that has super cute clothes. In my opinion at least. See, I have TONS of t-shirts (I’ve had some for years and my grandparents just keep piling em up on me) and lots of old flannel shirts or sweat shirts, but no nice long-sleeved Western type shirts. I had only one that I got for my birthday from Corral West, the only place locally that has clothes worth looking at. So before we left for Amarillo, Mom and I dropped back by Corral West and got me another nice shirt. That makes for 2. Yay! We went to Cavenders and I found THREE I like! That is very very rare. And a pair of jeans. So now I have 3 nice shirts, and two she said I can’t have until Christmas. So yeah.
This has been a boring post so far. Because there was nothing that interesting about Amarillo this year. Toured the schools with some friends doing cowboy poetry on the behalf of the WRCA so that I could earn free tickets and hotel rooms through it. Did a show in the little performance center place, which went terrible, but I don’t want to talk about it. So now I will settle back into the familiar routine of aimless ramblings.
Tonight at Sara’s place there is Cowboy Church. Yay! I can’t wait to see her! It’s always so fun. We usually talk about random and stupid things, and walk aimlessly around the place… So yeah. There’s always good food though, and a bonfire, and s’mores! Mmmmm! Gotta love those s’mores.
S’more. Smore. Smoooore. Suh-mOOre. Smmmurre.
Hehe. Funny word.
So yeah. I’m gonna be all decked out in my new jeans (which I LOVE), new belt (<3) and new shirts. Hehe. I’m gonna have to shower early because EVERYBODY has to shower and we leave at 4:30. I’m trying to decide if I should just blow dry my stupid hair and leave it as that, or blow dry it semi-straight and get Mom to curl it. I wonder what it looks like curled. My hair as very curly, and if you could get a controlled curl, it may look halfway decent. Hmmm. We may test-drive the curler on a few strands of my wild and wooly mane before I shower, see how it looks. Yeah… Anyway.
I was reading Mom’s latest blog post and it said something “… and DH and I do (insert something here) while the kids watch a dung beetle, fascinated…”
Oh that brings back memories! There were a lot of dung beetles where we used to live and they were SO fun to watch! Seriously! I mean… this little beetle rolling around balls of poop, what’s more awesome than that to a 7 year old ranch kid? Nothing! I told Mom I used to want to be a dung beetle. I remember that, though I don’t know why. I guess the idea of rolling around balls of cow turd was more appealing than doing school. Actually, it still is.
I used to make pies. There was this old skillet out by the barn, and I would take water and dirt and hay flakes and mix it all up. I’d put cow cubes in there, but half an hour later I’d take them out. Hmmm. I guess I was letting the flavor seep into the batter. =P I’d use a rock to chop a corner off of a mineral block and stir that in there. But it was mostly dirt. And then I’d put sticks and leaves on top to decorate it.
Funny the things you remember, eh? I also remember when we shoed goats, EVERY day, we would walk them 3 miles, and sometimes go walk around the side of the mountain. We had halters and leads but we didn’t need them, those goats followed us EVERYWHERE. We would be walking them, and one of us would have to go to the bathroom, so we’d run off into the bushes while the other held the goats. But the goat would get loose and it was kind of surprising to be squatting in the brush and feel a cold nose on your back side kind of sudden-like. We would take them down to a flat and I was small enough to get on my goat’s back and I would ride it around. It would run like crazy and I’d fall off- poor goat. Actually, stupid goat. It always came back! That takes a special mentality, right there.
Kind of like those roping steers. Time after time after time they go through the alley, into the chute, and they always run in a straight line! They don’t get smart and refuse to go down the alley, or anything. Once they are trained, they are good little steers and always do that over and over. That also takes a special mentality.
Okay, I wandered off course. Back to childhood antics. I remember there was this kind of deep draw by the house and it was SO COOL ya’ll. It had these little “rooms” with dirt sticking out from the sides to make tables and chairs and beds. There was a shop, with a long counter where Tyler would pretend to order ammunition for his gun. (Really, I would just hand him pebbles for his slingshot.) We used rocks to carve our little chairs and to know holes in the “walls” to make windows.
Ahhh, those were the days. I miss those days. *sigh* Oh well, I guess we all have to grow up sometime.
But it doesn’t have to happen today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.
Excuse me while I go make a mud pie. Maybe I’ll invite a dung beetle to dine with me.
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