Phases

There are times when I have to admit that there are times when I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. Recent chats with folks I respect greatly but haven’t talked to in a while got me thinking. This is going to go in a few various directions, so bear with me. Or pet a bear with me. Or give me a bear hug…

OK – first heart attack (myocardial infarction to be precise) on September 28, 1990. First of eight (so far). Yada yada yada, lots of surgeries, lots of procedures, lots of close calls, lots of angst among my relatives (at least in the Hollywood version – and I’d rather have George Clooney play me instead of Brad Pitt. Or maybe Matt Damon) and I’m still here. Unable to work, says the medical professionals who have overseen my health care for nearly 20 years now. As does my insurance company, much to their chagrin I’m guessing. As does the Social Security Administration, who recently sent me a very kind note telling me that they’re not even going to review my case anymore. I read the letter with mixed emotions – figured out that they know a day to day job would not be good for me, or they figured out that I’ll probably be dead soon and they will no longer have to worry about me.

They don’t know the history of longevity in my family… (evil grin).

And then I started thinking about the last 20 years and what I’ve done with them. And one important thing, a gift, really, that I haven’t done:

I’ve not had to get up and go to a job that I feel desperate to hold onto.

But what I have done and learned…

I’ve been able to be there for all the kids’ celebrations – birthdays, confirmations, graduations, sports events, “just cuz I was within 200 miles” weekends.

I learned a cowboy trade of leatherwork – made a lot of tack for me, and some for friend Chuck as well. Worked on a lot of saddles, including a few owned by PRCA cowboys. Need to start doing that again. Some of what I learned is nearly a lost art.

I did a silly thing I called “Recipe Tuesday”. Sent out a recipe every Tuesday for about 18 months – eventually to over 100 people a week. Lot of folks enjoyed the standard greeting of “It’s Tuesday, and EVERYONE gets a recipe on Tuesday!” Built up their cookbooks and chronicled & shared my life at the same time. Fun stuff.

I learned to play guitar. And in doing so, opened myself up to also being a cantor at Mass. And in re-opening that musical side of myself, I also sang at a lot of funerals. I pray that I was worthy.

I re-learned the art of doing research. Mostly Biblical, because I have a friend who loves to pose arcane biblical questions. I also had a father who asked my opinion on serious theological questions because he knew I had more theological training than him and could do the research. I’m pretty sure he had more faith than I do. And I do miss him.

I’ve learned that miles on an odometer are just that – miles. I know people who won’t drive from Denver to here because “it’s too hard on the car”. Hello? An automobile is a depreciating asset, and you not driving it is not going to make you more rich. Unless it’s a very limited edition – one of only 500 made or something like that.

I’ve learned that those miles inevitably have stories behind them. Great stories that should be passed from generation to generation. Phred has 267,000 miles on him. Not the prettiest vehicle on the road anymore, but I haven’t found another that’s been from Jasper, AB to the Gulf Coast of Texas.

I’ve learned that trucks are made to work. And work hard. They don’t get prettier with age. Me neither. Guess that’s why we don’t own passenger cars, and why I own two less than gorgeous trucks (which still run beautifully). TLMK’s Yukon – whole ‘nother story. Still a truck.

I’ve had the ability to go, do, see, experience all kinds of things that I never would have been able to do in a different situation. I’ve been able to help out friends. I’ve been able to be there for family on a moment’s notice. I’ve been able to immediately go to a friend’s side and stay until a crisis passed.

If anything, my “disability” has made me… free.

I’ll grant you that I have days when just getting out of bed is a challenge. But then I have days where I work my tail off with Chuck on the ranch, put in a 16 hour day, feel great and sleep very well.

God invented the concept of balance. And He’s tossed it at my life more than once. Guess I'm learning to apppreciate that.

About Hats

I just spent a few days in a house where there are more hats than you could imagine. Mostly “cowboy” hats, two of which belonged to me. (One of mine stayed home.) And both of those belonging to me I wore, with the choice of which to wear depending on the situation at hand.

You don’t wear a straw when the wind is steady at 15 knots. Horses don’t like seeing your hat fly by their face when you’re trying to get a halter on them. You wear a felt, screwed down as tightly as possible. You wear a straw when it’s hot and the wind is calm or non-existent. Or while driving. Don’t matter – you’re gonna sweat through it anyway.

You learn to tilt your hat into the wind so it’s pushed further down on your stupid head for being out in such elements in the first place. Though I have to admit there are times when being out there isn’t a choice.

You have your work hat. And you have your town hat. Your work hat sometimes goes into town with you, and serves to remind folks that you do actually work sometimes.

For a cowboy/rancher/day laborer, his or her hat is two things: utilitarian and signature. First, it’s shade, mostly covering your face and neck from the sun, rain, snow, whatever. Second , I can spot someone a ¼ mile off from the hat they wear. The hat gets shaped and weathered just as the face and body of the person who wears it does.

You know you understand hats when you feel comfortable wearing one, no matter what the hat looks like and no matter the situation. Let everyone else look and posit questions in their minds – you wear it with confidence.

I have a straw that I’ve worn for about a decade that is sweat stained, dust stained, and the crease has gotten longer and deeper over the years. I’m told that I now have a “Long Trail” crease on that hat. I guess it’s fitting – that hat has seen more than a few miles, both driving and horseback. Truth is, that crease came from removing my hat and/or replacing it as a sign of respect.

We won’t go into a discussion about ball caps… after all, they’re not hats.