Monday, September 05, 2005

“What’cha Going Do With A Cowboy?”



The guys loped their horses up to the wedding ceremony to that song by Chris LeDoux (RIP, Chris), while my sister led my old paint Cheyenne as I rode bareback to George Strait’s “I Cross My Heart” (from the motion picture “Pure Country”). I was wearing leather and it was August in the Mojave Desert.

I met Paul in a country bar. I had been coming up to Hooterville nearly every weekend since Mom died to see my dad. My sister and I came up for my dad’s lodge installation and we snuck out to go dance at the “Mule Lip Saloon” (I’m not making this up!)

Paul was there that night with another woman. In fact I knew her and went up to say hello. She introduced us. I had no way of knowing they would break up that very night, and it had nothing to do with me. That’s how and where I met him but it was also a few months before we actually started seeing each other, and a little over a year later we were married.

I had no intention of ever marrying again. I’d done it three times already and it wasn’t something I was very good at apparently. Besides, women my age had a better chance of getting hit by lightning than marrying at my age, or so I heard.

I was having a great time dancing. I had learned the 10 Step at the office. I was working on Sunset Boulevard for a media buying service. After work hours we’d put on a tape and learn dance steps out in the shipping department. Other times I would learn a dance that I had video taped the weekend before, taping the footwork, then learning it in my bedroom at night before bedtime.

Soon every weekend I was driving to Hooterville. I got to see my dad and my sister had moved up there and I had joined an equestrian group called the “Outriders”. There was always a ride on the weekend, sometimes an overnight ride, and we even rode in the Hooterville July 4th Parade. I was seeing a cowboy named Wild Bill. Ok. Looking back I can see I was in a midlife crisis but WTF?

Paul was dating his girlfriend du jour. One even had to be disarmed before he could go home. That’s another story for another time. Anyway, WB and I went our separate ways and Paul and Annie Oakley did too. One afternoon my sister called to report that Paul’s horse, Waldo (no I am not making this up either) had died (he ate some Oleander) … oh, and BTW, he was single again. I wrote my first Hooterville Holler that day.

To Be Continued….

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

You can't just leave me hanging here!

Great story, look forward to the rest and the cowboy is a nice looking cowboy.

Lisa

9/6/05, 3:11 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home