Here I sit, fooling with my blog, eating way too many chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, deliberately skipping the rodeo.
Chief Joseph Days, an unfortunately named series of events that rarely seem to have much to do with Chief Joseph, is going on in my small town. Once again I failed to rent out my yard to tents, though many people in town have. People pack the streets. There are parades. There's music. There's rodeo ad nauseum.
I just can't get into it. Other people lather themselves up into a frenzied state of excitement, but I guess rodeo just isn't my thing. Cowboys aren't my weakness. (Smokejumpers, that is another story. Sorry, J!) This is a horsey place, and sometimes I want to be that girl, long hair flying, riding bareback across a field. But, so not going to happen. I'm a fan of my own feet. If I fall, it's because I took a wrong step. I'm in control of my destiny. Deep down, I don't trust horses.
To say this here is to be branded a hippie in sandals, so I mostly keep quiet. There's nothing wrong with horses. Or rodeo. They just aren't for me. I know this in the same way that I know I will never learn to surf. Or climb big mountains. Or run 100 miles at a time. In a life you have to distill down your passions, or at least I do. It's hard enough with a rare free afternoon. Do I kayakrunswimbikehike? If I'm not doing one I feel like maybe I should be. I'm probably not the easiest person to live with (sorry, J!).
At any rate, I don't wanna be a cowboy. Or a cowgirl. You won't find me riding the range. You might, however, find me running it.