Wednesday, April 25, 2012

the sacred origins of western courting.

"UGH," I said,
"I JUST WANT TO MARRY HER
AND LIVE ON A FARM IN EAST OREGON
AND HAVE A GAGGLE OF KIDS
WHO GROW UP WITH LITERATE, SUPPORTIVE PARENTS.
WHO RIDE HORSES.

SO TELL ME HOW TO MAKE ALL OF THAT HAPPEN."

"First," she said,
"meet her.
Then, do that old-fashioned western courting.
Wildflowers,
road trips,
killing a few rattlers at her mother's place.

Declare to all that you love her tiny hometown.
Fall in love with your future in-laws.
Take her dad shooting.
Buy her a puppy.
Write her letters upon letters.

Take her to Montana,
and drive to Battle Mountain just to kick the barren soil.

Drive through Arizona and pass through Nogales
on your way to San Carlos, Mexico.

Introduce her to your mom.
Who doesn't fall in love with your mom?

Tell her you'll love her,
come hell or flash flood water.
Tell her about the babies,
and the books,
about the golden light
that lingers on an Oregon evening."

"Well," I said,
"it's less 'golden' and more soft yel--"

"And tell her you'll follow her forever," she said,
"making a home and a life together.

And buy her a pair of blue ostrich cowboy boots
from a dealer in El Paso/Ciudad Juarez.

That is how.

NEXT QUESTION."

"Hmmmm," I said.
"Okay:

what's the secret to a good key lime pie?"

"Condensed milk," she says,
with nary a pause,
"and a few ounces of vodka in the crust.
Retains the moisture and helps the consistency
once the alcohol cooks out."

-----------------

hat tip to Carina.

1 comment:

Claire Valene Bagley Hayes said...

Why aren't you writing as much these days? This was perfect. You could be one of my favorite writers if you WROTE MORE. You do realize that you'll have to answer me by calling me as I never recheck to see if people talk back to me on blogger.

Call.