He's A Peach

Some horses take a long time to earn a name, but one big headed gray horse got his name the day we bought him and brought him home. A soon as the horse was unloaded, James, a young cowboy who was like a son to us and expert in the ways of horses, immediately crawled on him and rode off. When they showed back up James was grinning ear to ear and I asked the guru of horses what his opinion was. Without hesitation, he declared that "He's a peach." So, Peaches it was. James had nailed it perfectly. 

My family argued often over who was going to ride Peaches and James even commandeered him quite a bit.  He didn't know he was big and still got around quickly and with authority. It was his personality that we all adored too.  He loved his people and enjoyed us as much as we enjoyed him. 

Much of this past weekend was spent doing what my family loves to do. Just being on a horse can make anything worth doing for them. There was a ranch horse competition close by and we spent the better part of two days watching and performing.  When I arrived at the fairgrounds early Saturday morning, Ed was unloading the horses.  There was a stout dark gray one with a huge head among them.  My eyes widened with surprise and my heart leapt for joy.  It was Peaches.  I was told that Peaches was "going to live on that big ranch in the sky where he'd always have food and be happy" this week, so him being there was a shock.  A pleasant one. 

After seven months of being kicked out to pasture, Ed wanted to try Peaches in the ranch horse competition one more time before committing him to his fate. They competed, and despite a flawed performance, they qualified to go to the finals in Abilene in May. More importantly, Peaches didn't look to be in any discomfort and I think he enjoyed himself too. I don't know how long this will last, but I do know that any more time we can spend with Peaches is better than no time at all.

Although he is a family favorite, at the young age of four he has issues that make him unable to be used for work and these issues will not get any better despite expensive injections.  He's big, he eats a lot (you can graze up to four cows for every one horse), and keeping a horse is not a cheap proposition.  You especially can't ask an animal to live in pain with no hope.  From my short time in this world, I can reason all that in my head but my heart still feels what it wants to.  It's hard to let go when it is time. Hard to not hold on and be selfish.

Fingers crossed, hopeful heart, and prayers said.  You will have to excuse me now, I have to go down to the barn.  A big headed gray horse is waiting for me.

Wants and Needs

Days rip off the calender like a tornado is bearing down on them.  Before you know it, Christmas will be here and we will be moving to the ranch. In complete, brutal honesty, as excited as I am about our new adventure, I am not crazy about leaving my house behind.  We built this house four years ago and a lot of love went into choosing each thing in it.  More than just walls and roof, it has been home.  A place for my family to enjoy our animals and each other.  Even though I know what lies ahead is better than anything we might leave behind, I still love this place. 

Equally disturbing as leaving my home, is packing all the stuff in it.  There is a lot of stuff.  That's right.  Stuff.  Amazing how much you accumulate over time and don't realize it.  It is time to get honest about what we own and let go of things we don't need and don't have room for.  We will be downsizing to about half of what we live in now until we can get a home built.  After watching a couple episodes of that Hoarder's show on A&E, I am extremely motivated to get rid of stuff left and right. 

As I deeply purge these belongings, I am reminded of a saying that my grandfather used all the time.  He was a quiet, methodical, practical man who had a saying for everything.  If ever you were considering a purchase, he would have you briefly pause and answer these questions:  1) I know you want it, but do you really need it?  2) You may think you need it, but can you afford it? (brace yourself...this one is the kicker) 3) Can you live without it?

By the time you had gone through this series of questions, you had reasoned your way out of the purchase most of the time.  In this modern day Babylon of ours there is no want (much less need) that goes unfulfilled.  Worse yet, we don't even have to pay for it, we can just charge it.  Some times, we buy things we think will make us happy or to impress people we don't even like.  There is too much stuff.  Most of us are drowning in stuff.  My grandfather's sage reasoning is softly repeated every time I pick up an item to determine if this is a "need" or a "want."  I hear him urging me to consider living without it. 

Thank you Paw Paw for still being with me and guiding me with love. 

The Shirt Off My Back

When I was single, I had a real job that required wearing nice work clothes. I enjoyed all the closets in my little house being full of my selections from stores that I patronized.  Suits, dresses, shoes, purses, jewelry.  Dressing up to go to work was an event.  When I moved to the ranch these clothes were no longer appropriate for my new environment, but it was hard to let go.  I liked my clothes.  I looked good in my clothes.  They were a part of me I reasoned.  It took time to realize I was not that "me" any more.

I loved to wear linen shirts in the summer.  One day, to make myself feel better, I wore one of my linen shirts I used to wear for court.  It was a nice white one from Talbot's and that night I put it in the laundry basket.  The next day while I was gone running an errand, Ed needed to wash something and shoved the whole contents of the laundry basket in the washer and then the dryer...without sorting for color or removing the "hang to dry only."  I acknowledge this is a cerebral task that escapes some folks.  I came home and Ed happily announced he had done the laundry.  I was in shock and terribly pleased with the news.  Until I started to fold the laundry and came across my linen shirt....which was no longer white...or my size.  I told Ed he was forever fired from doing laundry.  He smiled and agreed quickly.  Best $90 ever wasted on a shirt got him fired permanently from a chore he hated.  Well played.

A year later, Ed was desperate for help...and by help I clearly mean a warm body.  Although I had never been asked to do "cowboy" work, he was instructing me to take his truck and trailer loaded with cattle from one pasture to another.  ME.  Lord, what was he thinking? He was very re-assuring about how easy it was all going to be.  I climbed in the Ford truck whose color was obscured by dirt and the floorboards were littered with empty Levi Garrett bags, honey bun wrappers, and God knows what else.  I had never driven a truck and it was a big, dirty truck.  I had never hauled a trailer...with or without cows.  I was getting good at being out of my element.  I went to put the truck in gear and I noticed the sleeve of my shirt.  My linen shirt.  With a smile, I drove that truck right down the drive way to the destination ahead.  I did.  I drove right over the mail box on the way out too.  Uh huh.  I was promptly fired from my new job and banned for life from ever driving his truck and trailer.  That's right, no more moving cattle for me.  Best $55 ever spent on a replacement mailbox.

Confucious say "he who rolls up his sleeves seldom loses his shirt."

Dun is Dun

When introduced to new things, you feel compelled to learn about it as much as you can. You want to be knowledgeable so you don't feel stupid and out of place.  There are certain safety reasons too...like never walk behind a horse you don't know.

Ed and I went to a high dollar horse sale in Fort Worth, Texas.  It was my very first horse sale and I was actually excited about it.  I sat there studying the catalog of several hundred horses that listed each one with the important information: registered name, year model, gender, color, brief description and pedigree.  Some people like a certain "line" of horses thinking that they pass certain traits onto their offspring that they find desirable.  Reminded me of the Daughters of the American Revolution who recognized my classmates for tracing their genealogy back to the birth of our country.  Looking up from the Sears and Roebuck of horse listings, there was the first horse in the ring.  The color of Jiff creamy peanut butter, he was a big, sturdy animal who was groomed like he was going to the prom.  I wondered if he was a Tea Party horse.  I leaned over and asked Ed "what kind of horse is that?"  Without even looking at me, he said "It's a dun."  That wasn't enough of an answer for my inquiring mind, so I pressed, "what makes it a dun?" Ed turned to face me and flatly said "A dun is a dun." 

I sat there shaking my head and silently scowling.  Funny when something has been with you all your life you just know it.  It just is and requires no explanation.  Dun is dun.  Got it.  Being who I am, however, I leaned over to the other side of me and pestered that guy asking him the same question.  He gave me a nice explanation of "dun refers to the color of the horse which can range from sandy yellow to reddish brown and has the tale-tell darker dorsal stripe."  He then went on to discuss the darker shading on the points and darker mane and tail.  Wow.  A real answer.  I liked it. 

Over the next couple of months I asked more questions about horses and cows.   They were all met with brief responses.  Simmental cattle suck.  They just do.  Finally irritated with my husband's lack of enthusiasm about my attempt to learn more about his world, I asked him what his problem was.  He didn't have a problem he explained, he just didn't expect or require me to lose myself in these things.  He had fallen in love with me for who I was and changing was not required on my part.  He was allowing me to stay "me."  I was deeply touched by this after much reflection.  This explains why I still wear flip flops to rodeos.  I just gotta be me.

About a year after I married Ed, we bought a new place in Oklahoma and sold the Texas ranch.  It was not hard to say goodbye to caliche dust roads, neighbor's Sasquatch bulls, or the drought.  Ed went ahead to Oklahoma while I wrapped up the packing in Texas.  Without selling a horse, I had paid for new carpet in the ranch house we'd be moving into and they were installing it before I was to move there with the furniture.  There was one giant room in the house that had berber carpet that was still in good condition and not shag burnt orange.  I didn't want to be wasteful, but it couldn't stay because it wouldn't match.  Matching is a Southern commandment ingrained into us as small children. I left explicit instructions that the berber be saved when removed so we could put it in the office. The carpet guys arrived and set about their work.  Ed called me and wanted to know which carpet was supposed to be recycled, to which I replied "the berber carpet."  The phone was briefly silent.  Ed then asked "which one is Berber?"  I couldn't help myself..."If dun is dun...then berber is berber."

The Tale of Two Lucilles

My grandmothers were both named Lucille. They were larger than life, each in their own way.  I spent a lot of time with them as a child and they taught me many things that shaped who I am today.  Most of my skills in areas of cooking, sewing, gardening, and just living life were their years of experience passed onto me.  There were many hours of patiently shelling peas sitting on the cold concrete steps of the back porch while drinking sweet tea, walking through dirt path garden rows explaining what was ready to pick so we could can some chow chow, and pointing to trees, shrubs, and flowers pausing to provide the proper names. 

My mom's mom lived on a farm with my grandfather.  She often referred to this as the happiest time in her life.  They sold the farm and moved to town shortly after I was born so I have no memory of this place, only a few faded pictures remain.  When she was in later stages of Alzheimer's and still able to speak, she had reverted back to this era and was happy again to be back in the company of my grandfather and the cows.  She would put Martha Stewart to shame flocking her own Christmas trees, cooking foreign cuisine, and could slip cover anything if it stood still long enough.  Sometimes, when the wind is whistling around my house, I can hear her laugh that I have come full circle to back to where she is.

My dad's mom was a force to be reckoned with.  Some of my favorite memories with her are going to "town" to the feed store to buy fabric that matched to cut squares and make quilt blocks. We would sit for hours with the radio playing just stitching these small pieces of fabric together.  I would hand her my quilt block for inspection of the stitches. Were they small and straight enough to suit her? If they didn't make the cut she would take out her small scissors and remove my thread and tell me sternly to "lick the calf over." There was no getting by.  When you got in trouble with her you got to cut your own branch from the weeping willow tree out front for her to swat you with, or if you were really bad she threatened you with the old man that came by and collected "the bad children."  What was she supposed to tell him when he knocked at the door?

What I learned from my grandmothers:

1) Life is too short to lie about it.  Call it Tourette's or just not having much of a filter, but you never worried where she stood on an issue or what she thought about anything.  Like a deep sense of trust between people that said "I'm gonna just be me and you just be you."  Even with complete strangers.

2) Be as nice as you can, but don't take any shit off of anybody.  This advice was given to me on the morning of my grandfather's funeral after 50+ years of  marriage when considering whom to marry and what to do to ensure a long union.  After a brief pause she added "and always have a little something put back that he doesn't know about."

3) Never trust anybody that says "trust me."  It's true.  Just is.

4) Pretty is as pretty does.  How you act is just as important, if not more so, than how you present yourself.  Play nice also was verbally thrown around...which I always considered the same thing. 

5) (when faced with a failed dessert) Cool Whip covers a multitude of sins.  That cake recipe off the side of the can that she decided to be brave and try...with the cratered center cause it didn't turn out right...still tasted good and nobody was the wiser when Cool Whip came to the rescue.  Same applies to life I found out...be brave, try it, if it doesn't quite work out, then drown it in something pretty and go on with your bad self.

6) When all else fails...Let's cut up and act silly.  Both Lucilles knew how to laugh.  At most things.  Even somethings that were considered inappropriate to laugh at.  They didn't care.  They lived.  They laughed.  They loved.  Fearlessly.

The New Frontier

Frontier is a word used to describe a region at the edge of a settled area.  It is a transition zone where explorers, pioneers, and settlers were arriving.  As pioneers moved into the "frontier zone" they were changed by the encounter and were offered the psychological sense of unlimited opportunity.  

Some people stay in one place all their lives.  Both physically and mentally. Never exploring new things and never getting outside their comfort zone.  Roots can be a wonderful thing.  They anchor and ground you, giving you a sense of security and contentment.  Everything is familiar and safe.

Then there are the gypsies.  Those people who don't seem to stay in one place for very long.  Always longing  to take more in of what life has to offer.  Different is not bad or scary...it is to be fully explored and appreciated.  The discoveries become a part of you leaving you changed, hopefully for the better.  Traveling frequently means being honest about what you own. Keep your load light - only what is important and necessary makes the cut.  

Many times over the last decade I found myself staring at the reflecting image in the mirror and asking "who are you?"  I no longer see the young woman I once was...inside or out.  Up until I married Ed there was not a spontaneous bone in my body.  I liked roots, routine, the familiar.  My wedding marked the turning point.  It was time to grow wings and discover what else was out there.  Let go of all I knew, step out in faith, and be determined to enjoy the journey.  My newest frontier awaits, and I accept that there are many more frontiers ahead.  Each offering new opportunities for personal growth. I have learned to keep my load light and embrace the changes.  My motto has been "bloom where you are planted."  You can be as happy or as miserable as you are determined to be.  

The next frontier for my family is on the horizon.  It takes the shape of a ranch north and west of where we live now.  Located outside of a ghost town and the closest gas station, grocery store, or school for my girls is 30 miles away down dirt roads.  No neighbors to be heard or seen.  Surrounded by land.  Heaven to some and hell to others.  What do we miss when we refuse to explore these new frontiers?  Are we too busy hanging on to what has been to see what lies ahead?  What do we sacrifice to leave?  What do we sacrifice to stay?   What is important enough to take with us?  Will we bloom and thrive where we are planted or wilt and die because we were unwilling to adapt and grow?

For each new frontier, the responses are as different as the person giving it...yet the answer to each one lies within us.  

The Forecast

I remember being at a county fair as a small child and getting a snow cone at a concession stand that backed up to a rodeo arena.  While I was waiting, I peeked around the corner and saw lots of activity in the arena, none of which stands out.  However, the music that was playing has been etched firmly in my memory.  Waylon Jennings telling us that we should get back "to the basics of life" in a place I'd never heard of called Luckenbach, Texas.  I liked the way he growled out the song and the lyrics evoked an overall cowboy feeling.  Cowboy as I understood it at that time.

Fast forward about two and half decades.  Ed tells me he got us tickets to go to a rodeo in Wichita Falls, Texas.  It's a real ranch rodeo he explains and the men in it actually work with cattle and ride horses for a living.  They weren't just playing dress up.   How odd, I thought.  Real live cowboys.  I looked at him like he had said pirates....real live pirates.  Arghhh.  Those are things you read about in books and see recreated in movies, but do you mean to tell me there are still real cowboys?  Ed was probably in disbelief that I was in disbelief.

Before the events of the rodeo began, a group of riders on horseback came out with the Texas state flag and the flag of the United States of America. The national anthem was sung and I looked around at the people that were there.  They looked like the men at the sale barn did.  Good people who loved their country, led a respectful way of life taking care of what had been entrusted to them, and were God fearing.  They announced it was time to offer up a prayer.  Deeply bowed heads, hats removed and placed over chest, eyes closed or staring at the ground.   I noticed I was the only one wearing flip flops...really cute flip flops.  It was a pretty standard prayer until they got to the end and made what I thought was an odd request.  They prayed for rain.  Rain.  That wet stuff that fell out of the sky every other day where I lived whether you wanted it to or not.  For me it meant I had to wash my car, mow my grass more often, and I couldn't go outside.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  When I heard the Amen, I turned to ask Ed why would people pray for rain.  He patiently explained that this part of the country was in a bad drought.  People, crops, and animals were all hurting and rain was badly needed.  If it didn't rain there would be no crops to sell and no food for the animals to eat.  They would die or have to be sold off.  Too many cattle sold at one time floods the market and they sell cheaply, which leaves the ranchers broke and possibly unable to try again next year.  Too many cows sold at once creates a shortage later and the cost goes through the roof at the store.

Rain meant life.  Life for the crops, life for the animals, and a continued way of life for the people who tried to keep this delicate circle going.  I would never look at the weather the same way.  I had no idea what was hanging in the balance.  That everything that you do and own hinges on rain and the weather.  Prior to this point in my life I had never thought about where my food came from.  I went to the store, I bought it, I took it home, and I ate it.  Period.  How it got there had not been part of my thought process.  I had been so completely ignorant and now it is part of my daily reality. 

Pausing today and everyday with hands out stretched, head reverently bowed and eyes closed.  Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for this honest way of life where we do not take for granted Your many blessings.  The sunrise, the wheat crop, the animals You've entrusted to our care, our families, and Your son, sweet infant baby Jesus.  Please send us rain Father, so that this circle will not be broken.  Amen.

Isn't It Romantic

It was our one year anniversary of marriage and Ed was bound for a horse sale two states away.  I could not go with him because I was big fat pregnant and my nonexistent bladder would be counter productive to traveling in a timely manner.  There is no glamorous way to describe the last trimester.  There just isn't.  Ed going alone to a horse sale can be dangerous.  He buys horses like I buy shoes.  He may take two horses to the sale and come home with five.  With no supervision, I was concerned.

When he pulled back into the ranch with a trailer full of horses, I was not surprised.  I stood there counting as he unloaded them.  I stopped counting when a small grey mare backed out.  I grabbed her lead rope and began walking her to her new home.  She was so friendly and sweet, like a big dog.  When I asked Ed about her, he said not to get too attached.  There was a list of reasons:  a) She's a mare. We don't ride mares.  We aren't breeding mares.  She didn't fit in his horse "program." b) He had all ready sold her on the way home sight unseen to his brother.  A deal is deal and there's no crawfishing. c) If I really wanted a horse, he would get me whatever I wanted, but not THIS one.  The wheels were turning in my head.  Reminding him that our anniversary was the next day, I asked what he was planning on getting me.  He stopped and without saying a word flipped out his phone and called his brother to tell him he had not bought a horse. 

Over the next year this mare and I became fast friends.  She would nicker at me whenever she saw me coming out of the house and I enjoyed grooming her.  Ed had named her "Tinkerbell," which was not a compliment.  He didn't like her pedigree, her big head, her small frame...oh...and she was a mare.  When I declared that we needed new carpet at the ranch house, he told me if I sold her I could use the money for the new carpet.  We didn't get new carpet. 

When she turned two it was time to break her to ride if she was going to stay.  She was staying.  Ed was concerned I had made her too much of a pet and she would be indignant when he tried to train her.  He lead her in the round pen and saddled her.  She stood there.  He stepped on her and I held my breath, waiting for it all to be my fault.  She squalled a little, took two steps backwards...then stopped...then walked forward waiting for further instruction.  Ed was shocked she was being so easy.

The breaking of Tinkerbell continued over the next couple of months.  An envelope arrived from the American Quarter Horse Association.  It held the registration papers for Tinkerbell (Tru Truckle).  They were in my name and that made it official...she was MY horse.  The more Ed rode her the more he appreciated her work ethic and her speed.  She became his favorite horse to ride and I started referring to her as "the other woman" when he would buy special bits, elaborate hand braided mecate reins, and dote on her with extra feed.  Some women may object to their husbands having another woman in his life.  This one is okay with me.  I loved her way before he did.

That's No Bull

There were so many adjustments for me to make with my new frontier.  Besides leaving all you've ever known and getting married later in life when you are really good at being single, living on a ranch when you've always been a city folk is not as easy as one might think.

First, you have to adjust to living with a man who has been on his own for quite a while too.  There is his collection of Tupperware lids with no bottoms that you find and negotiate over (throw away).  The oven was stuck at 500 degrees and made a kick ass blackened cobbler...if that's your thing.  Cleaning out the fridge required bleach and an extra long pair of gloves that I later was informed were used to preg check cows.  Ed's brother, Zeke, came through the house right as I was about to tackle the job.  He said "Hey fella, whatcha doing?"  I told him my mission...he asked me to wait a minute...he dragged up a chair, popped the top on a beer and said I could then proceed.  It was a bonding moment as he proved to be a wealth of information on the contents of the fridge.  There were a dozen plates of half used fossilized stick butter, mayo that expired a decade ago, and the dark liquid in the bottom vegetable bin was the lost remainder of the garden from last spring. The dark brown glass bottles in the door I was told is medicine for the animals. In the human refrigerator.

Then there are the animals.  Horses always fascinated me and the brief time I got to ride a sorrel named Jubilee was among my favorite childhood memories.  Horses have personalities just like people.  Some you love and some you'd love to smack with a broom handle (read: strategically placed horse training device).  Repeatedly.  Spending time at the barn grooming the horses became my favorite thing.  It was like good therapy for whatever was wrong.  Let that brush slide over that horse's hip and you felt a release.  Mentally you just let go.  The cows are a different story.  There is really no sign of intelligent life there.  Slobber at one end and processed grass at the other.  Ed tortured me by sending me into a pen of Holstein calves that had been bottle fed and directed me to help move them to another pen.  They come to you like bovine zombies and refuse to cooperate so I started petting them on the head and naming them...Brisket, Burger, Porter House, T Bone, Rump Roast. 

Speaking of cows.  You must overcome a language barrier.  I learned quickly to stop referring to all cattle as cows. Cows are adult females who have had a baby. Cow is a badge of honor..she earns her keep. There are a whole set of vocabulary words to learn and if you don't know them and pronounce them correctly you are ridiculed by people you mistakenly thought of as "simple."  Like chaps, protective leather leggings worn over jeans that Pauly Shore once referred to as cheek chillers.  Pronounced with a "sh" sound.  If you pronounce it with a "ch" sound you are referring only to the cologne made by Ralph Lauren that was popular in the 80's.  Furthermore, a certain breed of cattle known for long ears, being heat tolerant, and have distinctive humps on their necks are "Brammers."  (bray-mur-z) If you say Brahman they look at you like you are impersonating the Queen of England.  That's not good.  When looking at this animal you may feel inspired, as I do, to start singing "My Humps," which also is frowned upon....but I ceased to care what they thought a long time ago.

Being out in the middle of no where should be quiet.  Truth:  it is so quiet that every noise is heard.  The first night I slept on the ranch I awoke to a strange noise that sounded like it was right outside the window.  Completely foreign to me and sounded angry.  The only thing I could think of was sasquatches now roamed Texas.  I woke Ed up and explained my concern about sasquatch neighbors.  The sound happened again.  Ed looks at me and asked me if that was the noise.  I confirmed it was a 'squatch.  He shook his head and explained that sound was coming from the neighbor's bull.  This sound did not resemble any sound that came from my childhood red plastic "See and Say." Ed further explained that the bull was looking for his women...he was lonely.  I laid awake for the rest of night listening to Ed snore and the bull calling out for his women.  Men.

I Found Love At The Grundy County Auction

It all started in Shreveport, Louisiana.  At a sale barn where they sell cattle.  Yes...cattle.  The sale barn was owned by family friends and "Aunt Mary" was looking for someone to help out in the office on Wednesday nights temporarily.  She called me to see if I knew of anybody.  Melrose Place had just ended and although I was single, I had no life.  We struck a deal:  if she would pay me in cheeseburgers and could wait until I got off my real job at the casino, I'd be happy to fill in for three months.

Confession:  I had never seen a cow.  I knew what they looked like and what they should sound like based on my early years with a "See and Say."  The smell was not ideal.  The people who gathered at this sale barn were foreign to me.  They wore work jeans, with cowboy boots, long sleeved snap shirts, cowboy hats, and a general smattering of "organic material" known to come from the south end of a north bound animal.  I was not impressed.  At all.  The men I was used to working with wore custom suits and expensive handmade Italian loafers.   

Slowly over the weeks that I was there, I noticed that these men that I discounted deeply for not being designer clad were truly salt of the earth people.  People who actually work hard and would help anybody who really needed it.  Looks were not important, but your word was everything.  My view had softened.  At the end of the night I was helping a buyer with his tickets.  He was young, polite and seemed shy.  Last one being the biggest lie ever perpetuated.  I asked him what kind of cows he bought, to which he replied the ones that make money.  So, cash cows it is. 

We started talking in August and were married in February.  I didn't need him...but I wanted him.  I didn't want to live another day without him.  He was the first man I looked at and saw having babies with...growing old with...and where didn't matter.  Age thirty was old enough to know what I wanted and not waste time over it.  I quit my good job, sold my little house, packed up my antiques and little yappy dog, and moved to his remote ranch in Texas.  Population 333.  Included the dogs I'm sure.  Directions to my house now included "turn off the paved road."  My momma cried in the drive way the first time she came to see me there.  My friends thought I had lost my mind.  Maybe I had.  I had lost my heart...and my mind followed.