Proud to be a transplant
I don’t own cowboy boots, but that’s only because I suffer from dreams of indulgences beyond my means. It’s easy for me to dash into any corner drugstore for a cheap pair of flip-flops and settle for anything-style/color, but this boot dream is off the charts crazy. Same thing goes for my horse. The one I don’t own, have never ridden, and will most likely never see moseying up my drive-way.
There are simply some things in life that have to be a certain way, form, manner
or fashion. In no way will I settle for less. I consider myself worthy AND entitled. Hence the reason I never hesitated when it came down to investing in some equipment for my imaginary dude ranch.
Let me spell this out for you in more simple terms: Necessity, is one thing, got to have! is quite simply an imperative, non negotiable right. A freedom, if you will, to overlook the checkbook balance AND simply, “Go for it!” Hell-fire and gee-whiz. Guns ablazin’ and chimney smoke.
And so it came to be. Now some will say I had a right to it from the get-go, livin’ here in Texas, and all. But I ain’t a native gal. Never was, never claimed to be, and in the midst of an August heat wave, can’t truly understand why anyone would want to lay claim to that right in the first place. (Truth be told, I think that heat done burnt their senses all to Hades.)
You ready for this investment idea of mine? Don’t go all native and start whupping and a hollerin’ … you’ll scare my
imaginary horse and then I’ll have to shoot you with my cap gun:
Thar ain’t nothin’ like rain, well, unless of course you’ve been visitin’ the fine folk of this here State of Texas the past couple of weeks. Then you might just whack me a good one upside my ear and tell me to shush-my-mouth. (We been rained on, hailed on, tornado’d on and flooded in/under and over upon, the likes we ain’t seen in almost forever…but seriously, and I do mean this in all sincerity: I may be trying to humor up the journey, but many have lost loved ones, property and their whole livelihoods. Please think about those that have been affected and raise them up in thought and prayer.)
And, for those who want to kick me in my britches for calling these fine folks, natives, don’t be throwing that Politically Correct stuff at me. If you are born and raised in Texas you EXPECT the RESPECT of that honor, and the reason I didn’t capitalize the word is an easy answer. I think each and every one of us is a native to the land we hail from, proud and worthy of it too. Now put that cap gun away and move over yonder. I gotta go round-up some more of my buckets.
I collect rain
barrels buckets, but if I bring you a transplant from my garden, you get to keep your prize. Ain’t they just down-right pretty? Take a large nail and use your mighty hammer, punch holes in the bottom and sink ’em halfway into the soil. You got yourself a redneck compost/water collection ‘dream-machine’!
This message is free-o-charge. “Don’t Mess with Texas” … It ain’t nice to be unfriendly, and besides, we don’t like litter, unless you is a kitty-cat or a pile of snow we iz tryin’ to get away from.