 - Last login: 3 hours agoTextuous
- Textuous is a 51 year old guy from Near-N-Yondered, Texas, USA.
- Likes 6 pages • 75 fans • Received 47 reviews
- Member since Mar 30, 2006
Antique Cowboy with tarnished six-shooter, rusty spurs, and swaybacked steed. Garage kept, housebroken, and mannerful. Grammatically textuous, with traces of chivalry and dance-floor etiquette. If you read the blog...the least you can do is say hello and leave a smile or sumthin'.
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HOLE
Yes, I'm still alive, thank you very much. I've been really busy lately...mendin' fences, patchin' roofs, oilin' spurs, and cowboyin' in general.
I just wanted to say thanks to all the kind neighbors who offered their sincere condolences about Dog. Got some real heart-felt notes from some real nice folks.
Yesterday, sitting in the thinking chair out on the porch, I suddenly came to a terrifying realization...one that chilled me to the very center of my cowboy soul. I was, slowly but surely, slipping back into the hole.
It's a private hole...deep and dark...and once you're in there, climbing out takes a long, long time. I've only been there once...nineteen years ago come Christmas Eve, when a drunk grandmother of ten ran through a red light and changed my life forever.
Yep...I've been in that hole, and here I was again, standing on the very edge, wondering if it really mattered if I took one giant step forward and simply closed my eyes. Thinking maybe a long drive might help me get on with it, I fetched the keys to the truck...the new one.
It's a lonely two-lane road into town, and at one point, there's a three-mile stretch that's arrow straight and flat as Kansas. My mind in a dense fog, and running about forty or forty-five, I never saw the yellow convertible until it pulled out to pass and eased up beside me.
It was one of those casual, unexpected, short-lived happenstances. She looked at me, I looked at her. She smiled, I smiled back. And for three ever-enduring seconds, nothing else existed except two people. There was no love-at-first-sight...no can-I buy-you-a-drink...no my-place-or-yours. There were no promises, no implications, no complications. Quite simply, for the briefest of moments in countless eternities, it was an awareness...a shared specialness...a...damn, cowboy, you're cute...and a...WOW. Then she silently mouthed the words...nice hat...and sped away.
At the end of the straightaway is a fairly decent blind curve to the right...and I got there about fifteen seconds after she did. For the next mile, there are no turnouts or driveways...and the woods on either side of the road seem to swallow the shoulders and ditches. There was no sign of the yellow rag-top, and no hint of a girl.
Sometimes, I suppose, we all need a little help. A toe-hold...a firm grip...or even a little slack in the rope. Sometimes, all it takes is a jump-start...a whisper...or a tiny cloud to shade the sun so we can see.
The tree house was dark by the time I got home, but even in the gloom, there was no sign of the hole.
Meyer
P.S. On a different note, have a happy Mother's Day, ladies...
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