There’s just something about Cowboy boots

Just so that you know, I am the furthest thing possible from a cowboy, and I have to confess, I’m a little afraid of horses.  I mean really, why should they listen to me?  What’s to stop the larger more powerful creature from taking me hostage, or scraping me off their back with a handy tree branch just for laughs?   Anyone who has watched Mr. Ed knows they laugh.  And then there are their teeth….feed them a carrot?  And pull back a stump?  No thank you.

Then again, having lived with a Wolfhound for the last few years, and willingly holding his toy so that he can chew it more easily, I may be more comfortable around Horses now.  I will have to find out (add it to the list for this year).

Don’t get me wrong, I think Horses are one of the most beautiful, elegant, amazing creatures on the planet.  And I’m inexplicably drawn to cheesy Cowboy romance novels.  When I get really down, my friend suggests we run away to Montana to live on a ranch.  Not sure if reality would be half as enjoyable as fantasy.  I know from my niece of Tin Roof Stables fame (http://www.tinroofstables.com/) there is a lot of work involved, early and often, and hard…and smelly.

But back to cowboy boots: there is just something about them.  There is just some attitude that comes with them.  You can’t walk too fast, you have to do that sexy confident rolling saunter. 

They are the most comfortable things in the universe.  They totally hide that you are wearing mismatched Saturday socks to work.  The heel height is just right, not too high, not too flat; even Goldilocks would be hard pressed to find a fault with them.

Back to me – it IS all about me, correct?  Yesterday was a sucky day, more accurately a medley of disappointment and annoyances, you know the kind.  Nothing overtly awful, nonetheless I was really tempted to curl into a fetal position, find my blankie and my thumb and inform the universe that I was done trying. 

After licking my wounds, punching a few people (with permission), cuddling the aforementioned wolfhound and his sheltie buddy, I felt better this morning.  Not great, but better.

I was getting dressed (most of us wear jeans on Fridays to work), and I thought of my new-to-me boots.  A lovely friend, mother to another lovely friend, gave me two, yes TWO, pairs of real live cowboy boots last weekend.  Yes I am extremely lucky, both for their friendship  - and the boots

This is a different kind of toss:  My friend “released” something she wasn’t using, so that I could have it when I needed it.  I read somewhere (and I can’t find it, sorry), that when we release what no longer serves us, we make it available for someone else who may need it, like a metaphysical recycling program.

I like to think of it as all those wrongs, and hurts, angry feelings and “it’s unfairnesses” that we hold onto, when we finally release them into the universe get cleansed and refashioned, so that someone who is running low on strength, or is tired, or wants to curl up in a fetal position with her thumb and her blankie, can draw on the reserve and get what they need.  This belief makes it easier for me to let go (yes, I still have a lot to let go of, progress not perfection!), and reminds me to be grateful when I get the gift of what I need thanks to someone else’s willingness to let go.

Back to the Boots:  They are Amazing, they are black with red on the toe and heel, with red and white stitching.  I put them on and was transformed into a confident, happy, younger, smarter, sexier form of myself.  And people responded to me as if I were, in fact, all that and a bag of chips (Hi KT!) .

What about Tossing and Treasuring?  

Today I’m treasuring something someone else tossed (well she didn’t really toss them, you know what I mean).  And Cowboy boots in general.

Anyone have a horse I could meet?