Taking on the mantle of Dazzler of the Day, Josh Vidmar can add the not-so-coveted title to his robust status as Chaos Gremlin Book Daddy. How can someone so described be anything but a Dazzler of the Day here? Author of the Striker V superhero book series, Vidmar writes relatable characters trying to survive in a fantastical setting and universe, and in today’s world the battle between good and evil is paved with difficult choices. Vidmar brings it all to devastating and delicious life. Check out his website here to start your own journey with his books.
As for this brave if misguided azalea, she’s a pretty one, even if I’m doubtful of her matching prowess next to the hues of the fall foliage. The line is ‘Red, gold and green‘ not ‘Red, magenta and green.’
The world lost an angel when Dolly Parton was called back to heaven this past summer, and I’m not sure we’ve been able to recover just yet, or if we ever will. I don’t know if there is such a thing as recovery when someone so good is taken after giving us so much. It gives new meanings and readings to some of her staple songs, such as this one about the unrequited love felt by someone left behind. It’s a kinder and more contemplative take than this relationship ending song, positing questions and melancholic rumination rather than explanations and recriminations.
When you love somebody With all your heart and soul And you want to keep them with you But you know they want to go What do you do? What do you say? When you know they want to leave As bad as you want them to stay
And there’s nothing quite as sad as a one-sided love When one doesn’t care at all and the other cares too much It’s a sad situation, I must say When someone wants to leave As bad as you want them to stay
This song could have formed the soundtrack to my early 20’s, when one one-sided love affair followed another, and my romantic modus operandi was hellbent delusional destruction. File it under ‘Fun, from the Past’. That Dolly wrote about such a predicament a full year before I was even born is testament to her wisdom and enduring talent.
You know how much I love you But I know you don’t love me And I know it’s just a matter of time before you leave But I, do I stand aside and just let you walk away? But I know you want to leave As bad as I want you to stay
As far as Dolly’s leaving us goes, there are no words of comfort or songs of solace that can put much of a dent in our collective heartbreak, but her voice remains, more divine and heavenly than ever. If she is not here directly working for all of her admirable causes, her spirit certainly continues that work, and her legacy will stand forever after. The same can be said for how much we miss you, and that emptiness won’t ever be filled.
And there’s nothing quite as sad as a one-sided love When one doesn’t love at all and the other loves too much It’s a sad situation I must say When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay Oh, it’s a sad situation I must say When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay
This past week ripped most of the leaves from our trees, leaving the branches barren until spring comes again – five months of drudgery and stark shadows. Before they fell, however, I captured this late afternoon glimpse of glory. The contrast with what is left today is striking, and not worth showing because there will be ample opportunities to showcase the emptiness later this season. For now, let’s revel in what just was, holding onto the leaves a little longer than the trees because sometimes it’s so hard to say goodbye.
It’s time to round up all our cowboy posts as we are knee-deep in the Country-Western vibe and it shows no sign of slowing down. For those of you who may have the day off, here’s a chance to catch up on all our proverbial line-dancing of late, so do-si-do your way through the list of links below and indulge in any cowboying you may have missed. Giddy up!
A daily sweet treat is a necessity when fall turns the corner and heads directly toward winter. Lately I’ve been indulging in the humble scone, but a big-ass cookie from this downtown Albany cafe proves slightly sweeter, especially when it comes late in the lunch break and the work day needs a jolt of sugar. This is just enough to see me through to quitting time.
Ever since I was a boy, I’ve found peace and solace by walking in the woods. Even the small patch of forest behind my childhood home was large enough for a child to get lost and feel freedom, while also feeling at one with the earth and the trees and the rocks and the water.
With all the sparkly trappings of the freight train of fabulousness that typically steamrolls its way through these parts, it’s understandable that no one quite believes me when I say I’d rather be walking in the woods or puttering about the garden than at any party or fancy dress-up scene, but knowing my own truth is enough.
My image has gone to bat for me many times over the years, and I will always be thankful for that. What’s behind the scenes is what really matters, and on this autumn day, when the last of the sun is warming the ground and the leaves are starting their fall, I return to the place where I’ve always felt most at home.
Alone. In the wood. Among the beauty and the sublime.
A highlight of Orville Peck’s magnificent ‘Mule’ album, ‘Run Out of Road’ was one of my favorites with its driving force and deliciously dismissive sentiment. The story of the song concerns a former lover who has chosen to try a different person and path from our protagonist, but in the end may wish for a do-over; it’s a rare instance of accountability and karma coming full-circle, with a dash of forgiveness that merely gets hinted at and implied. (That’s the only sort of forgiveness some of us emotionally unevolved humans can genuinely give after we’ve been hurt.)
Hands on the wheel, but your head’s in a storm Chasing the sun ain’t keepin’ you warm Said you had to go start another beginning You can have a change of heart, but you can’t change your decision
If you’ve ever been left for another person, you know the kind of blameless heartache that can result – because you can’t blame people for who they fall in love with – it simply happens. How they navigate that occurrence is up to them (and where any blame might come into play), while how you navigate it (and whether you remain blameless) will be up to you.
Don’t come running back to me when you run out of road Expecting I’m still behind the door that you slammed closed The price of being wild and free can leave you more alone So don’t come running back to me when you, you, you run out of road
Sometimes people don’t leave for another person, but for their own freedom or uncertainty, and these moves prove trickier to manage on an emotional level. Then you can’t blame someone else for the demise of a relationship – and that might mean the cause is you, even when they say it isn’t. Such trickery the human heart infallibly proves fallible. In this cowboy’s song, these boots were made for walking, even running, in the direction away from such a toxic situation, and perhaps such a toxic person.
My boots on the ground, blue skies You like how I’m moving on with my life? And I’ll admit you cross my mind, but not enough to cross that line You can have a change of heart, but you won’t break mine a second time
The grass isn’t always greener on the other side of mountain or pasture, and the whole bird in the hand versus two in the bush parable has been lost to overdone lore so no one bothers to heed its warning anymore. Those of us who still believe in the lessons of fairy tales know better – those who don’t take their chances of running out of road. The risk of regret is great, and I’ve never wanted to fuck around with giving ground to potential regret.
Don’t come running back to me when you run out of road Expecting I’m still behind the door that you slammed closed The price of being wild and free can leave you more alone So don’t come running back to me when you, you, you run out of road
I’ve dodged a few of these bullets in my lifetime – some have remained friends, some have dwindled away – and in the end I’ve never wondered if it would have been better to fight for something between us because it never was. A few have, in retrospect, admitted they may not have given us a fair shot, but they were always right to end it, and stronger than me to do so. If they regret it, and come running back, there isn’t as much gratification in that as you might think, only sadness over a loss they brought onto themselves. And that’s never as satisfying as you want it to be, even if you don’t want them anymore.
The day will come, you’ll tire of the not-so-great unknown Don’t come running back to me when you, you, you run out of road
Most cowboy boots get better with age, unlike most cowboy careers. Cowboys have a good thirty to thirty-five years of cowboying if they’re lucky – it’s a young man’s game for the most part. Their bodies usually tell them when – and it’s often not a subtle message but an irrefutable one. Time comes for all of us, and cowboys pay a steeper price in that respect.
The one thing that doesn’t change is a cowboy’s spirit. The body may be broken, the brain may be bruised, but the heart remains true. Sometimes that is worse.
Just off TX 16 there’s a cowboy town That’s where he’s dreamed of settling down And it holds a lot of memories that are solid gold He left her there to chase that rope Sometimes he wonders if she’s still around And there ain’t but one way to find out
Time to saddle up, take that ride Grab the reins on his pride, pack it in And head out for that setting sun He won’t change his made up mind He’s been this way his whole life A cowboy knows when it’s time to saddle up
This is probably the last weekend we can even attempt to avoid the holiday nonsense already madly in progress, so I’m making the most of it to do as little to nothing as possible. Typically I’d have the bulk of my Christmas shopping done, but I haven’t even started yet, so fuck it. On with the weekly recap, as this Fall of the Cowboy continues…
The Western Swing Authority sounds off on this Sunday evening with a ‘Swingtime Lullaby’ – and in some way maybe we’re all just trying to find our way back to those lullaby-laden evenings where our parents tucked us in and all felt right with the world. Comfort and warmth and safety and security – the unsaid stuff of lullabies and night songs – and the elusive desire of those who dared to be different in a world that wouldn’t be bothered to attempt any sort of understanding or acceptance.
Close your eyes, drift away, watch the twilight shadows swing and sway
Soft as a gossamer sigh, this swing-time lullaby
No matter how old you get (and I’m most definitely that old) you still want for that childhood love and protection, especially when it’s been pulled away at some point. You grow up quickly when that happens – you don’t have a choice. If you never had it happen, consider yourself very lucky. Unconditional love is what every child deserves, and not every child gets it.
A sad cowboy love song will never be in short supply – it’s the nature of the beasts – the beasts that we are when we fall in love, and the beasts that we become when love fades. For better or worse, the first half of my life was not without such moments, and I’ve had more than my fair share of beastly gents. (In our college years, Suzie once responded to an inquiry on whether I had boyfriend that, “He’s had a lot of… bad boyfriends.” And I’d only had maybe three by that time.)
As I look at the letters that you wrote to me It’s you that I am thinking of As I read the lines that to me were so sweet I remember our faded love
Cowboys have their share of messy entanglements as they navigate a freewheeling lifestyle designed to be lived outside of societal norms, and that means some messy love affairs and doomed romances. Cowboys were meant to elicit and inspire great passion – they live for the tackle, the wayward bull, the wily snake – and that comes in waves that create and destroy, often at the same time. While our fictional cowboys just met with a seemingly-romantic start, the reality is a different sort of story, and you already know there isn’t going to be a happy ending.
Cowboys get a number of things wrong – it’s the cost of being a cowboy – but they generally stay true to themselves, to the lifestyle they’ve coveted and curated. There is honor and nobility there, and those things are dying out at an alarming rate. In that sense, more of us should be like a cowboy. Because while they may make their mistakes, they do it with integrity and honesty. No one seems to bother with either today.
I miss you, darling, more and more every day As Heaven would miss the stars above With every heartbeat I still think of you And remember our faded love
In that way, I know what’s it’s like to be a cowboy. I made mistakes, I fell for the wrong guys, over and over and over again, because it was my destiny to fall – and I did it all willingly, knowing it was wrong, and knowing they were wrong for me. I would have done anything for love, and often did – at my own exquisite pain and expense. Was it worth it, in the end? I don’t know… it’s too early to say because I hope this isn’t quite the end. I only know that I still remember all those silly boys, and I’ll bet none of them remember me.
“They are lovely,” Ma said as she accepted a bouquet of withered flowers from the Cowboy. He was looking at me as he replied.
“A gift of Mrs. Beasley,” he said, still smiling in my direction. “A little wilted now from the ride – once that sun goes down the air changes instantly. She said her garden is doing better than it has in years and you should stop by,” the Cowboy told Ma, as if he had been here before and was just casually sharing news of a shared acquaintance. I took another step into the dining room.
“This is my son, Levi,” Ma said as I approached and extended my hand. He took it firmly, and with an exuberance not usually seen in the cowboys the Beasleys employed. The ones before and after this Cowboy were shy and quiet, to the point of ornery if you didn’t know how to read a cowboy’s specific quiet. I prided myself on speaking their language, and always got on with them. This one was instantly likable, his affable countenance I took as a product of his years, since he seemed older than most cowboys.
“You can call me Leve,” I said. “Everyone does.” He was still grasping my hand, still smiling.
“Pleased to meet you, Leve!”
I pulled my hand away more quickly than I intended, like I’d touched a frayed electric cord as it was being plugged in. The Cowboy crinkled his eyes as if about to laugh, then looked down. Ma and Pa both started talking at once, and whatever spell had been cast on us dissipated in the din of voices and the scraping of chairs on the floor as we awkwardly took our places at the table.
“Everything should be out,” Ma said, “So please help yourself. What would you like to drink? Water, milk, and I might have a Coke somewhere.”
“Milk would be great,” the Cowboy said. “This smells amazing, Mrs. Vaughn – I don’t remember the last time I had fresh bread like this,” and he tore off the end of it, taking a bite before he even bothered with the butter.
He won Ma over then and there, I could see it when she paused in the doorway bringing in his milk with mine – in the slight prideful smile she immediately stifled.
“How are things at the Beasleys?” Pa asked, and soon the three of them were having a lively discussion about cattle and farming and livestock, and I was free to focus on my food, and the man who sat across from me. I didn’t have the experience then to know what it was like to fall in love, and it certainly didn’t cross my mind that it might be happening at that moment. In all the times I’ve looked back on this night, however, and there would be many, I’ve discovered certain things that clued me in, though it came with hindsight rather than anything I realized or understand in real time.
If you asked me to describe him physically I’m not sure I could. Not in any way that would do him justice, not in any words that would capture how beautiful he was to me – and how could I even know that he was beautiful to me at that early moment? A dark beard, full but not unkept, even after the wind of the afternoon. His hair, slightly tamped down in a ring from his hat but also lushly wavy, was the texture I imagined the surface of the sea to be, and catching light in the same way despite its darkness. Dolefully dark eyes were wide except when he smiled, which he did more often than any other cowboy we knew or would come to know – and then they were surrounded by the lines that gave him an air of wisdom that his easygoing mirth would counter at every turn. A study of small contradictions, his quiet politeness belied a rugged stature that left him slightly awkward in our little kitchen. He seemed too big for it, but that’s how most of the cowboys seemed when they were suddenly inside instead of riding in the distance.
The main difference from the other cowboys came with his wide-eyed engagement and earnest curiosity. He looked into our faces and listened, he asked questions and seemed genuinely interested in the answer. The other cowboys sat quietly with heads down, the only noise their chewing and swallowing and brusque cutting of knife against plate. They had all been only a few years older than me, so I shared and understood their silence, and I knew their apparent shyness was not intended to be rude, but merely an overwhelming response to crippling insecurity and doubt. This Cowboy was nothing like them; he was sure of himself in the most intoxicating way, inspiring confidence in anyone within earshot because that sort of thing was contagious when genuine. He held his own with Ma and Pa, his respectful attitude bringing them to his side then challenging them in a way so friendly and benign that they actually came around to some of his points – something I still couldn’t manage to achieve. He was completely at home in our dining room, which was different from all the others – in the same way he was completely comfortable in his dress shirt. Some cowboys sweated through their stiff collars, some itched and scratched at their starchy best (usually supplied by Mrs. Beasley) – this Cowboy moved smoothly in his striped shirt, rolling up his cuffs with practiced ease. This Cowboy also seemed alive in a way that no one else had – and he had all of us under his spell by the time Ma got up to bring in dessert.
“I hope you don’t mind a buttermilk crumb cake,” Ma proclaimed. “And will you take some coffee or tea?”
“Would you have a little more milk? Coffee would keep me up all night and I have an early morning,” the Cowboy said. Ma smiled and hurried back with the milk jug. I watched her pour out another glassful, and then I watched the Cowboy as he smiled his thanks. Ma gently touched his shoulder as she passed back to the kitchen.
The universe nudged and the faintest whisper came from the near future. Sitting across the table, the Cowboy was staring at me, candlelight flickering in his eyes, which reflected my face, and I couldn’t tell if I was looking at him or myself. Pa was occupied with his dessert and Ma was already rinsing something in the kitchen. I looked back at the Cowboy. Creases won by sun and wind surrounded his eyes, which crinkled in kindly form as he spooned sweetness into his mouth.
An involuntary smile lifted the corners of my mouth and in my struggle to stop it I let out a half-snort and a half-laugh, spitting out a dribble of milk. Pa shot me an annoyed look as Ma asked what happened.
“Nothing,” I said, wiping milk and smile away. The Cowboy only stared.
Once he left, I bounded upstairs to watch him from my window. Lit only by the moon, he galloped off into the night. Long after the murmurs of my parents died away, I still couldn’t sleep.
“You don’t throw a whole life away just ’cause it’s banged up a little.”
That quote from the book and movie ‘Seabiscuit’ seems profoundly true only when you’ve lived a little and learned a bit about the grace required to truly love a human being. Not on a singular, individual plane – everyone can do that; it’s not a stretch to find at least one person to love in this world. I’m talking on a universal level – a love for humanity, for the whole lot of humans, even the ones who seem the least lovable. It’s hard to love all our fellow humans on that general level, and the ones who are banged up tend to be the ones who are left to fend for themselves, human nature not being remarkably gracious these days.
That’s not the way I intended this post to go, but sometimes a quote takes you places you don’t intend or expect, and in my lived experience it’s better to allow those nudges to guide you, especially when you’re not quite sure what to say or do. And in a way, it does come back to the fringe element of being a cowboy that spurred this post and the jacket as featured here, because kindness and compassion seem to be in the minority right now, at least judging from the actions of those who hold power… for the moment.
Choosing to live on the fringe of society, on that edge area of what’s acceptable, is the choice of many a cowboy. It’s not a choice made in service of being so seemingly contrary for the sake of being contrary, but rather for the purpose of the cowboy being true to himself. Existing on the fringe is something many of us feel at one point or another, particularly if you’re a member of a minority group of some kind. Being ever in danger of slipping outside the tried and traditional builds a kind of fortitude – a certain courage and power that those who have never skirted the edge can know.
The power of the fringe element.
Stepping outside what society expects you to do.
Forging your own path even when it differs from everything and everyone you’ve ever known.
Standing alone at those times when no one else is brave enough to stand with you.
