#19 Buy the perfect pair of boots

For two years I admired the tall brown boots that girls were wearing around me. You know, the knee high brown leather boots that you wear skinny jeans tucked into? I’d see girls in their skinny jeans and boots and think, “If only I could wear those”. Unfortunately, most of the girls that wear these outfits are thin….something I am not. I have sizeable hips and usually wear flared jeans to balance out the “flare” of my hips. Whenever I pictured myself wearing skinny jeans (an oxymoronic term in my case) tucked into tall boots, this is what I imagined:

Or this:

It wasn’t until I turned thirty that I finally decided that I didn’t care if I looked like twin pop or Patrick the Starfish, I wanted a pair of boots and anyone who didn’t think they looked good on me could just deal with it. This attitude is one of the perks of getting older.

The English poet, Jenny Joseph, wrote this poem in 1961. It inspired the formation of The Red Hat Society and illustrates my feelings perfectly.

Warning, When I Am An Old Woman, I Shall Wear Purple

WARNING
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens . . .
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

I put this item on my list in January, but it wasn’t until the fall that I started shopping seriously for boots. My friend Rachael had told me before about a store in a neighboring town called “Heel and Sole”. She thought I might find a pair of boots there. I’d driven by the store before, but it was just a little shoe store in the corner of a strip mall, and I didn’t really think they’d have exactly what I was looking for. But, one day, while in the neighborhood, I stopped in to check it out. As I walked into the door, my mind began to spin, because, what looked like a tiny strip mall shoe store, was in fact a twisting, turning maze full of shoes from ceiling to floor. Everywhere I looked there were stacks of every kind of shoe you could imagine. It was like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag. How could something that seemed so small hold so much? I sent a text message to Rachael asking her why she hadn’t told me about this place. Then I remembered she had. But why hadn’t she emphasized how amazing it was! I found a pair of boots that matched those I’d been envisioning in my head and they were half the price I was hoping to spend.

I wear my boots all the time now and I love them. They have proven to be very comfortable, warm on cold days, and as an extra bonus, they have little buckles on them and when I walk through the library at school, I can hear the buckles jingle and it makes me feel like a cowboy with spurs on. Who doesn't like feeling like a cowboy once in a while?

#14 Milk a cow

 Ever since I read the “Little House on the Prairie” series as a little girl, I’ve romanticized the idea of Pioneer living. I’ve always thought that living as a pioneer would be so much fun! Unfortunately, pioneers didn’t have running water or electricity, two things I have a great fondness for. It didn’t stop me from dreaming, however, about what it would be like to churn my own butter, milk a cow every morning, stitch by firelight, and sleep on a straw mattress (although I’m terribly allergic, so I can imagine how that would go). I even built a covered wagon with my cousins when I was little (a red wagon with a wood pallet on it, wooden sides, and fence netting arched over it to lay a sheet on...okay, my mom helped us a little). 

A dream of mine came true this year when I got to milk a cow! You would think, when hearing this was something I‘d always wanted to do, that I grew up far from farm animals, in a city perhaps. Quite the contrary, actually. From the age of ten, I lived on what used to be my family’s dairy farm. My dad grew up milking cows every day. He’s regaled us with stories of dairy life growing up and claims he isn’t as tall as he should be because he spent so much time carrying heavy milk buckets in each hand. 

My dad with his dad (my Grandpa Edwy) on the family dairy

My dad with his mom (my Grandma Marcia)

When my brother and I were young, we raised drop calves on same (former) dairy farm.  Drop calves are calves from dairies that need to be bottle fed (because their mama‘s milk is being given to us). But the milk we fed them came from a powder. No milking cows involved. We also helped my dad care for a man’s cattle ranch when he was away half of the year. My family had a small herd of Shorthorn cattle, but never needed to milk them. I showed steers at the county fair every summer (definitely no milking involved here). So clearly, I grew up around cows, but had, ironically, never milked one. 

My first drop calf, Pansy. 
Her mama rejected her, so I became her mama.

Leading Buddy the Second out of the show ring.
About three steps after this picture was taken,
 Buddy's hoof landed on my little toe, breaking it.
 It still doesn't bend.

I have friends from church who own a dairy and they were kind enough to let me come fulfill my dream of milking a cow. When my dad heard about this, he wanted to come with me and “see if he still had it”. We went out to the dairy after church one Sunday and they took us into their milking barn. They milk with milking machines, and can milk a barn full of cows at once.  But for the sake of my experience, they chose one that they thought would be the most patient, and I got down to business!

The fulfillment of a dream

It wasn’t really that difficult, but there was a definite rhythm to it. I got several good streams of milk, but didn’t quite catch the rhythm. Then, my dad stepped in and started showing off, convincing us that he’s “still got it”. I had to dodge a stream of milk he sprayed through the air at me from 6 feet away! He says when he was little, he would spray milk into the mouths of the barn cats. I guess milking a cow is like riding a bike…you never forget how to do it! 

The Show-Off

My dad comes by his talent naturally.  This is my Grandpa Edwy
in a milking competition at the county fair in July of 1981.

Bonus: I also churned butter this year! For Thanksgiving, my mom brought jars of cream for us to shake, rattle, and roll in to butter! It was a fun family activity to do while the turkey was cookin’!

Tori churning while Jennifer holds new baby Cade!

Chatting and Churning

Discussing techniques and inspecting
progress...and enjoying a sucker



My mom and brother "rinsing" and
salting the finished product!