Wrangling

Our Colorado Cowboy Poetry Gathering is my big January event; as you may remember, Wranglers feature prominently. Some yodeling. Banjos. Go ahead and laugh, if you must. I will never miss it again.

Spent all of yesterday there, and spent most of today at the our city's science museum, which is a good one. Rose and I were there together, and as I alternately loped around after her, and leaned pitifully against display cases waiting for her to make up her mind, it occurred to me that I used to think I was a patient person. In fact, I distinctly remember making that claim as I interviewed to become a teacher. I. HAD. NO. IDEA. what patient even looked like. No idea.

This was reinforced as I waited for her to climb onto a two-foot high planter in the parking lot, covering her socks, pants and shoes with clingy, granular snow, and crunch down toward our car. I honestly didn't care about the wait or the snow that hitch-hiked into the car. Reinforced again when I allowed her to struggle through cutting an apple with a butter knife (she has a loose tooth) and didn't panic when the knife slipped.

Or, maybe this isn't patience? Maybe it's exhaustion?