I love seeing the words pop out.
They demand to be popped.
:)
Just yesterday, I described telling stories
as being something like
shitaki mushrooms popping out on a log
and that's how it always feels to me.
I don't really have any control over it...
I just get some idea that floats out of somewhere
and feel like telling a story.. often triggered
by some small phrase, or the sight of something,
or just for some mysterious reason that I expect
I'm not supposed to wonder about.
(o:
I don't usually do this, but I'll crosspost something
that I wrote earlier today.. sort of a Christmas-y thing...
Something that made me laugh to think on this morning,
so I wrote it down.
~~~
Funny about "cowboy culture", isn't it?
What is it about those hats and cowboy boots anyway?
Couple of nights ago, my younger brother and I were
discussing the differences between being a kid in
the 50s and 60s, and being a kid today,
especially at Christmas.
Back then, there was no "Christmas catalog" from
the big mailorder companies like Simpsons-Sears or T. Eaton Co.
(our Canadian versions of Sears-Roebuck).
Nope. Living in a small town as I did back then,
the most you usually had was a little Woolworth's or
an S.S. Kresge's five-and-dime shop with things like
metal wind-up cars, metal watercolour paintboxes from Japan
that if you took them apart, had some kind of food labels
stamped in pinks and turquoise on the back....
The "toy section" of the Sears or Eaton's catalogue was,
well, to put it mildly, rather lame. Just a few pages...
heck, less than the number of pages in the ladies underwear
section which was filled with mysterious photos of half-nakkid women
in white, one-piece, body armor.
Uhm.. anyhow, yep, there wasn't much to choose from
when you were making your Christmas list,
but strangely, there seemed to be so many choices
that you had to keep studying the catalogue for days on end
and drafting and revising your Christmas list as you
could only have maybe 2 or 3 things from the catalogue..
and only if you were a good little kid.
I remember one year when I was about..hmm..nine,
about when I was at that Tom Sawyer - Huck Finn phase
which, to tell the truth, I've never really quite outgrown,..
but anyhow, yep, I was into "cowboy culture" pretty big back then...
Roy Rogers and the like.
So, that particular year, after the Sears catalogue arrived,
I had my heart set on a special "cowboy package" for months.
It consisted of a leather holster, 2 pearl-handled six-guns,
some rolls of caps, a sheriff's star, and a bandana.
Wow... I wanted that cowboy gear so badly that it was ridiculous!
I think I must have looked at the little 2 x 3 inch photo
so many times that I probably had the page all worn out
by the time December rolled around.
Christmas day arrived and, yep, you guessed it,
I got my six-guns, holsters and sheriff's badge.
I already had a red felt cowboy hat so, man, I was *equipped*!
Looking back on all this as an adult of distinctly pacifist leaning
I can't really figure out what the attraction of a couple
of six-guns must have been, but there just was.
Turned out that the six-guns were even more impressive
in the flesh than they appeared to be in the little photo.
These were *quality* cap guns.. just a little larger
and a little better cast and constructed than the usual
run of the mill cap guns that the decorative plastic handles
used to pop off of.. and they were "pearl-handled"...
real works of beauty to my 9-year-old's appraising eye.
And reliable! They rarely failed to explode a cap
and with a *bang* that could make you squint!
I do believe I kept the local confectionary in business
for the following year with my steady purchases of
rolls of caps.
I can't even remember what I used to shoot at.
I suspect I was just the rowdy type who fires into the air
for the heck of it... or maybe while practicing my "draw"
along with spinning the lariat that my dad chopped off
of the end of an old rope.
My best friend in those days was a bit of a sissy-girl..
who used to wear skirts with a pair of cowboy boots and hat.
I figure she fashioned herself after Dale Evans.
She never toted a holster and six-guns though.
But she was impressive in her own way... I'll give her that.
We had a talent night at school and she sang
"Ghost Riders in the Sky" to the accompaniment
of her Dad on guitar.
Smokes.. it just gave me the shivers...
You know, that yodelly part?
Yi-pi-yi-ay, Yi-pi-yi-o
Ghost riders in the sk-----y
Yup... Mightly impressive. Made my lariat-twirling
and six-gun drawing look pretty darned dull.
That was okay though, cuz she was my friend,
so we were even a better as a "trio"..
her with the singing, me with my twirling lariat and six-guns,
and my "horse" made out of one of my dad's old grey wool socks,
stuffed, and with button eyes sewn on, and stuck on
the end of a broomstick.
Yup, I expect we were quite a sight around town!
(My brother now claims to have been greatly embarrassed,
by his older sister, but heck, what did he know?..
he being just a measily six year old, and a BOY!).
Anyhow, there's another sort-of Christmas story for the tree..
A Cowboy Christmas tale. |
