a classic western starring Robert Mitchum. the black and white, the ping&whine of a rifle shot which is not at all what gunfire sounds like, the clip-clop empty coconut shell sound effects for horses hooves. for a while tonight, after the booze wore off and I woke up after passing out, I turned on this movie and was reminded of how innocent I once was. when I was a little girl I didn’t dream about being an astronaut, a veterinarian, a doctor, a school teacher. I dreamt about wearing calico dresses with pearl buttons down the front, of practical black lace up boots, white aprons and the impossible dream of being the wife of a rancher over a century ago. that was my sad little fond desire…to have a homestead, a cow to milk in the morning, chickens to collect eggs from, horses to groom and farm dogs to keep the coyotes away from sheep. I’d have a garden to plant, harvest, food to cook from scratch in a wood burning stove. Our kids would have biblical names and we’d ride into town to go to church on Sunday mornings in a wagon.
yes, once upon a time I let myself dream that was how life would be if I wished hard enough, if I could only find a time machine.
sometimes its better to forget dreams. to forget what you wanted so much as a child only to have the crushing reality of adulthood steal away any bit of joy you might get from the memories. because life doesn’t work out the way you want it to. it never gives you what you want. not even when you work for it, and ask for it, beg for it—that’s just not the way it goes.
and I’m so damn tired of it.
but for now I’ll let the little girl inside of me—alive by some strange miracle—smile dreamily and remember that a six-gun and a Stetson was the stuff dreams were made of.
