Manly Men

Watched "Contraband" tonight; not a particularly great movie but definitely one of the better ones I have seen in a while. Sure we had it figured out before the intro was over .Sure, only the good guys survived effotlessly all major confontations. And yes, the heroe's wife was impossibly beautiful even as she lay dying wrapped in a plastic sheet being covered by concrete. (the mere thought of that scene is forcing me to inhale deeply as my chlosterphobia is setting in. Breathe.)

Okay, so it should be classified as a movie I have recently scene.However, there was one scene that I cannot get out of my mind because of its application to real life men and my assumption that although there are men of all types and women who are attracted to these types - tall, short, metro, country, nerdy, blue-collar, etc- we can ALL agree that there is nothing more attractive than a man who can fight. I am talking sheer man-strength of shattering a window with his elbow, pulling a villain out of that window, head-butting him, and throwing the most perfect left hook to a face that you have come to hate- all in a girls defense.

Rewind to sometime before I was married.Hanging out at my apartment with some girlfriends one Saturday night, I get a call from my boyfriend asking if I could pick him up from "The Warehouse" as he did not have his truck. "Of course." I say and hop into my maroon Explorer with Nikki for what should be a 30 minute round-trip.My package is picked up and we are driving south on IH35 when I realize that my exit is quickly approaching. I speed past the little car in the right lane, put on my blinker and proceed to switch lanes. It was a perfect lane switch, one you may see in a student driving video even.

Well, little car man did not think so....Lights are flashing, horn is honking all the way down the feeder road clear onto Slaughter Lane. I am doing my best to ignore it as I was not feeling as though I wanted to die that night. He speeds up, passes me, and throws out a lovely gesture.

"Whew." I think.

And then, suddenly, he throws on his brakes nearly causing me to rear-end him.We are stopped behind this little angry road-raged man sitting in confusion.And then the 40 something man gets out. Colorful words and gestures are being strewn into an otherwise bleak night.

Just as I try to put the car in reverse and zoom off, he approaches my window calling me names that you would see written in a truckstop restroom next to a glory-hole.

And out goes my boyfriend from the passenger side.Now my heart is racing. Nikki and I are in the car crying hysterically and yelling, "Get back in!. Lets go! Walk away!" After all, we are girls and that is really all we know how to do. (I was actually in a fight once. To be honest, it was more like me being pulled down by my ponytail, thrown into the mud, and kicked by an old white trash woman in Lockhart because she thought I was flirting with her toothless ex-husband. Winning.)As most verbal fights do, this one turned physical. But not for long. I can see it all in slow-motion as it is forever imprinted in my mind.....My hero dodged a jab and then threw the most beautiful right hook I had ever seen followed by an equally beautiful left.

There lay the crazy guy in the middle of Slaughter Lane.Now sets in another panic with Nikki and me."Oh my God! Do we need to trace his body with chalk? Do we even have chalk? Tape? We need crime scene tape! Why do we not have that either??? Are we going to jail? Should we put something soft under his head?"Again, we are girls...

Crazy guy comes to and tries to get up to start fighting again but is quickly restrained by the same guy who just waylaid him.A few moments later the police show up. They search the now hand-cuffed guys car and find empty beer cans along with hypodermic needles and all the other contraband you would expect to find.

After a few laughs and handshakes with Austin's finest, we resume our journey home."Man, my right hand hurts." he says.

"You are so much sexier than you were this morning.", I say.

What happened to my hero?

I married him.

The Not Bucket List

Do you have a bucket list? I do. It is pretty long and I know that over half of the items will never be crossed off. The reality of that is a little discouraging. Therefore, I decided to create a list of things I NEVER want to do, thus eliminating the need to scratch through each one by one, questioning my self-worth. I feel so accomplished already!

1.) Underwater deep cave exploration. (Fear of fish and tiny crevices....)

2.) Plan a vacation to Afghanistan, Iran, or Iraq. (unless there was a really great deal on Orbitz- actually I think it would be smarter financially to just buy a one way ticket.)

3.) Meet president obama. (there is no way I could keep a straight face. Or my mouth shut for that matter. If you dont have anything nice to say, dont meet the president.)

4.) Run for any office. (Is there such thing as a happy elected official?)

5.) Pet a monkey. (Outbreak)

6.) Pet a bird. (especially the ones that hang out at Shady Grove)

7.) Own a cat. (bi-polar felines)

8.) Watch a full episode of Jersey Shore. (I am proud to say that I have NO idea who anyone is on that show.)

9.) Eat mountain oysters. (not even on a dare)

10.) Rent/Own a smart-car. (smart, certain death)

12.) Be married to a longhorn. (to each their own, but not for me.)

13.) Gold-fronts (would require a name change with the prefix "Sha". i.e, Sha-chole)

14.) Dress my dog like a person (or attach an "I heart my Labrador" sticker on my car)

15.) Make giblet gravy (bi-product soup)

16.) Walk in on Chumley from Pawn Stars making little Chumleys. (self-explanatory)

17.) Not let the people I love and care about how much I do so every chance I get either through words or actions. (you know who you are.)

18.) Be a judge on Iron Chef. (good chance I would have to cross off #9 on this list if I were.)

19.) Forget the past.

20.) Assume there is a tomorrow.

That Leaf.

My family owns land in Lampasas, Texas- not too much land but enough to appreciate the beauty and isolation of God's country.

I start my adventure by walking down the fence line. I love fence lines because I love thinking about how such boundaries were settled upon by land-owners. Was there a feud? Inherited? "20 acres and a mule"? The fence posts are generally very, very old as well; cut and staked in a time before modern conveniences of electric chainsaws, augers, and a Polaris to transport. Real men. with red necks, work ethic, and resolve.
The fence line brought me to this..... A water gap. I sat and listened to the water trickle down, watching a leaf float the current from the neighbors land through the water gap and into our land. My leaf now, if only for a while, as it continues its journey to the next water gap/fence line. How long had it been floating aimlessly? one year? 14 years? I felt compelled to grab it and hold onto it as if it were something I knew I would regret letting go of. There was nothing particularly special about that leaf but I needed to have it. How many people had held that leaf and then carelessly dropped it I wondered?

Naturally, it floated to the middle of the creek and was gone.
I followed downstream for a bit, ducking under mesquite (ouch!), jumping over cactus (double ouch!!), and dodging deer droppings. (Speaking of deer, I really want one. We owned exotic deer, as well as a buffalo, at one point in my crazy life but I want a domesticated deer. One that will drink out of a water bowl and escort me on my runs. Maybe I just need a Mastiff.)

The water was green but clear. If it were July I just may have stripped down to my non-matching skimpies and cooled off but being that it was 59 degrees and windy, I admired from the banks. Rounding the bend, I came to this spot.

I have never been so overwhelmed by nature in my life. I sat where I stood, looking up at the towering trees imagining baby birds being gently lulled to sleep in nests by the sway of a breeze. The sounds of complete isolation are spellbinding. The water continued its gentle roll and I saw that leaf again but couldnt quite reach it without risking getting wet.

My fingers unknowingly began sweeping the decaying leaves and rocks beneath them and I wondered if I was and will always be the only person to touch this very spot? Virgin land.

My eyes welled up as every emotion I had been feeling last week was being absorbed out of me by my surroundings like a sponge to water. Fear, love, uncertainty, faith, confusion - it was all there. I imagine if emotions had color, that sponge would look like a Monet.

In perfect timing, a dove flew through the hollow, landing effortlessly on an oak branch above me. She cooed a bit and was soon accompanied by her mate and I wondered for a second if animals have the same feelings as people? Was this little girl dove in "love"? Did her stomach twist in knots as she awaited his arrival? Did she get fluttery "butterflies" in her stomach upon just merely seeing him? Would they always love eachother and find their way back to eachother as they aged?
The pair flew off together as I snapped a quick picture of my Heaven on Earth and wiped away the tears- realizing after looking at my hands that I was not wearing water-proof mascara. Perfectly fitting to look like a raccoon out here. And then I almost stepped on one. A dead one.

A few careful steps around the ill-fated rodent, I came to a sheer cliff decorated by roots of trees hanging on for dear life against the power of mother natures strongest force. Water erosion. Their lifeline exposed to the elements yet they still thrive, adapting to their conditions. People are much like this, I suppose. We are dealt so many hands and have no choice but to adapt and continue to live because the alternate choice is not ours to make. Me, I have been dealt what most people could not dream of by the tender age of 30 but have adapted and made lemonade: married to my best friend, happy family, wonderful extended family, supportive friends, the ability to look at a no hope negative situation and be optimistic. My roots are exposed but shielded by the people I love and let love me.
And there is that leaf again, waiting for me to continue walking so it can find a place to meet, fatefully.
The brush is starting to get thick so I can either go back the way I came or find a way through it. In true Nichole fashion, I choose the path of most resistance- my arms, legs, and cheek have the scrapes to prove so.

The thicket opens up to a beautiful open creek. Only problem is that I HAVE to get to the other side. Ah, a stepping stone. Seems like there's always one of those to help you along your way. Think about it. In any life-altering situation- an ultimate career goal, a break-up, etc., there are people or experiences (stepping stones) to help you to the other side.
I hop over it and am now on flat, familiar, safe ground. (But not before nearly mistaking an overturned turtle shell as another stepping stone. Poor fella.)
From here, all things turn back to black and white, much like Dorothy's return to Kansas. I find the quickest escape route and return to reality...
With a grassy green leaf in my pocket...