I Cow For Me

Since I've started blogging and writing for the ISJ, I really haven’t had much negative feedback. Putting my writing out there has, for the most part, perpetuated my naiveté that, “Can’t we all just get along?” isn't a stupid question.  [therapy blog alert!]

On the negative side, I had one guy call me at work to harass me a bit and I received a message via Facebook at the beginning of June that led to the following dialogue:

Random Lady: Hi Billie you don't know me but I've heard a lot about you. I was at the council meeting of which you "came out" 2 years ago. I do know you were apart of Fair Pocatello which is very commendable on your part.

There is a but in this matter and I want you to know I'm going to be saying this solely on how I see YOUR actions through my eyes and don't mean to disrespect YOU in any way, so here it is PLEASE stop wearing that cow suit around town for no apparent reason to. This does not look good for the lesbian image. 

I have been out for 8 years now and never had the urge to dress up in any animal suit.

Now im not saying this to hurt you as I am just bringing it to your attention as how to best represent the lesbian image.

Like I said at the beginning of this letter it takes strength to be who YOU are in public but drawing undo attention to a community that has people that have been living this rough tough life longer than you and me put together its just not the kind of representation I want to see myself as a fellow lesbian portrayed.

In kind regards Thank You for taking time to read this and PLEASE head the advice given to you today.

Huh? What? The “lesbian image”? Oh sweet cream butter, what do I do with this?!

Most people would say “Ignore it. “ That’s what I would say to anyone else, but this really got to me. I think it got to me enough that I not-so-coincidentally haven’t put a suit on since. If I’m going to keep writing, cowing and living,  I've gotta thicken my hide for heifer’s sake!  Here’s what I said to her:

Me: I feel like you are judging me here without fully understanding Cow Suit Saturday and, respectfully, I'm not claiming to be a formal "representative of the lesbian image." I am a representation of ME. We all have experiences through the lens of whatever label we give ourselves or others give us. The cow suit has inspired smiles in others that wouldn't have happened without it. It's made me smile. People don't see an engineer or a redhead or a woman or a dyke (pardon the expression), they see what I corral and present to them in the cow suit. The experience is always different, reflective and a joy to write about and learn from.

One of the reasons I spoke at that city council meeting (there were many reasons) is that I don't appreciate being judged based on the actions of other GLBT people. So in that vein, I'm sympathetic to what you are saying.

BUT…I COW FOR ME!!!

Her: I don't think im judging more like intrigued with a bit of don't really understand why a cow suit? And on the curiosity side of it why draw that kind of attention? I'm all for people being themselves but why not being you without the suit you could still be that flashy lady without it

Me: Oh, I’m still a flashy lady without it. ;-)  Ya know,  I wear it with my girlfriend and her kids at some of the local fun runs and we cheer and ring cow bells. Triathlons too. The other night we saw about 40 cyclists leave on a nightly ride from Barrie's. The six year old yelled from the back seat, "Why aren't we cheering?!?" It's just fun and different. He gets it. Lemme know if ya wanna throw one on sometime and join the herd.

Her: And I see how it would be fun as a family thing and it's cute when kids get involved. But like you said it's rough getting judged by someone else's actions gay or straight we each have different personalities, cultures, and views but I think it's not going to be for me kind of thing after all I was just curious.

She probably still doesn't get it, and that’s okay. The six year old gets it. Many of you get it. But most importantly, I get it.

One of my favorite quotes attributed to Friedrich Nietzsche (oh look at me quoting Nietzsche in my blog)

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

I think he meant moosic. And I hear it. I just need to turn it up a bit, put the cow suit on and do a lil dance.

A Bovine Beginning

I love it when Cow Suit Saturday falls on a weekday. Wahoo!!  Tonight’s cow suit adventure was bittersweet. I’ve included my friend Tara's Facebook post the other day and my thoughts while I read it.

Tara lived in the house right next door to me. I moved in before third grade, and I can’t quite recall when her family moved to Texas for a stint, but they came back in time for us to be in high school at the same time. I’m a skosh older.

I’ve spent years being irritated at this family because Tara’s younger brother Russell stepped on my turtle when he was about two. I figured tonight I could let that go, while Tara let go of a few things herself. (I'm kidding about being irritated, but not about Myrtle's near death experience.)

Tara’s Post with my Thoughts

We celebrate a wedding with cake…what do we do to acknowledge a divorce? Yes, nothing about it is a celebration. However, like a wedding it is a new chapter, a new beginning and that SHOULD be recognized. 

[I’m listening.]

I’m done with people feeling sorry for me, sadness, regret and shame. (so much of this.)

[There is no shame in a cow suit.]

Yes, some celebrate with a girls night, lots of alcohol and possibly a new relationship. That’s not for me.

[You go, Girl! What about a cow suit? Might that be for you? I rallied some of my high school classmates to cow at your class’ reunion fun run, and I’ve seen you at city fun runs, so you know the drill.]

Therefore, as I’ve waited for nice weather since the day I got the notice, I want to host an evening hike. I have learned of a decent trail off Satterfield and Lois Lane.  I can’t say we will hike to the top because I have never been on this trail. All the more reason it will be perfect.

[I think I’ve been on that trail. In regular clothes. It IS quite lovely.]

Something new. A new trail to hike. A new mountain to climb. New challenge for my body to accomplish. A great sweat. And if we stay long enough, watching the sun set over the valley and the reservoir.

[I have something else new you could try…..]

I realize a sunrise may be more symbolic. This girl isn’t getting up early enough to hike in the dark on a new trail to be at the top to watch the sunrise.

[Yet]

So all you out there, come out and help me commemorate this new beginning. Doesn’t have to be my girls. Guys come also. Anyone. Everyone. Married. Single. Divorced. In fact we all have new beginnings. New challenges. Bring the dogs. I won’t be bringing my kids but you can do what works for you.

[Anyone?  She said “anyone,” so that means cows. Yes!]

I’m perfectly ready to walk the trail alone. A lot of meaning in that as well. However, I would love to do this together.

[This would certainly be memorable for you, if cow suits were involved. I’d hate for it to change whatever meaning you are hoping to glean, so I probably better ask if you are okay with making this a bit of a bovine beginning.]

Who wants to join me?

[Raises hoof and sends a private message asking permission.]

After the Hike with the Heifer

This might be one of my laziest blogs EVER because I'm using so much of Tara's text.  But really, this was so not about me tonight. It was a little about me in that I recall just barely some of the difficulties my mom had as a single parent and a social worker, but mostly I just wanted to be a joyful presence for Tara.

Here are a few of her contemplations after the hike:

Many times today I had talked myself into cancelling. Sick kids, son has campout to pack for, daughter has dance competition to pack for, kids to cuddle, dishes to do.

[I thought I wouldn't have minded if you cancelled. I always have a to-do list a mile long, and Satterfield is sooooo far away. In Pocatello, nothing is far away. I was being lazy. For a dozen reasons, I'm glad we went.]

We went anyway. I needed this. Keaton needed this. To see him get to the top (or at least where we stopped) an know that he had accomplished something. Ahhhh. It’s almost better to see someone else achieve a goal than it is to achieve one yourself.

[I like Keaton. At one point on the hike, I said, “Good Job, Man.” And through udder breathlessness he said, “Thank you.”  (1) He said thank you.  I will write you a kick-ass letter of recommendation for college entrance if you are an adolescent who simply says “thank you” (2) He accepted that complement from me. He didn’t shrug it off or dismiss it because darn it, he knew he was working hard and he WAS accomplishing something. There is confidence in accepting compliments. (3) He put his hand out to shake mine when we were done and he smiled. Is this not one of the best smiles you've ever seen?

Lucy the Newfoundland just shook slobber ALL over us!
The most disgusting moment in a cow suit so far.



Keaton wore the horns!!! 

 And as for the marvels of seeing someone else achieve a goal…I totally agree. And sometimes that view is even better in a cow suit.]

And Billie, thank you for coming out and supporting me. Thanks for walking with me and absolutely for bringing the cow suits. I WILL one day…very soon…actually fit in the suit.

[You're welcome. I think the goal of fitting in a cow suit is a fantastic irony and I would LOVE for you to be the one that gets that blog! ]

I left what I needed on the hill. I came back with what I needed. Perfect way to start this new chapter and say goodbye to the last.

[Amen, Sister!]



Even though I have longer arms, Tara totally took
the better group shot after our hike. Let's do it again!



We really live in a beautiful place.

We went anyway. I needed this. Keaton needed this. To see him get to the top (or at least where we stopped) and know that he had accomplished something. Ahhh. It's almost better to see someone else achieve a goal than it is to achieve one of my own.

And Billie thank you for coming out and supporting me. Thank for walking with me and absolutely for bringing the cow suits. I WILL one day...very soon...actually fit in the suit.

I left what I needed on the hill. I came back with what I needed. Perfect way to start this new chapter and say goodbye to the last.

Loads of Udder Fun: The Ricky-Billie Story

I could have fun with this one. This one could make me a better writer if I wanted. It could give me practice at story-telling and picture-painting, but I just don’t feel like I have time. I’m drawn in directions of work, flights, fitness, a cold, friendships, writing, investments, the dryer repair guy back home, the dogs, the kids, the lil old lady, the new roomie….So. Many. Things.

Ricky is the child who deserves my time with his early reader, but I just want to zip through a picture book and get him to sleep so I can do the things I need to. I don’t adore this guy any less or think any less of our time cowing than the others…on the contrary. Ours is probably one of the most memorable I’ll experience. He deserves the long book at storytime tonight.

While traveling on business, I looked forward to having to do my laundry because the laundromat didn’t have wireless. I had to be there and I couldn’t work. I couldn’t do a damn thing other than watch the clothes spin and wait. And think. Dangerous, but welcome. 

About a month ago, my usual landromat after 7 months of travel was packed on a Friday night so I googled the area. I met Ricky when I found one on the other side of town. He characterized the area for me when he said, “the Girl Scouts will be here tomorrow selling cookies, and by God this might be the ghetto, but we’ll pay $4 to the kids for a box of cookies.”  We didn’t cow that night, but the more we talked, I knew I had to get this guy in a cow suit.

He'd come in skittering like a small dog and bellowed a “How are ya? Is your day goin’ good? I hope it’s goin’ good.”  I said, “It is!” I don’t recall if it really was, but I wasn’t going to burst this happy stranger’s bubble. I felt my day immediately become classified as one of the good ones just watching him. He talked to the regulars interchanging seamlessly between Spanish and New England English.

He was in shorts and a winter coat with grungy white sneakers. His legs looked like brown, hairy wiffle bats. (That is a bad simile right there, but he had slight legs and it’s all I could think of. I’ve got to shave tonight for crying out loud. So. Many. Things. I don’t have time to be good here.) His appearance set the stage for his life story that I got while my clothes dried.  

He dropped out of high school because he was bullied and joined the Navy. He got to see the world from a ship. He began his work in the kitchen but told me it was attention to details and making things look pretty and perfect that led him to be the Captain’s steward. (I think that’s what it’s called.)  He interrupted his story to point to my bras hanging on the edge of one of their baskets on wheels.

“That’s nice. I like that you made yourself at home. That’s what I want. People to feel comfortable here.” I’m so glad he kept talking because those nanoseconds after he pointed to my bras and said “that’s nice” had me looking for the exits. He was cool, though.

I folded clothes while he told me about his world travels in the Navy, his Portuguese heritage, growing up on that very block,  buying a motorcycle after he left the service and his plans for his birthday the next week. It’s February 27, by the way. He goes to the cemetery on his birthday to spend time with relatives past. I get that. I can see doing that. Here’s this happy-go-lucky, outgoing guy who also recognizes his need for down time and time to reconnect with the parts and people of his past that are important. It’s not morbid or sad but refreshing and refueling. I thought about him at the cemetery on his birthday while I flew home. (That was the day that led to my Parrish Lane blog.)

I overheard him talking to one of the regulars about winning the lottery. He said all the things I wish I felt. That he doesn’t need money. That he’s happy managing a laundry mat with a simple life and being enriched by the relationships and the people around him.  It’s one of those conversations that stick in your mind when you’ve been away from your usual life, and pets and people for so long.

I have always said that I love my job but it’s certainly not my passion. It puts more than a roof over my head and is better than working at the Chevron until I figure out what to do with my life, but Ricky made me think that working at a Chevron might just be the real deal.

In addition to managing the Laundromat, he maintains its entire plaza which houses a little pizza place, a Chinese joint, and a 7-11. He also DJ’s weddings now and then, and when he doesn’t have a DJ gig scheduled, his disco ball and flashing lights hang in the laundromat. He turns them on for the Saturday crowd.

Oh yes. I wanted to dance with him in his ghetto New England laundromat in a cow suit on a Saturday morning.  I told him about my blog and asked if I could come back and cow with him. He didn’t hesitate with a "Yes!". I went home from that trip and had all my cow suits shipped to the office so I’d be prepared for a laundromat dance party.

But there was a change in my plans and I stood him up. I ended up being home on the weekend I’d told him and I didn’t know how to let him know I wasn’t going to be there.   I’d spent a couple hours chatting with this guy, and I felt accountable to him.  That may seem silly, but honestly, I wish others felt this kind of accountability to their fellow man.

I showed up a week late with my laundry wondering if he’d remember me. He did.  He yelled, “Billie Joe! (I don’t spell it with an “e” but he does) How are ya? You stood me up!”  I hung my head and apologized and tried to explain why I missed our date. He said that was fine and that the owners weren’t on board anyway. They were worried about law suits and liability if people got hurt dancing. Ricky’s laundromat has a bit of a stage built up between the washers and driers. (See his surfing pose below.)

Of course, I think mafia and they don't want the business publicized because I’m working too much and surrounded by New England accents and inventing things in my spare time.

I let Ricky know I had cow suits in my car but that I understood. (sigh) I had to accept a wonderful interaction with someone without a cow suit and NOT write about it. But then…he said, “Ya know what…let’s get ‘em. Let’s take some pictures.”

So we did!!!

We walked next door to the 7-11 to get a lottery ticket. He took a breath to talk to me about money and happiness and I said, “I know. I know. The money would change me and I may not be meant for it. But come on—what a great story if the winning ticket was bought in a cow suit.” He smiled. I escaped his money talk, but had a few of my own in my head while he danced around and posed for pictures.

We stood with a couple of his regulars Augustino and Paully. Paully told me his middle name begins with an “E” so he hears “Paul E” when Ricky says his name, but Ricky says it as one word and with the New England affection embodied in “Paully” so that’s how I know him.

We zipped around his little Laundromat taking pictures and whooping it up. Pharrell William’s “Happy” was playing so there may have been a dance move or two. Ricky takes such pride in the place and gets so much joy in return.  I understand that too.

After we decowed, he slipped out the door. He went to his little duplex in the same little parking lot and came back with a frame. He gave me an 8x10 framed picture of his town from a 1950’s calendar. He told me it’s where he grew up and how he remembers this town and he wanted me to have it. I feel the same about my little home town.

I’ve also spent almost 5 months total in his town and this was a strangely appreciated gift. I also understand framing calendar pictures. I used to have a collection of 12 calendar “prints” in my living room and got a bunch of crap from my friends for it. It was cheap and counterfeit art and I loved it.  I love that Ricky gave it to me.

To repay him, I compiled a collage of our pics and brought him back another 8x10 frame. When I knocked on his door on a workday night this week, I was in regular clothes and without laundry to do.  He smiled and welcomed me in his little place. He thanked me. He told me Paully had been showing the pictures all over town and then said, “Wait! I wrote you a poem.”  He disappeared while I waited in his small but all-he-needs kitchen and returned with these scribbles on an envelope.

The cow suit lets me talk to people when I wouldn’t. Ricky talks to anyone he meets in his laundromat and was a great reminder of how I can be in and out of my suit.  His life is as simple and joyful as our encounter.  I bet I see this guy again someday. I hope I do. 

The photo collage I gave Ricky

His poem.
(and yes, this had a junior high flare, but it's the simple and good part of junior high)

 

 

 

Moooved by Steve in Cow Suit

Last Saturday my cow suit and I were at Boston’s Cheers bar where no one knew my name. This Saturday I walked into a Pocatello brew pub and as if on cue “BIL-LAY!” echoed as soon as I entered.  Four male friends from college were standing by the bar with beautiful welcoming smiles.  I haven’t seen those smiles assembled like that for a long, long time. They not only welcomed me to the bar but into a time 20 years ago when they let me in their herd.

I was carrying cow suits for me and my friend Steve who is moooooving away this week. These buddies’ grins contained joy at seeing me for the first time in a long time, but also knowing that Steve was about to put on a cow suit.

I have known Steve since college. He drinks, smokes, plays poker, loves football, ultimate fighting, and me. Steve is like me in that he only holds judgment for the judgmental and that includes himself.  His love of mankind is felt in his presence.

This was a cow-culated suiting up because I wanted to write about Steve. Magic of the cow suit lies in the ripples it creates. Steve had two Facebook posts months ago that have rippled in my mind, and I think about him every time I do something nice for someone. And hey—I do a lot of nice things for people, so I think about Steve a lot of my days.  

Can I say that without sounding smug? That I do nice things for people? Therein lies a ripple of Steve.

Over a year ago, Steve posted a status update about buying lunch for a military service man in the airport. It was a brief yet reflective statement recounting how the military uniform ignited Steve’s gratitude for this man’s service and a desire to simply thank him by buying his lunch.  It made him feel good to say “thank you,” and he shared that on his Facebook wall.

Accolades from his friends flooded in for Steve’s gesture, but a few comments were made as to why he had to tell people about it. A few hours later Steve posted about how discussing his gesture of kindness and gratitude “cheapend the act.”  I remember those exact words: Cheapened the act.

Many times since Steve’s post, I have wanted to tell people about something nice I did, but I kept quiet.   He has made me question motives and altruism and kindness in myself and all around me.  The kindest people are the most selfish.   In 9^th grade I was voted “Most Kind.”

The cow suit is selfish. It’s about my self-centered desire to feel joy and see smiles. Steve selfishly put a cow suit on for me last night.  Well, he had to put two of them on because his belly’s as big as his heart.  He agreed because I asked him. Because he knew it would make me happy. It would make him happy.

Steve & Billie in Selfish Bovine Bliss

Our selfish selflessness is captured perfectly here. My eyes are tired from travel and I wanted to be asleep, but I also wanted to do this for Steve (myself). Among his manly friends and their laughter, he wrangled his way into 2 cow suits for me(himself).  We both benefited greatly from each other’s selfishness and ours smiles show it.

As you move away Steve, I hope you dive into your new community like you have in ours. I hope you continue to do nice things for people and dammit, tell me about it!

Brag. Gloat. Share your stories of kindness because sometimes I think nothing good is happening in this world. The simple stories like the one you shared let me know I am wrong.  Your selfish need to prove and invent good in the world satisfies my own.   This world is good because of you, Steve. 

Courage in a Cow Suit

I couragously cowed in Boston. My few solo hours held subway rides, photos with American tourists, photos with foreign tourists, moos, giggles, deep breaths, sighs, a marching band, a march from the Capitol, singing, beer-drinking, almost-dancing and almost-ice skating. It was a good day and when it was over,  I cried. It was a cow suit sucker punch like I've never had, but it was good.

 

The Challenge

My challenge for the day was to go to the Cheers Bar in Boston and video myself singing the TV show's theme song in my cow suit. The "prize" was that a friend back home in Idaho would suit up with me and cow some time. Singing in public terrifies me. I karaoked in college on a bet. It was Bette Midler's "The Rose."  The audience howled. Not like laughing--like wounded dogs crying to the moon. All I could think was how the lingering notes of the Cheers song were going to be like that.

 

Gulp.

 

I needed to muster all the courage I could for this.

 

The Prep

I had a healthy breakfast and a killer workout. My treadmill playlist included anthems from Kelly Clarkston and Katy Perry. There was a little Erasure and the Glee version of Don't Stop Bull-evin'. That's how I spell it now.  I also have Blessed Be Your Name on my favorite running list. It's a contemporary Christian song that (1) I just like and (2) was played at my 15 year old friend Ryleigh's funeral.  (I've mentioned Ryleigh before in here. Our Cows for a Cure Relay for Life Team became Ryleigh's herd after she died of leukemia in 2009. Ryleigh cows with me EVERY time I venture out.)

 

The lyrics and treadmill meditations did wonders in my mind to build courage. Each song reminded me of people in my life who've possessed great courage--some of it I've seen, but most of it I've only deduced because I simply know we all have our demons to battle. Ryleigh was courageous.

 

I'd been to the front desk at the hotel that morning for a razor because I forget how short the cow suit is. I wanted to maximize my appearance for maximum confidence that morning. I don't know why I weighed myself at the gym. Dumb. And while I'm all into being bold & courageous, I weighed 185lbs--five pounds off of the most I've ever weighed. I was maximized, alright.

 

I boarded the hotel shuttle for the train with a pocket full of gum, a fully charged camera phone, my hand-written Cheer's lyrics, and my Cow Suit Saturday bag with an extra cow suit in case I found someone who wanted to cow with me.  I had on eye liner, foundation, and mooscara. Ready to Cow!! 

Sitting in the back of the hotel shuttle.

Bovine Loose in Boston
On the shuttle, there were a Hispanic husband, wife, kids and mother-in-law. The driver was Hispanic. There was a middle eastern man in front of me and a black man next to him. One of them had on a delicious cologne. A 20-something white kid sat straight up across the aisle from me. I'm almost certain he was high-functioning autistic by his posture and nail biting rhythms. He'd been at the hotel desk before me and was very polite. He was the only one of the other groups to thank the driver and wish him a nice day right on cue. I made sure I did, too. And I tipped him. I ALWAYS tip regardless, but am extra certain when cowing. That's right...a tipping cow.  I am cordial in a cow suit because that's how I want to be remembered.

The map at the train station. This is scary for an Idaho girl let alone a cow.

Instead of focusing on stares or looking down, I held my head high and took in everything around me. I realized on this venture that if I fill my senses and process as many sights and sounds and look for the joy and wonder around me, I load my brain so it can't even process my nerves.I know that signs of courage and encouragement will speak to me as the day unfolds.  And lookie here...

Photos of Amelia Earhart and Nancy Harkness Love. Now there was some courage!

My biggest disappointment of the day was that I forgot to pack my Converse sneakers. A new Converse headquaters is being built in Boston. I'll have to go back. I don't need a reason, but reasons help.

Seahawks colors shoes (a coincidence), silky smooth legs & my special bag. Yea!

I walked along the Freedom Trail en route to the Cheers bar. This was about my fourth time traversing these sidewalks. How many times can I say, "everything changes in a cow suit?" It's like when you get glasses and realize that trees are actually individual leaves rather than a clump of green. I see and hear individual pieces of the day rather than the whole.

As I crested Beacon Hill, I could hear a marching band. Trombones. There was my musical boost for courage. I loved playing the trombone solo in pep band. I let that memory take up some space in my head for a second while I caught myself marching to the beat of the drums as I walked toward them.  There was a march on the Capitol. I slowed down a bit to take stock of the marchers, to make sure I didn't stumble into something I'm moorally opposed to. They didn't have big signs but a lot of the participants looked like me sans a cow suit.

The Capitol and lingering marchers.

One of the ladies was from Minnesota and started talking me up and explaining their genesis and focus. She talked of renewable energy and electric cars and then said, "And you're part of the problem, too, ya know? Cows. You.  A problem."  I'm pretty sure she was kidding, but she didn't follow that up with as much socially-appropriate laughter as she should have. I kept mooooving.

Ahhh. That's what it is.

Gaulav and his friend were the first to ask me to take my picture. They were so friendly. I should have asked where they were from. I can't imagine being in a foregin country surrounded by people speaking a different language.

I asked if he wanted to wear the extra suit. He said he'd just hold it.

The marchers followed the band to gather in the Boston Commons Park for a rally. The music was peppy and grand!

 

I wanted to dance. I like to dance, but it's a toss-up if I'm a worse dancer or singer and since the latter was already on the day's docket, I hung back and tapped my foot.

Trombones!

I made it to the Cheers Bar!!  (See my earlier post for the full Cheers breakdown.)

The jubilent suit hides the udder fear I'm holding in that moment. What's in the bag? Fear and a spare suit.

While the employees are getting ready to sing with me, I got to pose behind the Cheers Bar. It never would have happened if not in a cow suit. I wouldn't have asked. I wouldn't have chatted up the staff. The sweet folks from New Jersey wouldn't have noticed the ordinary redhead from Idaho in jeans and and fleece. At this moment, I realized I didn't need courage for the cow suit, but it had given me courage.

Just waiting for Cliff and Norm. (or Marcus and Jaynie the day's hosts)

I left the bar to walk through the park some more. I like this park. Scenes like this are nestled in my head from artwork in my childhood. American folk artists like Jane Wooster Scoot and Charles Wysocki captured my imagination of Americana and picture-perfect paintings. I would lose myself in them.

I had a happy childhood. When I run into old friends of my mom who reminisce and talk about it, they tell me that I was the most wanted child they ever met and she only wanted one. As an only child, I would spend hours playing board games, house (I'd have my stuffed animals play different parts) and setting up things to emulate "perfect" life scenarios much like the picture below.  I have American Folk Art all over my house today.

Ice skating rink on Boston Commons that I'm leaving uninterruped by cow

A chill started to sweep in. I wanted to wander the park and let it sustain the cow suit smile a little longer. I wanted to ice skate. Really--a cow on ice!?! I skipped it and added it to a mental cow suit bucket list because I wanted this scene to stay just like it is. It's perfect

 

Cow Suit Sucker Punch

The train ride back to the hotel was uneventful. Well...compared to the rest of the day. I'm sure there were stares and smiles I missed, but my brain was tired. My senses had worked hard.  There were two older handsome pilots on the shuttle from the train to the hotel. When we walked past the valet stand, I dropped my rental car ticket and one of them alerted me, "You dropped something. Yikes! That's not something I want to say to a cow. Yuck!"  Ha!  He had an arrogant air about him, but that was completely casual and endeering.

 

The valet took my card and I changed out of my suit while he got my rental car. As I approached him for the keys, he pulled them to his chest and said, "I'm sorry. This isn't yours. I believe a cow gave me the ticket." Yes! Well played, Mr. Valet.

 

I got in the car grinning non-floppy ear-to-non-floppy ear and started to process it all as I drove out of town. Like everything awesome, much fun lies in remembering. As I was getting ready to call people to tell them about my day, I was sucker punched.

 

It's been almost two years since our relationship ended, but I still think to call her with my excitement. Not immediately, but she's high on the list, and that's just not how it is now. Boom. Tears instantly. My happy reflections were elbowed right out of the way by this grief that insisted on my attention. I was stuck in the car in normal clothes and unable to focus on anything but the traffic and the raw sense of loss. The was no cow suit diversion now. I was stuck suitless and sad. 

 

I caught myself holding my breath. Traffic was thick but not ultra heavy. Cars and people were near me but traveling fast. I realized I was stifling my sorrow because I didn’t want anyone to see me crying in the car. I’ll wear a cow suit all over Boston, but I’ll be damned if strangers in traffic see a tear.  Cow-ard.

We had a life as perfect as American Folk Art but it fell apart. I am overall happy today--in and out of the cow suit--and things are exactly as they should be, but I'll always be sad it went the way it did. I’m working on another painting now and Boston is a beautiful base for this cow’s new canvas.

Cow Suit Cheers!

I had a beer in the Cheers bar in Boston today. In a cow suit.

It all started with cupcakes in Idaho a week and half ago. Pocatello cake artist Paula Ames does this “Tasty Tuesday” thing. She asks her Facebook fans for nominations of “good in our community.” Then she shows up on a Tuesday morning with some of the best darn cupcakes you can imagine. As she presents her goods to the weekly winner(s), she tells them that someone in their midst thinks they are wonderful.

Paula appeared at my office last week after my longtime high school classmate and friend, Tiffany, nominated me.  Smiles all around as I raised a coconut lime cupcake. 

Cheers! 
 
I texted Paula after she left to thank her and ask if I could join her on a Tasty Tuesday delivery sometime. In a cow suit. And if she’d wear one too.  I thought with our mutual aquaintance in Tiffany that Paula knew about my blog and cowing. She didn't. Awkwaaaaard. We began a daylong text exchange about “What is cowing?”

She discussed fears and insecurities. She said it might bring up bad childhood memories.  I tried to play back my two minute meeting of Paula. I’ve become so comfortable in my suit in my small Idaho city, it didn’t dawn on me that one might not fit her.  I strained to remember her physical appearance in detail, but our meeting was so quick, and honestly…as soon as I saw the frosting, nothing else was in focus.

Am I a jackass or an angel for not considering her figure when I threw out my cowing invite? I've been pondering.

As I sensed she was warming to cowing, I told her that my schedule would be tricky because I've been working in the Boston area. I gave Paula too much information. The invite dialogue ended with her telling me that she would only cow with me IF I did the following:

1)      Wore my suit to the Cheers bar in Boston AND

2)      bought her a t-shirt AND

3)      sang the TV show theme song AND

4)      showed her video of it.

Whaaaaaa?   Cheers?  Fine.  A t-shirt? Sure. Sing? Uhhh….

Video?  No. Freakin’. Way.

I’m not a singer. My musical prowess extends to playing the trombone loudly and badly in high school.  Paula smugly reminded me that cowing is about stretching boundaries. Fine. This was via text, but I heard her smug.

She was right. If I had the kind audacity to invite her to do something so wonderfully uncomfortable, I should be able to stretch my own cow suit cozy zone.

I had to udder-up.

I stayed at my hotel until the last possible minute this morning. Bostonians and tourists smiled, pointed and mooed at me on the subway. They stopped to take pictures of me and with me as I walked the few blocks from the train station to Cheers.  When I got to Cheers, a mother of two older teenage kids snapped this photo. Her son stepped slightly behind her as she took focus. He smiled but was skeptical.

I am screaming inside right now. I do not want to sing.

I paused in the stairwell and took a breath before walking in.

 

Funny. The real name of the pub is The Bull and Finch Bar. Hellloooo, Brother Bull.  Looks like I’ll be just fine here.
 

When I walked in, Marcus and Jaynie greeted me with instant smiles and a chuckle-laced, “Welcome to Cheers!”  I took it all in. My senses are so heightened in the suit. I force my eyes to tell my brain everything I see, so I don’t have the neural energy to recognize the discomfort. I realized this defense mechanism today.

Pictures of Sam, Norm, Cliff and Carla. The bar, the railing, the stained glass, the wooden Indian statue, smiling people and beer!

I started to explain Cow Suit Saturday to Marcus and Jaynie when two men from Spain wanted my picture. They were so cheerful. This guy told me in a rich Spanish accent how much his wife would laugh and like to see this “American Cow”.  
 


Spanish guy with intoxicating accent.



I showed my hosts my cow suit bag and let them know I had an extra one and would love for one of them to wear it and sing with me. I knew that need to ruminate in their young minds for a bit.
 


Marcus while still skeptical and unconvinced this would be fun.

I chose a seat at the bar in the corner where I could watch everything. I seriously contemplated whether or not to have a beer.
 


Some nice folks from New Jersey are on the right. Good singers.

Argument For A Beer: My visualization of me singing was going to be solo and quietly into my iPhone. I even wore eye makeup today because my practice runs earlier showed buggy eyes. (yes--I videoed solo practice runs to make me feel better. They did NOT make me feel better.)  I have a horrible voice and an ice cold beer would undoubtedly settle my nerves and make it easier. 
 
Argument Against Beer: Today was about courage and doing something uncomfortable, feeling every lick of it and forging on.

Argument For Beer: I was in the Cheers Bar, for crying out loud. What would Norm do? 



Best. Beer. Ever.

I ordered a Harpoon IPA and a non-alcoholic Kalber.
 


I recognized the stained glass!

Sipping the beers and looking around the place was surreal. I had been bummed to go alone, but if someone had gone with me, I wouldn’t have been able to take it all in. My solitude let me overhear the hosts discussing who would sing with me. Yessss!!!! 

 


Proud and couragous herdsman, Marcus

Marcus gets the Courageous Cow of the Day award. As I looked at hundreds of eyes today, I wondered which ones would see the world through a cow suit with me. Surely, someone would. And Marcus did.

Mike, the manager, cued up the original song on his iPhone and played it over the speakers while the three of us tried to sing behind the bar. *Tried.*

We had hand-written lyrics. We were smiling. We were nervous. We were in it together! And we were bad. So bad.  It was the bad that made today sooo good. (I’m not posting the video here, but I’ll be showing  the proof to Paula.) Note our posture and expressions as the song went on. Jaynie looks terrified. Marcus, I think, just kept his eyes closed the whole time thinking, "If I can't see you, you can't see me."
 

 

 

 

 

 

By the end...we'd do it all over again!!

It’s interesting to think about how our actions serve as cattle-ists and exactly what we do for or because of other people. Tiffany’s casual nomination on Paula’s Facebook page in Pocatello Idaho led to my cheerful time in the Cheers Bar in Boston today.   The ripples are too many to list here.

I have been working in New England A LOT over the last few months. My days are long and the nights are lonely. (Is that a song? It should be if it isn’t.) I have never spent this much time in a place where no one knows my name.  Today was starkly different within moments of entering Cheers.
 
Mike, Jaynie and Marcus made my experience exactly what the TV show portrayed and exactly what the famed lyrics portray. I may not remember their names as time passes, but I'll certainly remember our cow suit cheer at Cheers today. And Paula…I bet when she’s cowing with me, SHE will remember your names—and send you a mixture of across-the-country curses and cheers.

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.

Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

 

Where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows  Your name.

You wanna go where people know, people are all the same,

You wanna go where everybody knows your name.