Oklahoma girls are something special. (I imagine that these girls exist outside of OK, but please indulge my state loyalty.) When it’s time for a new bra, we find a pretty little (or in my case, honkingly huge) lacey black thing, strap it on, and go outside to weed the garden. I don’t know if there’s any cool magic that comes from gardening in a brand new bra, but I’m not going to tell you that there’s not.
My husband and I are opposites in a lot of ways. When it’s time for yard work, he dons the shoes and hat and gloves and long pants. (My grandparents were always telling us to wear long pants when you worked outside. It’s good advice. I tell my kids the same. Someday I’ll listen when I get tired of getting zinged in the leg with a rock or twig.) I, on the other hand, planted grass a couple of weekends ago. In a skirt. No, not one of those long skirts from the prairie days.
This doesn’t make me anything but a lady mowing in a skirt. Oklahoma girls will get the work done, whether it’s in jeans or sweats or a skirt. Work is work. We have libidos, too, and we keep them in our skirt. If a man can’t keep his libido in his pants, well, his mama should have raised him better. (And since he’s a grown up, he should be inclined to better himself.)
So there I was in my new bra and skirt with a rake and a hose and a new bag of seed. All four kids were with me that morning, or was it only three? I don’t remember. Anyway, the thing about women is that when it’s time to do something around the house or yard, we get it done. With the kids in tow. While we still fix breakfast and lunch and supper. (Just kidding, when I’m super busy, we get take out or just have a snack supper. I’ve evolved some.)
While in many ways I have grown to love city stuff, I am at heart a country girl. I have walked downtown OKC in my bare feet, I kid you not. Oklahoma girls are tough and soft all at once, and it increases when we become mothers. We are not afraid to open the door of the men’s restroom and tell our boys to knock it off. We are not embarrassed to juggle a toddler on our knee around a pregnant belly as we pee while yelling at the other kids to stop acting like lunatics. We can bring the thunder and lightening with our kids, and then close the bedroom door and purr for our husband. We can, and will bring the thunder and lightening to an argument with our husband, too.
We are both a mountain lion and a kitten. What you get is what you asked for.
Tonight I’ve asked my husband to show me how to rewire the trailer as it needs to be done. I have actually done a little wiring with help, but it’s been many years and I was just following instructions. This time I want to know how and why and all that good stuff. He’s going to teach the kids who want to learn at the same time. I love him.
I’m telling you now, that when I’m 70, I’ll still be barefoot as I garden or write books or take a walk through a creek with my grandchildren. I will still get muddy now and then, and I will still dance in the rain. I don’t think you can ever really take the country out of the girl. (Try and see where that gets you.) And I want to still be learning at that age. I don’t expect to be wonderful at everything I try, but I am not afraid to learn new skills.
I am also committed, when I’m 70, to wearing pretty bras. I’ll sew lace onto them if I have to.