“He was a cowboy, mister, and he loved the land. He loved it so much he made a woman out of dirt and married her. But when he kissed her, she disintegrated. Later, at the funeral, when the preacher said, ‘Dust to dust,’ some people laughed, and the cowboy shot them. At his hanging, he told the others, ‘I’ll be waiting for you all in heaven—with a gun.”

I can’t remember if it was Ghandi or Jack Handy from Saturday Night Live who said the above quote, but I’m beginning to understand it now.

It’s so easy to get into a routine.  Sometimes I believe that I’m haunted by the ghosts of my ancestors who, every once in awhile, are granted the power to kick me in the ass with a pair of their brand-new, metaphysical boots.

I can imagine my great-great  Uncle Jordache who left the land of southern Poland to begin a new life in America whispering in my ear right before bringing his foot back and saying, ” Get up little Perogi.  Get up and see this land all around you.” Then POW! I feel the jolt and rush of his sudden energy telling me to do something.  Go somewhere.

And sometimes I do.

And I went to Wyoming with Amanda.

Rather than dull it down with the details of what we did exactly, I thought this blog entry might read better if I just used quotes from our trip:

“Look at how tiny this airport is!”

“Is that Boba Fett?  Nooooo wait, that’s an Indian.”

“There’s a Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum in Jackson, Wyoming??  Let’s go!”

“Is that a deer or elk?  What is that?  A moose maybe.  We do not know our animals.”

“I’m tired.  The altitude dude. So tiring.”

“Please turn the car around.  There is a carcass right next to you.”

“Right now I’m really into porcupines, cowboys and robots.”

“It says here that this man killed a bear by biting it to death.”

“Enjoy the whole nice day.”

“You are drunk.”

“It’s Wyoming Clare Arena.”

“You walk first, so that way if there is a bear around the bend, he eats you first.”