Yvonne, the ranch chef + housekeeper and I were chatting it up this morning after my first ride. She got a good earful re: AOL, NYC, blahblahblah. Later in the afternoon, while I was nursing a hot tea and writing my final bunch of postcards, she swung by. Proud, she handed me a red toy bus.
Yvonne: “I found this upstairs and, between you and me, I want you to have it.”
Y: It says on the side, ‘Glacier National Park,’ but I think it should say ‘Nancy’s Bus’ and it’s on the way to your next stop in life.”
People, I shit you not. I couldn’t make this stuff up. I graciously accepted the toy bus and went on writing my postcards. Suddenly, painfully aware of the fact that I’m a cliche – chilling on a DudeRanchInMontana, avoiding my life and all its nexts stops; wanting desperately to get on my toy bus and make it go places that are pretty, that are fun, that are *not* wherever I am, or wherever I’m aware enough to go.