Tom and I loved going to the rodeo. We went almost every year seeing a band, looking at livestock, riding the Ferris wheel, shopping, and eating. Each of those components had a special flavor.
Tom picked the show and in spite of bad acoustics and remote seats we always seemed to see some blast from the past which led us to share music stories for ever. We walked around all the livestock not having a clue what we were looking at but amazed that people were so passionate about something so foreign to us. Then we went on the Ferris wheel. I'm not good at heights and really don't like rides, but every year, in spite of sheer terror I went on the ride. I crushed Tom's hand, started shaking, and waited for him to calm me down so I could look at the beautiful view. It was my act of bravery for the quarter.
We shopped. Up and down the aisles looking at everything and wondering. Sometimes we bought but usually we just ogled. We also stared at the women. As the night went on and the party people replaced the moms with strollers the outfits came out. Women that 30 pounds ago had no business wearing their current outfits strutted in tiny denim miniskirts and high heels. In addition they did not seem to get the notion that "just cause you bought 'em, does not mean you have to bare 'em."
And we ate. Corn dogs and turkey legs, french fries, and waffle cones. Cotton candy and ice cream. The night was a financial and caloric extravaganza.
I've been back twice since Tom left and both times were fun. And I'll go again. But it is just not as fun without 6'5" of love, holding your hand and squeezing when something funny walks by.
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