The Dentist Wore Blue Jeans, Held Up By a Leather Belt

The dentist wore blue jeans, held up by a leather belt with a broad silver buckle. I was reminded briefly that Doc Holliday was also of the dental persuasion, but dismissed the thought. This guy was all smiles as he explained that my plate would have to be mailed off to a lab and ought to be ready by the end of the week. Let’s hope so, because Friday I am due at the Sandoz Society board meeting in Alliance and would rather not have this huge gap between my front teeth. Apart from anything else, it make it harder to enunciate certain words. It makes me talk ‘hunny’ rather than ‘funny’.

I had a number of calls to make in Gordon, among them a trip to the hardware store to collect food for Kitty’s ducks, paint and sealer  for the red house. And a brush. They had the stuff all ready for me, piled on a little trolley. I wasn’t happy with the way the eight sacks of feed were stacked up, with the cans of paint teetering beside them, and sure enough, as I trundled my way towards the car with the salesman opening doors in front of me, I hit a bump and down they came, busting open a can of sealer. Fortunately the guy accepted responsibility – and I reckon my left shoe is now guaranteed weatherproof.

The forecasters got it right yesterday. As the afternoon wore on it became very hot. Around 98 degrees as I drove back from Gordon, 95 down here. Up at the top, Matt has been irrigating his center pivot, and the combination of heat and water is bringing the millet through.

By the time I got back here it was some time after four o’clock and I was thinking sundowners – by which I mean beer, corn chips and salsa rather than gin and tonic. So I sat and looked at the cans of paint, surveyed the front of the house, and came to the conclusion that come tomorrow – i.e.,  today – I might as well crack on with the job. Having made that decision, I opened a can of the Pabst Blue Ribbon that Don left here. It assuaged my thirst. I can say that much for it. But not a lot else. One down, eleven to go. I need visitors.

After I’d had my supper – a reprise of the wild turkey which I still have in various plastic tubs in the freezer, I prepared to settle down with Lonesome Dove. 

There was some delay as a mass of grey cloud swept in from two separate directions, the wind got up and the lightning started to flash. As ever, I dashed outside hoping to capture a dramatic image but was again defeated. One of the problems with photographing the sky out here is that there’s so much of it. But I can never resist trying. The storm huffed and puffed – to the extent that I had to close a window at one stage – but in the end we didn’t have a great deal of rain, just enough to lay the dust.

Lonesome Dove continued at its own thoughtful pace. I knew it was a two-DVD movie; but I hadn’t realised that it consisted of four ninety-minute parts. I remember now that in the book I got to about p. 80 and they were still debating whether or not to take a damned herd up to Montana, and here we are three hours in and they’ve only crossed two rivers on their way north. But I’m enjoying this. I can see that it’s one of those stories which, after I’ve got to the end, will stay with me, the kind that you don’t want to end, because you’re enjoying the company of the main characters. The settings seem more real than in any western I’ve ever seen, the characters more plausible.

This morning I actually felt cold as I sat and drank my morning cuppa. It’s about 70 out there, but the wind is still blowing. I shall get this posted and think about house-painting.