Sowing Oats

My dad’s folk/rock/blues/bluegrass cover band had a gig last night so I didn’t take my normal highway to highway to concrete jungle leaving the office. The road between my office and the venue is along a back road that used to connect two very far away towns and now just connects one suburb to another. Along this road there are the remnants of old ranches, farms, and homes that used to be in the middle of nowhere and are now just out of place in their not-quite-somewhereness.

When I drive by ranches (places with horses = ranch), I always wish I was a farmer. Someone who tills the soil. Feeds some chickens. Sows some oats.

And now I want to learn to ride a horse. And become an equestrian.

And I create this fantasy about my solitary life away from the city. Where I’m a sweet country girl in my gingham dress and braided pigtails with my best friend, Babe the Blue Ox…. Or Babe the pig. I don’t care, but someone is named “Babe” and it’s not me… even though I totally am one…
 

So Babe and I go to the market and buy always in-season produce and I sell the eggs from my chickens who don’t poop (they’re an evolutionary miracle), and my goats mow my lawn, and my perfectly sized farmhouse is quaintly decorated in a way that is neither modern nor kitchy.

In the evenings I play piano for the community theater or at home for Babe who bellows along.

I should probably learn to play the piano again. I used to be very good but my last lesson was at age 17 and since then I can probably point out middle C and that’s about it. I figure since I can type without looking at the keyboard, I should still be able to play piano, right?

There was one winter where we had two major blizzards within a week of each other. I LOVE a good weekend snow that allows me to be cozy in the house and not feel guilty for eating soup and drinking cocoa in my PJs for 2 days straight. But these were real blizzards where I was stuck in my neighborhood for 5 days… and then again for 3. I would walk to the grocery store to buy gum so I had some human interaction. I went to a local bar and talked to strangers. I don’t talk to strangers. We mostly talked about snow. I shoveled my car out for fun. FOR FUN!

So I don’t really understand why my escape fantasies ever include real isolation. I live in the city in a building with 99 other units. I love being alone among thousands. Being alone among just me (and Babe) is terrifying. What if I just need to talk to a stranger about snow? What if Babe attacks me? I mean, I don’t even know if he’s an ox or a pig! Maybe Babe is the horse… that would be fun…

What if the internet is spotty? Oh god, the internet just went out in my fantasy and I can’t watch the next episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and even though I’ve seen it 8 dozen times THIS SIMPLY WILL NOT DO!

But maybe I should take horse lessons anyway.

I’m afraid of horses.

I think I’ll just watch the musical episode of Buffy again.

Stay tuned for next week’s episode of “Escape Fantasies for the Agoraphobic.”