Dead Gloves Society

A basket of gloves sits next to the door leading out to the barn, and all the ranch hands can grab a pair on their way out. There must be a lot of ranch hands working here 'cause there sure are alot of gloves.


Actually there's just one ranch hand with a glove fetish, and I can't bring myself to throw them away when they wear out. You never know when an old, expired glove might come in handy. I stash them away in the event 20 ranch hands all show up at the same time and need a pair.


Generally, the dead left glove in every pair is in better shape than the right, seeing as how I'm right-handed. And each pair wears out a little differently, depending on the season when they were in use.


Now take this glove on the left. The wear pattern was caused by moving two-string hay bales...lots of them. I'll bet I wore this pair last summer. Ahhh, the bittersweet memories of chores gone by. The glove on the right? I can say with certainty that it was worn in February 2006, the month I got Smooch and she was in her chewing period. Call me nostalgic, but I just can't part with these handfuls of my past.


And not every glove is created equal – some have very unique features for well-defined purposes, like taking pictures in the winter. Why, there are so many gloves for so many purposes out here, if you lined them all up, they'd stretch for miles...or at least out to the end of the porch.

No, I won't be getting rid of any of my gloves any time soon. They're a part of me now, milestones of the past 16 years, remnants of fences stretched, trees felled, and poop scooped.

So why all the reminiscing today? Because April 19th marks the sixteenth anniversary of the day I jumped off the corporate ladder, clicked the heels of my ruby slippers, and landed in New Mexico wearing a pair of red lizard cowgirl boots.


Smooch can't believe I wore those things either.