Hot.

HOT, hot. So hot, in fact, that I keep catching myself drawling "It's hawwt, ya'll" to no one in particular at work, at home, and in general. I'm pretty sure my new summer land gear isn't quite kosher. But then again, there's no one to impress out there.


In other news, the new work from home gig has been swell. And by gig, I mean all-encompassing new job, and by swell I mean actuallyreallyfreakingawesome BECAUSE I am able to work from home part time. A work lunch downtown now is easily followed by a leisurely midday trip to the land - right there on a work day, without keeping a close eye on the clock. This means I have to pack some land clothes accordingly to easily move from work to land. OR I just have to shrug my shoulders about whatever shmancy-ish ensemble I've got on and cross my fingers that cow drool doesn't stain. (Results so far prove that it does not). So there I go from a work lunch discussing conferences, trainings, meetings, and marketing tactics, right onto the main road that runs through the heart of the city, takes me east, and delivers me home. It's an odd feeling to leave tightly wound meetings for a hop into the car and straight into farm country. I physically feel the day fall away and behind me, leaving that stress somewhere at the edge of the county line. Nothing metaphysical actually happens at that distinct point where the city smudges into farmland, but I feel it. The sky is bigger, air is sweeter, wind cooler.

It's a small thing, really, but it matters tremendously to know that I can easily leave the work for a moment and briefly check in on this other life.

Also, I have a No Name Farm/Ranch: Hollywood Edition Update of mind-boggling proportions. Today a small film crew stood at the edge of the land we covet and that plays a minor role in the best show on modern television. It appeared they were testing the light and having heated cell phone conversations with important folks. Probably with the casting director. Probably complaining that the land was missing the presence of, oh I don't know, a native Texas girl in boots? I almost screeched the brakes obnoxiously to see if there was some way I might help. But better sense and shyness forced me to move on down the road. On my way back to Austin, I drove again by the land, hoping to see some actual filming. But the crew was gone, and the field was empty, save for the very distinct beat up old black truck that is owned by Tim Riggins. Riggins!! Rest assured, I will make several more casual drivebys over the weekend, my behavior perhaps bordering on creepy. But you only live once and, if given the chance, you'd probably try to meet Tim Riggins, too.