I have to admit to feeling a little silly whenever I slip any texting vocabulary into anything I write -- even if it’s just to add a post on an online message board, where such things are expected.  LOL.  RFLMAO.  JMHO.  It’s partly because that lingo seems like something that’s associated more with a different, younger generation.  In any case, the one that really got me thinking today was P&PT -- Prayers and Positive Thoughts.

I’m not sure how it is with other online communities, but with mothers’ groups it is not uncommon for there to be an occasion to offer P&PT.  Only, when those occasions pop up, I usually offer to “keep you and your family in my thoughts,” or “send good thoughts your way.”  I’m pretty sure I’ve probably even resorted to promising to muster up some “good vibes” at one point or another.  Because I don’t pray.  Not really.

For the record, here’s my take on the matter of religion and/or spirituality.  I believe that there is indeed a higher order to things.   Sometimes I call it the universe, or nature, or for a while back in my college days, I’d talk about there being another dimension.  And, in a giant leap of faith, I believe that all things do kind of happen for a reason, even if I can’t understand or see what those reasons might be.  I also believe that there is value in trying to live a good life, not to get ahead in any race, or to score points to be used later on, but just because it’s the right thing to do. 

I’m no religious scholar, not by a long stretch, but aren’t these ideas the fundamental, core elements to many religions?  Sure, each religion has its own story, its own tradition, or associated culture, but at their core I think there is a lot of similarity.  I get the feeling too that most of the twisted stuff around religion can be traced back to people just being fundamentally flawed beings.  To disregard the value of religion based on that alone really does seem like throwing the baby out with the bath water.  Because I’m convinced that there’s good stuff there.

When someone I care for is hurting, I do send out my version of P&PT.  I’m not on my knees with my hands clasped in front of me.  I’m not in a specially designated space -- a church, or a meditation room, for example -- but I’m opening up my heart in some way.  Turning my eyes upward (for some reason) to try to connect with... with... what?  I guess I’m still just calling it the universe. 

There was a scene in the Sex in the City rerun that I watched last night, where a stranger at a party walks up to Charlotte and makes a simple comment on her wedding ring.  “Oh that’s a beautiful ring!  Is your husband here?”  And Charlotte responds with waaaaay too much information.  (“Oh, he’s not here tonight.  We’re separated right now.  Not legally -- oh god, nothing legal! -- it’s just that we’re taking a break.  We got married very quickly.  And now we’re slowing things down a bit.  We were having problems...” and here she whispers, “in the bedroom.”)  The other woman takes the very first opportunity to get away from Charlotte’s awkward monologue. 

And it occurs to me that I may be over-thinking the P&PT thing.  Maybe it’s okay to throw out a genuine P&PT now and then, without qualifying it with a “But I’m not praying praying, you know, not in the traditional sense of the word.  Not like they do in the Catholic church, or anything like that, because I do believe there’s a higher power -- of course there’s a higher power! -- but I’m just not sure what to call it yet...”

Maybe I need not spend quite so much energy in describing myself as “spiritual but not religious,” when a simple smile and nod, or a quickly typed P&PT, will do. 

This afternoon our little family headed out to participate in a Denver tradition -- the National Western Stock Show.  Instead of shelling out  twenty clams to park near the front entrance, I drove around to the back and pulled the car into a lot I knew of across from the stock pens.  I parked in front of a handmade self-park sign, featuring a weathered image of Roy Rogers, and looked up at the old red brick office building. 

This is where Tom and his family live.  I have been loosely tracking Tom for the last two years, partly in a professional capacity in my former life as city planner, and partly for material as I’ve been trying out this whole writing thing.   For sixteen days each year, Tom rakes in a steady business allowing Stock Show goers to park  their cars on his property for five dollars a pop.  For sixteen days a year, this place is hopping.  For the rest of the year, though,Tom’s neighborhood is kind of a lonely one. 

I filled out the self-park envelope, noting the make, model, and license plate of my car, and tucked a five dollar bill inside.  And just as I was going to shove the envelope through the mail slot in the door, I noticed some movement behind the window.  It was Tom, sitting at his desk at the other end of the room, wearing an orange mesh vest, the kind that parking attendants wear to help direct traffic.  I knocked on the door and waved.  He looked up, smiled and walked over to say hello.  “Hi Tom!” I shouted through the glass door.  “Just wanted to say ‘hey’!”

“Nice of you to patronize my business!” he shouted back. 

It was a bit odd, all this shouting through the door.  I mentioned something about wanting to check back in with him at some point to see how things were going on the neighborhood organizing front.  I think I saw him roll his eyes a little, but he nodded nonetheless.  His reaction instantly made me wonder if there’s been any movement in his efforts to find a pro-bono lawyer to sue the Colorado Department of Transportation over a proposed rerouting of Interstate 70 through his neighborhood.  I’ll have to give him a call after the Stock Show packs up and goes away.  We waved our goodbyes, and then I turned and marched the family across the road to the stock pens.

It was a  crazy beautiful sunny day today, eerily warm for January in the Rockies. So it was really kind of nice getting to check out the stock yards as we walked along the system of catwalks that runs overhead.  That’s Tom’s place in the background, just to the left of the water tower.  And those are, I believe, fuel cars parked on the train tracks just across the street from his property.  And then there are the stock yards themselves -- pen after pen, filled with remarkably well cared for bulls.  Many of ‘em getting last minute grooming touch ups.



Last year, the highlight of the stock show -- and yes, we’ve gone for three years in a row now -- was the Mutton Bustin at the Mexican Rodeo.  This time around, I was amused by the stick pony rodeo that was held in a revival style tent outside of the main exhibition area.  Seriously adorable in a slightly disturbing little-kid-beauty-pageant kind of way.