by Ree Drummond
Uninterrupted work time. This is first cousin to staying home all day and sibling to solitude, but to me, the promise of being able to work, think, and create for days on end is something I always crave. It could be posting a detailed cooking video on social media, brainstorming ideas for my next cookbook, developing products, or any number of other projects that allow me to keep my creative side alive. Sometimes I like just being able to sit, write a blog post, and crack myself up. When I’m at home alone, I even laugh out loud at myself. (Well, and even when I’m not home alone.)
Go to Colorado. Okay, I realize I don’t like to leave the house. But Colorado is an exception. It feels safe to me, the air is medicinal, and I associate it with family memories and a feeling of getting away from the hustle-bustle . . . even though the hustle-bustle is our isolated cattle ranch. I walk around town and look at fancy European ski jackets that I’ll never buy, and I love the fact that I pant walking across the room for the first couple of days I’m in the mountains. Makes me feel alive! Also, I go to a church there that makes me cry happy mountain tears, which are the very best tears. The mountains themselves are actually my church.
Get a massage. I don’t get them often, because I’d have to drive an hour and a half to Tulsa to get one, and then I’d have the hour-and-a-half drive back to the ranch, and then what would be the point of getting a massage if you have to spend three hours in the car? But in my head, my heart, and my dreams, I wake up, have my iced coffee, say hi to the dogs, then go get a massage. That’s what Demi Moore did in that ninety-room mansion I always imagined she lived in (since she’s a celebrity, after all—see Stayin’ Humble), and it always seemed like the one thing I’d have if I could have anything in the world. Given the choice between a personal chef, a chauffeur, a house cleaner, a glam squad, and a massage therapist, I’d absolutely, 100 percent choose the massage therapist.
In the absence of an actual massage therapist, last year I bought “my family” (air quotes) one of those big kahuna automated massage chairs for Christmas. I didn’t get out of it for the entire month following Christmas. Ladd would come home midmorning and I’d be in the massage chair. Ladd would come home midafternoon and I’d be in the massage chair. Ladd would ask me if I was ready to turn in at night and I’d say, “In a little bit. I have to get in the massage chair.” I started to actually monitor our family tracking app so I would know when Ladd was about to be home, so I could get out of the massage chair and act busy. I felt like he was catching me cheating. (It’s an ongoing affair, by the way.)
Limit travel. Someday I will see the world. I’ll travel to the faraway places I’ve never been and tour, explore, and eat my way across the continents. When the kids are grown and living their lives, I’ll be eager for more global experiences. But for now, today, my heart wants to stay close to home. I’ve had enough business travel in recent years to know that the schlep and the time away from my recharging station takes a weird toll on my equilibrium. Plus, I hate unpacking, and after a few months of travel, this can start to cause problems. So for now, with the exception of blessed (and geographically convenient) Colorado, Imma hang close to the ranch and get my kids raised.
The Real Housewives of anywhere. They are my friends. Not in real life, but in my head. I’ve watched the Real Housewives for so long, I’m completely invested in our friendship. When the Real Housewives are on TV, my friends are in the room, but I can be an introvert and not have to expend energy socializing with them. I understand that this sounds extremely dysfunctional, but I am being completely honest. I love you, Ramona. Call me, Vicki.
Laugh with old friends. Speaking of friends, I do get together with actual in-the-flesh old friends once a year (see Stayin’ Humble). They’ve known me since elementary school. We spend two days together reminiscing, catching up, acting decades less mature than we should, cooking, drinking wine, and laughing. The laughter comes from the belly and often progresses to tears, and I don’t know the science behind the health benefits of this kind of laughter . . . but I certainly feel them kick in. One weekend a year is all we need. It sustains me and gives me a wicked ab workout.
Hang with my children. Despite my need for alone time, and despite my occasional weariness with frying endless amounts of bacon, I love being able to enjoy my kids in their old age (well, their teenage and young adult years). I still mother them (girls) and boss them around (boys) and probably drive them crazy (girls and boys) from time to time, but I love being able to hang with them and soak up the people they’re growing into. I don’t have to be around them constantly and am fine with them doing their thing and living their lives, but when we are all together, I feel like the lights are a little brighter in our house. And I love the evolution of the sibling relationships—the natural bonds and alliances that form. They’re all my favorite dang people.
Help wherever I can. I try to find opportunities to make a difference, whether in Pawhuska or beyond. I have to wrestle with my comfort zone sometimes and resist the tendency to help on my terms (i.e., not in person) or in ways that are only easy or comfortable for me (i.e., not in person) . . . but I’m always reminded that when I push through that, it’s when the good stuff really happens. Giving is a muscle, and I try never to let atrophy set in, but it’s a daily process. (Such a football mom thing to say!) Ladd is much better at this than I am; when it comes to helping, he’s not afraid to dive into uncomfortable places. And that is one reason I love him.
Try to do my best. I check in with myself a lot—about my thoughts, words, and deeds. My faith requires that I approach any thoughts of “me” with humility, and I try to regularly put my own actions under the microscope and make sure I’m doing (or at least trying to do) the decent thing. My biggest lesson in recent years has been to listen—and when we’re asserting our position or defending, we can’t do that. This has allowed a world of perspective and understanding to flood in and spill over. I’m grateful for the gift of listening. It’s a tough one to learn. (I’m also not the best at saying “I’m sorry” . . . it’s on my “do better” list.)
Watch the sunset. Sunrises may be my best friend . . . but sunsets are my secret lover. Whether I’m cooking or working or doing laundry or taking a walk, if I see a gorgeous sunset forming, I try to stop and breathe it in.
Breathing in a sunset sets fire to your soul!
Be with Ladd. When I’m with Ladd, things simply feel more right than when I’m not. As my mother-in-law, Nan, demonstrated in her own marriage, I try to be a soft place for Ladd to land, and to dust him off when he comes in tattered and torn from work or just life. The catch here, though, is that he does the very same thing for me, stepping in and lightening the load if there’s any burden he can take off my shoulders. He’s got my back, and a handy bonus is that he’s cute.
Our love language, Ladd’s and mine, is quality time, and while both of our work schedules can give us a run for our money, we cling to our evenings and protect them with our lives. We have become Mother and Daddy, settling in our respective chairs in the living room, TV on in the background and feet up on an ottoman. In fact, we’ve become who Ladd’s grandparents, Ruth and Fred, were back around the time he and I got married. I used to see them on their chairs and chuckle that they spent their evenings this way, sipping on soft drinks over ice and commenting to each other about whatever TV show they were watching. Such old-people business, I’d think. What a quiet, boring existence. But now I see so clearly what’s magical about it. It’s a sacred time, a precious time, a recharging station for our marriage.
(Even though Ladd totally hogs the remote . . .)
Acknowledgments
To all of you! Thank you for being there for me, whether you’ve watched my show through the years, read my blog in the old days, or just picked up this book for a fun, light read. We are forever friends now!
To my incredible editor, Cassie Jones Morgan: “Thank you” doesn’t begin to express my gratitude! Your patience, wisdom, perspective, and encouragement are second to no
ne, and I can’t imagine working on a book with anyone else.
To Susanna Einstein, for believing in me for more than ten years! Thank you for your steady, kind, reassuring support.
To everyone at William Morrow who helped make this book happen: Jill Zimmerman, Liate Stehlik, Ben Steinberg, Tavia Kowalchuk, Anwesha Basu, Bianca Flores, Rachel Meyers, Lucy Albanese, Pamela Barricklow, Mumtaz Mustafa, Yeon Kim, and Andrew DiCecco, and to illustrator Joel Holland. Thank you for making everything come together! (And for being patient with me.)
To my beautiful friends, who understand me and love me anyway. ☺
To my parents, for always loving me, supporting me, and cheering me on. Love you so much.
To my father-in-law, for treating me like a daughter. Love you, Pa-Pa.
To my whole extended “fam damily”—Tim, Missy, Caleb, Halle, Stuart, Betsy, Elliot, Patsy, Michael, and Doug . . . and the other Doug. Thank you for being a part of my world. I love you all!
To my children, Alex, Paige, Bryce, Todd, and Jamar, for being the greatest kids in the universe. I love you so much.
To Mauricio! Welcome to the family! We love you and we’re gonna have fun.
To Ladd, for bringing adventure, excitement, love, and Wranglers into my life for twenty-five years. So glad you’re mine.
About the Author
REE DRUMMOND is the author of six #1 New York Times best selling cookbooks in The Pioneer Woman Cooks series, the New York Times bestselling memoir The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels, and many bestselling children’s books. Her award-winning website. The Pioneer Woman, was founded in 2006 and showcases her cooking, photography, and anecdotes about country life. Her top-rated cooking show. The Pioneer Woman, premiered on Food Network in 2011, and in the years to follow, Ree launched The Pioneer Woman magazine and a well-loved line of cooking and kitchen products. She lives on a working cattle ranch in Oklahoma with her family, horses, cows, and pups. (And skunks.)
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Also by Ree Drummond
The Pioneer Woman Cooks:
The New Frontier
The Pioneer Woman Cooks:
Come and Get It!
The Pioneer Woman Cooks:
Dinnertime
The Pioneer Woman Cooks:
A Year of Holidays
The Pioneer Woman Cooks:
Food from My Frontier
The Pioneer Woman Cooks:
Recipes from an Accidental Country Girl
The Pioneer Woman:
Black Heels to Tractor Wheels
Charlie the Ranch Dog series
Little Ree series
Copyright
FRONTIER FOLLIES. Copyright © 2020 by Ree Drummond. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
Cover photographs by Paige Drummond
Cover illustrations by Joel Holland
Hand-lettering and illustrations by Joel Holland
Digital Edition NOVEMBER 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-296282-9
Version 10152020
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-296275-1
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