Today I've swapped my tie for Grandpa's bolo.
Grandpa was a rancher in western Nebraska. His name was Valdemar, and I'm named after him. Except I guess my parents didn't think Valdemar was a very good name for a girl so they named me Valdemarinkasparktasia.
I'm not sure how I ended up with this bolo – Grandpa had several grandsons so I imagine there were other bolos to go around. I've had this one for years now.
It's a beautiful piece of turquoise with some crystallization in the middle. There's no setting, just the stone on its own.
I'm wearing those skinny jeans again. We're learning to get along, and I've gotten used to the trade winds around the equator. The rest of the outfit is pretty basic - white shirt (JCP), black boots (old), leather cuff again (previously seen here).
I added a pretty beaded bracelet I bought at a craft market – every bead is different, and they all look like they came out of the sea.
At one point, I got rid of the bolo cord and fixed a pin to the back instead.
Nelson the Rocky Feller. Yes, that's really the name. It's in a yellow, concrete block building with windows that are broken and covered with plywood.
The shop is crammed full of rocks – cut, polished, rough, mounted, you name it. It looks like nothing has changed in years, except where the dust has been disturbed. Nelson deals with rockhounds up front, and back in one corner Nelson's wife sells bolo cords and other jewelry pieces.
Neither of them smiles very much.
But I got my bolo cord, thanks to this little shop that probably makes no profit, can't even afford to fix their windows. One day they'll be gone, their shop will be razed, and a Starbucks will be there in its place.
Don’t it always seem to go…