from the Polymath Chronicles (and I know exactly how she feels). Love you Hot and Godly Hubs!

Seriously. What more needs to be said? When my September issue of Vogue appeared in my woefully inadequate mailbox (yes, the fall issue is what I lovingly call “the CostCo edition” because it’s like buying a case of peanut butter when one jar will do. I won’t be finishing this bad boy until roughly April 2011) I flipped idly through it’s gargantuan pages only to gasp in awe and wonder at this spread. Wellies! Beagles! Plaid! A distinct lack of what I thought was Tommy’s only style! What is that, you ask? Well, in my limited observation, it was vaguely dated polos who screamed, “I live on a boat, make way more money than you, but yet am compelled to wear a solid yellow shirt with a broad stripe of red down the middle to prove it, instead of just lounging on the deck in my overpriced shim-shams.” Nothing precise, mind you. Just the spendy but underwhelmed vibe.

Anyhoodle, Tommy has surprised me, and now I am lusting. And I really want to go on a picnic in an old car with an amazingly good-looking multi-ethnic family and several thousand dollars of great clothes. And a beagle.

Speaking of fashion and swooning, check this out:

Are you serious right now?!

Anthropologie’s fall catalog is all about horses and brown and I am breathless. I’ve always sort of dressed like a plaid-shirted ragamuffin, but THIS! This is Cowgirl Couture! This is my dream!

*Pant, hands flutter*

I want to frame every single picture. And be the model.

Also, far-left pic could have been taken on my parent’s ranch. Seriously. That is exactly what it looks like, beautiful girl in plaid and running horses and all.

Also – LOOK to the right! SHE’S CARRYING A SADDLE! This is the prettiest thing I have ever seen. Now you watch, a bunch of little hipster girls are going to try to have an “Anthro wedding” based on this catalog… but you, my dear readers… will know. We did the straw and plaid and horsey vibe BEFORE it was cool.

You saw it here first.

(Also, I’ve decided that I’m going to use my massive installment of Vogue to get sweet gams like these models. Holy arm-muscles, cowgirls! You must carry saddles and the September issue at the SAME TIME.)

In no particular order, some powerful words that have made my recent days:

“That was badass.” – Joey, regarding my comment, here.

“You are such a man.” – Valerie, about my extreme desire to see The Expendables. (This isn’t actually true, just funny.)

“Are you serious right now?! Holy cow. Dani. You are WAY over-thinking this!” – Mandy, because I was stupidly freaking out as I often stupidly do, and this was exactly the smack across the face that I needed to CALM DOWN, already.

“Giddy up.”  – Sam, our pastor’s wife, telling me to get my hiney in gear in the most wrangler-friendly way possible.

“Maybe you should just kiss me and it’ll all be OK.”  – My Hubs. (Which, by the way, totally worked.)

Although, if you have a good excuse NOT TO – (it’ll get easier if I put it off, naps really do help one’s writing, so do snacks) I’m all ears.

My 4-H Dairy cow, Fawn, and I. Please note the very attractive 4-H uniform I'm sporting as well. Bandanna+jeans=theme!

Dear Dani,

My facts might be a little hazy, since it’s been 10 years since I was in your shoes. But I know that 16 is never easy. I know you don’t know this, but you are beautiful. Don’t feel awkward about being so thin and long-legged – appreciate it.

Actually, go ahead and appreciate you. You doubt that “you” is OK, but it really, truly is. It’s OK to be a girl, a dreamer, a writer, an artist, a cowgirl and a ranch-hand. I know you get frustrated with your unconventional life sometimes, but in a few years you will have some great stories to tell, and skills that you could not have learned any other way.

I love that you are a strong kid. You don’t pull punches and you don’t back down. Just don’t forget to soften every now and then. Everybody can be wrong. It’s OK to be wrong, it’s OK to not know what’s right or where to turn. I love that you live with conviction, but give yourself a chance to grow and learn before you beat yourself up for imagined shortcomings. I’m still good at the beating-up part now, and perhaps if I could’ve gotten this letter sooner I would’ve learned to chill out and give myself a break. (I think I just ripped the space-time continuum.)

Love is beautiful, but you won’t get married ’til you’re 25, and your romance with this fella will completely surprise you. It won’t be anything that you think you want but will be everything you need. So enjoy your “likes” now, but don’t lose friendships over these boys and try not to be too heart-broken when things don’t work out like you think they should. In the meantime, love your family and friends. Mr Hot and Godly is waiting just around the bend. You’ll see.

You’ll get your ears pierced. You’ll wear make-up. You’ll find a college and a major that are perfect for you. You’ll buy jeans that aren’t Wranglers. You’re a bonafide cowgirl and you will prove this to yourself. You’ll see amazing sunsets, you’ll like beer, you’ll have some terrible jobs and some amazing ones. You’ll make incredible friends and you will drive across the country in an adorably nicknamed truck holding all your worldly possessions. The next 10 years will be fantastic. Embrace them.

~Dani (the one with the pierced ears and hot husband. Don’t be jealous, you’ll catch up.)

Did any girl ever deserve such spoiling?

He lived a full life. RIP, Mickey.

(Oh, also, until Adam spoils me with A DROID, don’t try to call. Mickey has many amazing qualities, but answering calls from beyond the grave is not one of them.)

This morning I was having a hard time getting anything done, feeling kindof frantic, wondering if I was making the right choices, blankly staring at blog stats and all the other productive things that other brilliant young self-employed writers do, and I decided, “get it together, girl. Go to Important Marketing Job and get some wind in your sails”. Brilliant idea, Self.

Except that when I got to Important Marketing Job, IMJBoss was yelling at IMJSon, which would have been kinda OK if I wasn’t there, you know, trying to act normal and work and stuff.

So I decided to go to Yoga. Chakra-centering! Calming! Exercise! Sweat! All things I desperately need in my life. TO YOGA I GO. I got there early and proceeded to lay out my mat and stretch and pray and start feeling all centered and Elizabeth Gilbert-y. Enter Stage Left: Barbie and NotQuiteBoyfriend (I could tell because of all the flexing going on). Barbie is nervous and has never done this before. It took me several minutes to catch on to this concept because she only squeaked it out every 20 seconds. They lay out their mats RIGHT NEXT TO ME, and proceed to dumbly flirt with each other for the next ten minutes. Now I’m not only less happy, I’m a lot stupider. Thanks, Universe.

Anyhoodle, we do yoga. Since nobopdy is allowed to talk during class, some of my brain power slowly returns. ” I know!” I think brilliantly, “I’ll treat myself to a smoothie. And I’ll take one to the Hubs. What a good wifey! AND I HAVE A COUPON! Hello, genius.”

Thoroughly thrilled with my genius plan, I head over to El Place of Highly Caloric but Supposedly Healthy Fruity Drinks. The place is packed with teenagers. I am old, and therefore Not Cool, therefore nonexistent. I try to make friends. I get sortof upset within myself. Nothing works. I leave hours later with two hard-won smoothies. Also, my eyes are permanently locked in “roll” position.

From there it got better. I parked under a tree and talked to the Hubs and he made me laugh about my absurdly bad day. Than I went home and showered and wrote this and am off to see Eat Pray Love with my gals. Could be worse, right? Wait. Don’t answer that.

Quit spitting on me, Today, you jerk.

She talks about longing to be in control – about wishing she were different – and I so resonate with that. Don’t we all?

I have to confess.  The thing I most wish I could change about myself is so incredibly superficial it makes me embarrassed to even say it….. I wish I could change my style. I want to be effortlessly pretty and cool and know how to do my hair and make-up easily and simply stylishly. But I am not that girl. I’m not the girl who knows what to wear when. I’m just not. I’m completely clueless. I usually have frizztastic curls all over and I almost never remember jewelry or make-up.  I don’t think I’ll ever be the effortlessly made-up girl, and there’s no harm in working on it, there is harm in letting my assumptions about myself get in the way of Life.

So I’m trying to work on all of this without having to be in charge – and thus, giving myself grace.  I’m working on thinking before I speak, on being kind consistently, on not worrying about things I can’t control,  on not fearing what others think, on giving selflessly. These are all things I don’t do well. I can’t control the personality God gave me, or the body type or the circumstances I get frustrated with. But I can move with grace despite it. I can assume that he gave me these gifts and personality for a reason and embrace my unique role in Him.

This Sunday I was the “lead producer” for Mariners MV, and I was scared to death. (A producer makes sure that the lights are at the right level, sound is correct, everybody gets on stage when they should, etc.) Normally I perform this role as an assistant and am just there to wear an earbud (which makes me look awesome, I know) and help out, but yesterday I was leading this gig.

There are a lot of moving parts, and honestly, if you looked at my office desk you wouldn’t think that organization is my strong suit. If you looked at my past, you would assume that I would be on the worship team, being told when to get on stage, not doing the telling from behind the scenes. If you looked at me you might see a curly-headed young thing who clearly needs a lesson in how to use an earbud properly and maybe an accessorizing tip or two. But somehow, even though I never would have signed up for this job, I pulled it off. The service went great and I even forgot to be nervous. (Well, I forgot to be AS nervous.)

I’m not in charge. I still fight it. I still want to be. I want to pick the things that I think are wrong about myself and give God a checklist on how different Dani Nichols should be… but every now and then I get an inspired moment, and I remember that I’m so glad that I don’t get to.

In the drama of my life that unfolds in my head (complete with soundtrack and exotic locales) I never would have been a producer at church, or married, or a therapuetic horseback riding instructor, or a blogger, or any of the other incredible, amazing gifts I’ve been given. So it’s better that I’m not in charge, really… even though I swear I will get the hang of earrings one of these days.

Basically, 13-year-old Dani would have been totally jealous.