A weekend of mutts and society

I had much to accomplish this weekend: two freelance projects (Being Mr. Sensitive While She's Pregnant and Telling the Workplace You're Expecting), a book to read for book club, a photo album to start and complete, and a house to clean. Needless to say, I got nothing accomplished.

Instead, this weekend was an interesting experience in dichotomies. I spent my day off on Friday happily schlepping out of town--past farms and Dollar General stores--to give a mutt a second chance. And on Saturday I watched The Banker's sister as she was introduced into "proper society" in a big black-tie shindig with enough opulence and pomposity to make my eyes hurt.

First, the good news: The black-and-white cattle dog, now called Willow, is settling in wonderfully at the groomer's farm. She comes when called, is pretty much housetrained, is friendly with the various dogs and barn cats, goes to her kennel on command, sits, shakes, and is just one helluva dog. The groomer is thrilled with Willow and her sweet temperament and is hoping her neighbors down the road may take her, as one of their cattle dogs is getting on in years. My melancholy has given way to sheer joy as I realize that this gal is going to be okay.

On Saturday I traded my barn boots for achingly high heels, a black dress, and some jewelry borrowed from mom. It was time to mix it with "high society" and watch as The Banker's sister donned a billowy dress, gloves, and a three-foot-high feathered fan for a formal "coming out" party. There was much bowing and even a waltz (complete with much flitting and twisting of said fans). There were "big" names in attendance. The self-importance was almost suffocating. I heard the words "old money" used in all seriousness.

Part of the reason I agreed to return to the middle of the country was because I found myself getting a little too wrapped up in such matters in the big city. I could spot the newest designer purse from across the train car. I coveted ridiculous symbols of class. And I was beginning to lose my sense of what truly was important.

In some ways returning to the middle of the country has fit the bill. The Banker and I are volunteering again at a therapeutic riding ranch for children and adults with certain challenges. After a 15-year hiatus, I'm trying my hand out at riding horses again. I'm getting dirty in my yard, getting back to nature with long walks with the dogs at the park. And I'm trying to remember what's truly important.

So it was with some relief that I spent much of Saturday evening trying to keep from laughing out loud. There was ridiculous showiness of "wealth," but having lived in a much bigger city, this idea of society seemed a little paltry in comparison. Not to mention just ridiculous. The large white feathered fans made me think burlesque show; the presenting of daughters reminded me of an auction block. As one young woman made no secret, this ball was her chance to find a wealthy husband. This is the best that society supposedly has to offer.

But the funny thing is that I found "the best society had to offer" was far from the ballroom. The best of society was in a hole-in-the-wall bar. In a local family restaurant. And in an out-of-the-way farm where a life was important, no matter how small.

So I guess they can keep their big feathered fans. They looked heavy and stupid as hell anyway.