Once upon a time, when my husband I were young, like 24 and 25, and just married, we were
out with friends in the big town of Fargo, ND. That was back in the old days when bar hopping
in below zero temperatures still sounded fun because it didn’t take us three to four business
days to recover. Anyway, we were about ready to wrap up the evening of yell talking,
questionable drink choices and dancing to bar bands when, while heading out the door, I
realized I should probably pee first. (Never pass up a perfectly good restroom is a lesson I
learned early). And so I asked my husband, who was the only man wearing a cowboy hat within
a 300 mile radius, to please hold my purse. And so he did, standing patiently by the door with it
swung over his shoulder like it was his own accessory. Now my mid-twenties are way in the
rearview mirror, and I’m pretty sure I was drinking whiskey sours, so the details on this next
part are fuzzy, but essentially a group of college-aged guys approached my husband leaning up
against the wall all nonchalant for a guy in a cowboy hat holding a purse and indicated that they
didn’t approve by puffing up and saying “Nice purse.”

To which my husband smiled and replied “Thanks!” and then gave that purse a proud little pat
and continued on with being indifferent about the entire situation. And off we all went into the
frozen Fargo night with not a punch thrown.
This week I released a song I wrote with this image in my head, attempting to define a man like
Chad who can “hold the reins and still hand me my purse.” I had to get that line in there
because it’s the crux of the song titled “If You Were a Cowboy,” which essentially, for the
purpose of the song, means “If you were a decent human in this relationship you would respect
me.”

There are plenty of ways to interpret all the cowboy references I sprinkled in to a punchy little
tune about love and commitment and all the spoken and unspoken expectations that come
with it, but “knowing when to shut up and when to pick up the phone,” also seems to cover it.
Anyway, last week my husband drove us and a borrowed bumper-pull camper across Montana
and into Cody, Wyoming to help and hang out with me while I participated in the Yellowstone
Songwriter Festival. He rarely gets to tag along on my singing gigs because when I’m gone he
needs to stay back with the kids, but we made arrangements for them this time so we could call
it a vacation. And it really was, because for us you can’t beat a road trip, sleeping under the
mountains and listening to good music all weekend. The fact that I was scheduled to share the
stage with other songwriters from across the country for a few hours a day was the icing on the
cake.

And here’s where I’ll tell you that if one of my daughters comes to me when she is 22 years old
and says she’s marrying her high school boyfriend I think my gut reaction will be worry. I’m not
sure if that was the case for my parents, but as a woman who married her one and only real
boyfriend, I’m not necessarily a proponent of it. I wasn’t even entirely convinced we should do
it when he asked me. I mean, my heart was saying “yes!” but my mouth said, “I guess so,”
tentative only because I knew we were young and I’ve always been fixated on the idea of
“doing the right thing.” I mean, don’t well-adjusted adults get married much later in life? My romantic and practical sides are at constant battle, but thinking about it all now it seems I
fulfilled both in my marriage to Chad.

Because never once in my long and unconventional creative career has the man become
jealous of the time I put into it. I could drive across the country for weeks at a time and he will
only ever ask how it went and “where are you again?” I know that’s the trust we’ve built, but
still, I appreciate the faith he has in me. And in us.

And while both of us are far from perfect, it’s the letting one another be exactly who we are
that has kept us together since we were just kids. And if you ask Chad why any relationship
works, he would simply say just be friends and take care of each other, the way he did without
apology all those years ago in that bar. My husband has always known who he is and who he
loves and I suppose he’d get in a fist fight over it if he really had to, but why fight about any of
it? “Fighting hurts.” (Now I’m quoting him directly.)
If you ask me? Well, I’ll just write a song about it.

Go have a listen to “If You Were a Cowboy” wherever you get your music or on
www.jessieveedermusic.com! Now go take of one another.