We walked into a restaurant in the community where my husband was born.
I noticed he fit right in with the farmers gathered around the tables drinking coffee
and chatting. With their work boots and cowboy hats to shade them from the glaring
Kansas sun, you could tell they spent a lot of time outdoors. A few had caps on but all
shared a common lifestyle. My husband even drove a pickup. This place represented the life he led.
What about me? I didn’t dress like the few women in the place. I don’t own a pair
of blue jeans. Where do I belong?