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On our honeymoon we spent days at Bolivar, across the bay from Galveston, TX. I might as well have asked my Cowgirl Artist to wear scuba gear when we went out to eat. She wore a Gunny Sax dress with long sleeves and velvet trim in full Texas summer. My Swede had parachuted into hell, but still on crossing the bay to Galveston Island on a ferry, she was stunning with her hair blowing in the breeze in a favorite cowgirl dress and her lone concession to Texas’ beaches — sandals.

I could only see she was stunning, and would have looked great even in a real gunny sack. What I should have seen was this girl did life on her terms, in her way. Later she was the only woman in a huge seafood restaurant in a long sleeve dress. If that should have made her uncomfortable, she didn’t bother reading the memo.

Returning home that night, it was cooler, and we leaned over the front of the ferry to watch the bow shock wave excite the jelly fish below the waves who lit up like moon streaks as the ferry passed over, and that filled her with wonder. I have always loved that. Her wonder bubbles over when she is amazed.