Dying of Dysentery and Laughter: Finally Found My Rodeo Clown

Exactly one week ago (because I'm nothing if not consistent when it comes to being untimely), the husband and I went to the farm stand and the secondhand store, in that order.  But I had to post the pic of the clown first!  Because circus folk always get top billing.  Also (as many of you know), I'm drawn to clowns.  This one is from the 1970s and cost $795!  So yeah, I was good with just the picture.  

This was also the first day I wore my new Wrangler tee, which I ordered from (where else?) Kohl's for just $5.  I was geekily excited about it.  It made me think of the Old West, which made me think about a book about The Oregon Trail I read years ago.  (I may also have recently seen something Trail-related in my Instagram feed.)  If you were around in the '80s and '90s, then you know all about this popular -- and morbid! -- 8-bit computer game.  If not, then here's the premise: In the mid-1800s, your family sets out from Independence, Missouri in hopes of making it to Oregon.  I say "hopes" because more often than not, each person is killed off by cholera, typhoid, or some other deadly disease before glimpsing the Emerald City that is the Willamette Valley.  My family played The Oregon Trail a lot, and we were always so sad when one of us died and had our name typed across a tombstone.  It made me super grateful that I was born when I was and not fording some river only to then tumble in and die of dysentery.  

Speaking of which, the book (because yep, that's what we were talking about!) is called And Then You Die of Dysentery: Lessons in Adulting from The Oregon Trail, by Lauren Reeves.  I use the word "book" loosely, because this is a "gift book" as opposed to a tome on the history of the game.  I say this only so you don't think I'm trying to pass myself off as the kind of person who reads super serious books and wants you to know it.  Not because it's not brilliant.  Because it is.  Hats (bonnets?) off to you, Lauren Reeves. 

On that note, Reeves has a lot to snarkily say about the not-so-old-timey, tough love lessons imparted by the Trail.  But my favorite part comes from the intro:

"I must've logged ten thousand hours on this thing, making me one of the world's leading Oregon Trail experts.  I didn't just play the Oregon Trail, no . . . I studied it.  And now I want to share some of the important lessons I learned and applied to my everyday life.  Like how watching the pioneers migrate from Missouri to Oregon for a better life motivated me to move from Alaska to New York City.   . . . Hell, it even taught me that dying builds character, especially when you do it over and over and in so many different ways.  And I bet it taught you something, too.

If this book teaches you just one thing, it's that the Oregon Trail didn't just show you how to die.  It also taught you how to live.  And I hope that inspires you to upgrade your life from a lowly Greenhorn to an Adventurer.  Swipe this page left to continue along the trail." 

Sigh.  I'm a sucker for sentimentality, especially when it masquerades as satire.  Which makes me eager to crush my own outdoorsy challenge:

Keep these flowers alive.