Since Brad left for Wyoming in mid-April, I've been trying to find ways to keep myself occupied.

I've made a trip to Southeast Oklahoma. I've tried to keep the house in decent condition. I've worked on building a new deck, which he helped me finish on his days back in McCook, and I made my final trip to Gillette.

Men have no sense of time -- or at least the importance of time to women. Before I left for Gillette, I called Brad. Yes, he was going to have Sunday off. I called him three times -- Sunday was ours for the taking.

I left McCook. When we got to North Platte, I called him again, to let him know we were on our way. He was going to have to work Sunday, but just for an hour or so.

We got to Gillette about 4:30 p.m. MDT. We were still looking at a one-hour Sunday. The rest of the day would be ours to follow through with our plans to travel over to Deadwood, S.D., see the sights and put a little money into the slot machines.

He left for location at 6:30 a.m., Sunday. An hour passed. He'd be back at the motel anytime. Then two hours passed. I called him. The company working on his well was having trouble setting up. He'd be back and ready to go in an hour or so. I called him again at 10.

He was just getting ready to come back to the motel. I called him again at noon.

They were just leaving location.

"If you're not back here by 12:35, we're going home," I told him, as I packed my belongings in the car.

At 1:15, Jeremy and I were on the way out of the parking lot, headed back to McCook. I called Brad to let him know.

"We're five minutes from the motel," he informed me. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll be there."

This time his watch must have been working.

We went back to the room in dead silence. He changed clothes and, as Jer and I sat on the bed waiting for him, asked "Are you ready to go yet?" A few choice words ran through my mind, but I bit my tongue. I have the scars to prove it.

We went our separate ways. I found the nearest casino and he and Jer wondered the streets of Deadwood.

I spent three hours at the machines. I guess I must have lost track of time. They finally showed up and informed me they were ready to leave. I spent another half-hour putting money in the slots.

We got back to the motel about 7 p.m. The trip home was as quiet as the trip there, mainly because I had laid down in the back seat of the pick up and fallen asleep.

We finally did come back to McCook, Monday morning, after he left for work. When we got home, I bought a new electric start lawn mower. I called to tell him about it.

"Why'd you buy a new mower," he asked.

"Because I can't start the one we've got," I informed him. "Would you rather I wait until you get home so you can do it on your days off?"

"No," he informed me. "I would never have the time to get it all done."

And knowing that men have absolutely no sense of time, I have no doubt he'd be unable to find the time to mow the lawn. What normally takes about three hours to mow could work into a three-week job -- and by then, he'd be starting over from the beginning.