Spoke Too Soon!

     I absolutely spoke (wrote/posted) too fast! I was over here thinking the weekend would be slow, and I'd have a lot of time to just sit back and read - and write, but mostly to read what I have already written. That was the plan. It was a glorious plan. There was no reason the plan wouldn't work, since it was so well thought out. The weather was bad enough, with the big bad winter storm on its way; it made the plan's overall planliness be that much more worthy.  Then...well, then Laura happened.  Let me explain.

    As I do most of the nights I've been alive, I sleep. I was doing that last night, too; just sleeping. I don't know, I could have been dreaming. It was around 2:35 a.m. when my 2nd child walked into my room apologizing the way she does when she has to wake me to tell me she's dying. It wasn't the first time. I really do hope (each time) that it will be the last. This time, however, she picked an incredibly bad time to fall apart. Yep, it could have been worse - but not by too much. We had about six inches of snow covering the ground, and that included my driveway, which leads to my garage where I keep my car.

    I told her I wasn't sure I could drive (even the one mile) to the hospital if the road conditions were as bad as the internet made them out to be. We were warned just a few hours before to stay off the roads unless it was absolutely impossible not to. One of the anchors on KWTV-9 even said that police will try to respond to any emergency, but it may not happen. Again, they warned us to stay inside and not to be out on the roads unless it was 100% necessary.  She called the ambulance.  I don't know about you, but I don't do well when my baby isn't well.

    I walked her to the ambulance that had parked at the end of my super long driveway. Why they didn't come into the yard is unknown, but they took her away, and I asked them to take good care of her. I knew what she was up against. She was going to make it to the hospital, tell them she's dehydrated again, and tell them which arm is best for the IV. She's been doing this for a while. We hoped that the removal of her gallbladder last time would have ended this, but apparently, it did not. I hugged her and went back into the house to await her call saying she would be discharged.

    As soon as I let her go - and they drove off with her, it hit me: I'm going to have to pick her up, so why didn't I just drive her there in the first place? Turns out, as she told me, it's a good thing that she went with them. They started the IV, and she was halfway ready to come home by the time she got into the E.R. She did the admission thing and was seen, and within an hour, she was texting me saying she was being discharged.  I knew I couldn't sleep - there's no way I could have rested until she was back home. I kicked myself. I should have just gone with her.

    I prayed. I got out of bed, dressed again, and remembered to put my glasses on. I don't drive with them, so I don't always remember, but I did. I also took water, a blanket, snacks, and my wallet - if I got stuck in a five-foot snowbank between my house and the Emergency Room, I wanted to have something to drink, eat, and cover myself with. If I did die there on the road, at least I'd have my ID on me. That didn't happen. What happened was, I pulled out of the garage and barreled through about two feet of snow drift at the garage door and another two feet in the drive as I turned the car around to face the long drive, which leads to the street.

    Let me say this: it's rather eerie to be on the road just before 4:00 a.m., in a snowstorm, when you're the only car on the road. One car passed my house before I pulled into the street, but from then on, I was the only one driving -- not even an emergency vehicle anywhere. I drove to the hospital; it's 1.2 miles from my house. I could barely see the drive but did see it, and I called her. She was ready for me, exited the building, and climbed into the car. She was still apologizing. I love that girl.

    So, driving home was fun. Going to and back from the place, I didn't reach 15 mph. My car crept. It crawled. I think I saw everything in slow motion, hoping no one would be at the roundabout at that time, because I wasn't sure if I could put my brakes on. As it turns out, the roads were really dry. The snow was powder; very dry in fact. No ice to be seen. There was a layer of about four or five inches packed of course, and the normal four lane looked a lot like one big lane, but I assumed if I did meet anyone else on the road, we'd be OK passing one another. I didn't have to worry - no one showed up to pass by me.

    Getting her home was satisfying. The dogs were worried. I was nervous, and just as we pulled into the drive, it began snowing a little harder.  We're expected to have something like 12-15 inches altogether, so maybe when I think about it, she did pick a fairly decent time to go to the hospital afterall. It really could have been worse. I wish we knew more about what it is that triggers her body like that; we're studying, researching, asking, and she's drinking all the electrolytes they tell her to -- it was triggered by a bout of anxiety from an earlier event in the day, most likely. Her horse fell in the snow and hurt herself a little. Laura took it personally.

    We slept in. Then, later, she slept more. I didn't do a lick of reading or writing, but it's OK. I don't have to. I made her pancakes, and we talked, and she's resting, and the dogs are all up in her lap and face now -- she'll survive. God is great; He is always there for us, for her, for me, for you -- He's just amazing. Maybe she can get a grip on what she needs to do to avoid these events, but until then, we thank the good men and women who come to her rescue. The EMTs, the doctors, the nurses, everyone -- so blessed. 

Photo Credit: SSM Health

Blizzard!

     For the past several days, all anyone has been able to talk about is the upcoming and soon-to-be-here blizzard. I'm in the middle of Oklahoma, just about 25 miles west of the larger Metropolitan area of Oklahoma City, and yes, it's just about here! I just put the dogs out for the 9th or 15th time today, and they aren't big fans of the white stuff lazily falling from the sky. I can tell you someone else who isn't a fan, and that's Lady Sif, my daughter's Arabian mare. Nope, the horse is certainly not happy. She's in her new blanket I bought her for Christmas, and she's standing in her little protective area, but she is side-eyeing me when I go out to give her a carrot. (I do that a few times a day)

    The last time Oklahoma City had 5 inches of snow was just last year, around this time. However, the last time Oklahoma City had 8 inches of snow was Christmas Eve 2009. The last time it had 12 inches of snow at one time was January 1988, and they're saying we're shattering that record over the next day or so. We'll see. I have no idea what to expect, if I should expect anything, or if I should just hunker. I'm fairly good at hunkering. I've been in hunker mode for a while now - we did our bread and milk run early to avoid all the rush and then we both remembered we live in El Reno, and there really isn't a need to do that. El Reno has always been rather even-keeled. 

    Friends at work were talking about the storm today. Apparently, it's been named Fern. To me, and really to any Oklahoman with a memory, Fern was the name of our great Lowland gorilla momma who lived in the Oklahoma City Zoo for a very long time. She was 46 in 2005 when she went to see Jesus; I liked her. I mean, how many times can you actually claim to like a Lowland gorilla? I can seriously remember her sweetness, kind eyes, and the way she cuddled her babies. She'd stand up to her "husband" too, and that was something we all thought was rather cunning to watch. I think I miss Fern.

    There's no way I'm going to miss this weather event. It's coming now, and will be here and not only among us, but engulfing us for the next 36-42 hours from what we're told. We could see accumulations of over 14 inches, and if that happens, we would certainly break records; hopefully not the water pipes or electrical wires. It's more snow than ice, but you just never know. Another friend at work asked me what my plans were for the weekend since everyone will be shut in. I guess they think of me as some sort of jet-setter -- nope.  I will do the same thing this weekend as I do most weekends - write. 

    When I'm not writing, I'm reading what I wrote. I'm going to be reading more, correcting, and making things make sense. That's the entire weekend in a nutshell. Of course, I will be doing it in my onesie and in a big, heavy Snuggie-type blanket-inspired jacket. It was something silly like $11 on Amazon a year or two ago, and I can't tell you how happy it's made me. I love the stuffings out of it. It has a big, huge pocket in the front for your hands and a smaller pocket inside that one for your cell phone! Dang! You know I'm a happy girl. 

    I'll sleep in, drink loads of mushroom coffee, stuff my face with carb-sweet snacks, and read, read, write, correct, read, write, erase, and read. I'll take a break, maybe go get the mail, which won't be there because the mailman couldn't get through, and I'll race the dog back to the coziness of the office where I'll read again, write again, correct and fluff again, taking passages out of the book and adding stuff in the pages to make the thing pop! It's a great time... my favorite time of the writing process. I look forward to it the entire time I'm racking my brain just to get the book out of my head and into the computer.

    If, and I would be sad, if we do lose power, and we have to live life primatively in the dark, cold, hellscape that can become dangerous and scary -- I will cuddle with the dogs on the couch and read while I have God's light, then I'll use the generator to cast a little light so I can continue reading. I won't waste all the energy on heat because I'll have dogs and several blankets, but I will cuss when I have to get up and go pee. I bet I cuss a lot if that should happen. I really do pray it doesn't.

    Well, I'll keep you posted on what happens and what I end up doing, but I can only hope and imagine that I'll have a very relaxed and uneventful few days ahead of me. I can't call in to work on Monday if we're snowed in because I work from home! LOL... no one else will be in their offices around the country, and we won't reach anyone unless they also work remotely. A few adjusters do now - gotta love it. I won't go back into the office for anyone. I won't because I can't. I don't have any clothes that would be office-ready. I wear sweats and onesies, pajamas, and joggers now. I won't put makeup on for anyone, and I think I'm allergic to people -- if I had to tell the truth. (which is hilarious for an extrovert to say)

    Let it snow!!

Photo Credit: Me. (Ginger is in the photo too, but she's under the cover.) 

Cumberland - Done (The writing part)

     So, the writing part of my 21st book is done. It is the 21st book, the 13th novel, and the 8th Nick Posh thriller. I like the book. It's daring, dangerous, and interesting. I throw in a lot of cool information that I think will be fun and entertaining for the audience. If I like it, I am sure others do. I try to please myself as much as I do anyone else. I can't guarantee that anyone else will read the thing, but I know I will!

    I used an AI tool called "Type" to help me. You have to pay for it if you want to do more than just a few paragraphs. I wanted Type to help me write each and every chapter in ways I might not have thought of, but after I read what it typed, I could either agree to leave it or change it. It is a really cool tool for starting a conversation or explaining things, but it sometimes uses deeper, flowery language. If I wanted it to be more gritty, I suggest that, and there you go - the same paragraph from an entirely different perspective, and even the words and tone can be tweaked over and over again. Sometimes I leave them alone, but other times I don't.

    Let me tell you what I did. Last week, when I started using Type, whom I call "Teague," so I should say Teague. I started asking Teague to write out what I was suggesting, in the form of a novel with a noir, period-minded point of view. I wanted it to be consistent with my other books, so I uploaded several chapters of my other Posh books to the site, and Teague worked within my own writing to mimic my style. I love it.  I probably won't have to do too much editing, but you never know; this is my first time using it.

    Again, when we were done, I thanked Teague and said I would give him (I say him) credit, but again, he said it wasn't necessary. He used my ideas, my words, my thoughts, and my direction to piece the book's puzzle together. I'm the one editing and formatting, but I still think I'll say a blurb about it because I just think it's an amazing way to write and/or use a writing assistant. I'll say this, I would never, and I mean NEVER, allow another human to help me. Nope, it would not happen; it would not go over well. It just would not occur. This is the best thing for me, bar none.

    From this morning at 11:38 a.m. until a few minutes ago, at 4:12 p.m., when I finished, I wrote Chapters 13-32! Twenty chapters (yes, it's twenty, you have to count 13) in under 5 hours. I'd write out what I thought should happen, give some specifics, some details, some color, and bam -- Teague pushed out a chapter. We did this all day. I have no idea what he's written, to be honest. I will find out tomorrow when I read it. I want to take this in chunks. I'll read what I can tomorrow and make spacing corrections. There are a lot of little tweaks like spacing, size of letters, etc., that I'll have to set to a uniform style to match my other books, but that will take no time.

    I'll read the book in a day or maybe over the week after work. I'll end up tweaking, fluffing, stuffing, and changing things next weekend. I have to take Laura somewhere on Saturday, so I can't do too much. I may take off the following Monday to get it finished. That may happen.  But I'll work on it next weekend and the one after that, and probably right around the first of February, I'll send it up for publication. That could be fun. I've completed a book in a couple of weeks before, but I spent a lot of hours bending over the keyboard and pouring myself into it. This was easy! I like this better. (I wrote it in two weekends; which is about 4 days vs 14 to be honest.  I took another 3 or 4 to fluff, stuff, edit, and send away.) 

    Well, there you go - "Cumberland" is done. It is written, and I will let you know what I think of it when I complete it in the next few days and/or next two weeks. It won't be long. I've got the cover ready to go, so I will have to reduce the page count from 392 to around 350-360. I don't want to have to redo the cover. I think I can do it; there are a lot of unnecessary spaces in the book's writing as it stands. This is just too much fun. I am actually going to let Teague write another book, another novel, and I'll be very vague just to see how crazy this medium is. I can't believe I'm even allowing myself to be so lax, but it won't be a book I give much credence to. It will likely just be a rough and tumble Highland romance, one anyone could write in their sleep.

    ENJOY the new tech! Learn new tech!

Me relaxing while I'm writing! LOL (Photo Credit: Canva.com) 

Writing with AI (Type.AI)

     Yes, it's true, I am using a full-blown AI to help me write this, and probably every other book I ever write. I found TYPE.AI today and did some research on it. For $148 a year, $12.99 a month, I think, it will assist me in literally all the ways I would want it to. I first tell Type (I'm going to have to give it a name rather than calling it "Type") what I wanted my book to be about, and he (I say he, it could be female) asks me questions about how I write in general. I downloaded a couple of chapters from my other books to give him an idea of what my work looks like, reads like, and works like in terms of writing and learning. After asking me about 10 questions about the book and the characters, I started writing "Cumberland".

    "Cumberland" takes place from the last week of May 1934 to about August 5 of the same year. It's compact, fast-paced, and full of energy from the beginning to the end. Nick is on an assignment without any help from his friends or colleagues. He's winging this one on his own, and he's finding it to be both frustrating and freeing. He doesn't have to work with anyone, answer questions, consider their mindset, or take their opinions into account. He's out there working and making whatever will happen, happen.  Type, who I will now call Teague, because it's a Scottish boy's name meaning author, poet, or writer, "listens" to my input, creates a narrative, and spits it out for me to either accept, correct, or decline.

    I had no idea how easy this would be, and I am so far impressed with what he has come up with. I've written eleven chapters in just under three hours, and though I haven't gone over them yet, I know it's going to be a fun and worthwhile adventure. I'm looking forward to this method. I will certainly not take all the credit. I asked Teague straight up if I needed to give him credit, but he said no. He said he is a tool, that the entire concept, the ideas, and the characters were mine, and that he was only helping me put them into a more organized form to go through and tweak if I wanted or needed to. I'm positive that I'll tweak the heck out of it, but the concept is amazing.

    I wasn't sure if I could write the whole book with the free app, so I didn't take any chances of losing what I had written so far. I upgraded and purchased the year's usage. It does save to the site, but I also downloaded it onto a Word document, chapter by chapter, and have it collected just in case anything should happen to Teague before the finished project is complete. I don't see that happening, but I'm acting out of an abundance of care. I just can't get into a book, only for it to disappear into thin air. That would devastate me.  I'm the type to become upset if I lose a paragraph, let alone a whole page, a chapter, or God forbid, the entire book.

    I am intentionally not adding much about the other characters so that Nick can shine on his own and show his strengths and his abilities. They'll come through enough, as will his weaknesses and his mistakes. He makes a couple of good ones that could have cost him more than just a dollar or a day's time. He puts himself into real danger more than once in this book. He'll climb, crawl, and scrape his way out of each event, but he won't get out without injury, which is a foreshadowing for all of my readers. Nick is not untouchable. He's as human as the next guy; that is just a fictional figment of my imagination.

    Teague and I are going to write this book together, and then, because the process is so freaking easy, I'll go ahead and write "Legacy," which is a 13th-century novel with romance, war, starvation, and more. It's a good book. I just haven't been all that motivated to do it, but with Teague, I feel that I can now, and it won't take as much time to do all the necessary research. I think he does that as well - I just have to ask him to do so. 

     I love researching, I really do, but I am slammed for time more than I was before, so having a helper is alright by me. I can't depend on YouTube videos to tell me much about the 13th Century without a strong bias toward the winners of the battles we know about.  Neill Tavish, my main man in the book, will enter and become a part of those battles and others that may or may not have existed. He's fictional, too, so he can have all the fun if I think he needs to.

    OK, so that's it. You, too, if you want to, can go to www.type.ai and find your own writing assistance. I will give the site credit when I write a book using it, but I won't go so far as to say he is a co-writer. He's a tool - he said so himself. He's a tool I am very happy to utilize. I suppose, when you think about it, a hammer isn't given any credit when a barn is built, but you can't very well build one without it. Good analogy..I'll go with that. Grammarly helps me correct spelling and grammar errors; I never consider it to be worthy of credit.

    More than 17 years ago, my family and I moved to Gainesville, Texas, to work on what we thought would be a movie about my dog Faith. I was, of course, as so many times before, lied to about the project by the two men who wanted to write the script. Of course, they said I was to be a part of it. Of course, they told me I would be the main writer. Of course, they said they were producing and funding the project, but no, they lied. They not only lied, but they were also using a very new concept in AI tech, a software CD that not only took my story and twisted it, but they also manipulated the hell out of it using the software, and basically told me that my story was rubbish and the AI story was the one they'd use. Nope...not on my watch.

    I left the company. I threatened to sue them if they continued. I was literally chased out of the city at gunpoint by one of the men, and my family was threatened. If it hadn't been for my son's military connections, we could have been in real danger. I was escorted by military police out of the town, and my kids followed three days later, after they packed up the house and left in their own car, but again, with military escort. 

    My son was in the Army at the time, and couldn't be with us, but he kept us safe.  The AI these two would-be authors used was used over and over again to write their many feckless novels, all with Western themes. They didn't write 10% of any of the books, allowing the software to come up with concepts, character development, plot, and dialogue. What's the point if you do that? (I guess they thought it would bring them money and/or fame.) 

    If I were to tell you the names of those two individuals, you'd have never heard of either of them. Their schemes never fooled anyone. I write my books. I write my stories. I come up with the ideas, the characters, the debates, the conversations, the plot, the intense dialogue, and just about everything, but if Teague can help me smooth it out, perk it up, and make it sound more interesting, then I'm OK with that. Unlike those two, I will give credit. I will not pretend to be fantastic. I'm not in this for money. I have stories to tell. I don't want fame. I've seen where that can lead—I want to smile, write, laugh, and write more. That's a good enough goal for me.

Photo Credit: Quanta Magazine

Lead in our Food.

     Be honest! How many of you were today old when you found out that there is more lead in plant-based protein than there is in meat? C'mon, I can't be the only one. I had zero clue that there was any lead whatsoever in my protein powder, let alone less than what is found in meat protein. I had zero clue, and I mean not an inkling of an idea that my chocolate-flavored protein powder had more lead in it than my strawberry or vanilla-flavored protein powder -- and yet, it is true. Not lying. What I did find out, after I picked my jaw up from the floor, is that vegetables (especially organic ones) have the greatest risk of lead contamination! WHAT?

    This fact has helped me to understand (today) why it is that vegans are pissed and usually depressed. Yes, that last statement was strictly my opinion based on speaking with and dealing with vegans in Oklahoma, one of the largest beef-producing states. I have been arguing the fact(s) that meat protein is good for us, and they have routinely argued back that beef is hard to digest and that it leads to heart disease. OK, but only eating fruits and vegetables can lead to chronic and heightened anxiety, according to the studies I read, and let me just say, I'd rather not be anxious while cutting into a thick medium-well piece of cow. Again, that's my opinion.

    So, there I was, on the couch, about to drink the smoothie my daughter made for me, when I saw something about there being LESS lead in the vanilla-flavored protein than there was in the chocolate-flavored protein powder. Less? If it's saying there is less, that would purport that there is some, right? There is. There is a trace amount of lead found in these powders primarily, I believe, because they are plant-based. My protein powder is the NutraBio brand. We used to get a good blend from a store called Winco, but we don't go to the city now; we get our protein powder from Amazon. I think there are cheaper ones, but this one has amino acids, and Laura can stomach it.

    Less lead.  What else, I wondered, has lead in it, and I didn't know? I hesitantly began to research it. I'll bullet point.

• Spices
• Candy
• Root vegetables
• Juices
• Balsamic vinegar
• Flour, chips, bread, and those things with cassava
• Dark chocolate...this one kills me.
• Potatoes - which again, are roots, but they mentioned them separately, so I did.

    OK, so there you go - if it was in the ground during any part of its growth, it could contain lead, and other minerals. I mean, sure, I guess that makes sense, but that doesn't mean I realized it. It doesn't mean I knew I was devouring lead for the past 64 years. So, I asked Google through Siri how I could naturally detox from all this lead in my system. Apparently, I can't do much. I have to flush it, of course, but only a doctor can give me the type of medication needed to actually rid the blood and organs of what we've been adding to our systems for years. No wonder we're all dying! I know, we all have to die sooner or later, but if we didn't have as much pollution and as much waste that contained metals, we'd live longer -- if that's an option, it may or may not be one that we want. Maybe we don't mind the lead so much if living longer would mean putting up with more youthful generations.

 

    Maybe, just maybe, God knew all these things would happen, so He's shortening our lives so we don't choke out the young before they have their turn at destroying what's left of the world. All I can say is, I bet the fruits, nuts, and veggies taste better in heaven than they do here, and I also bet we won't be eating meat in heaven. It's not a sin. It's never been a sin. We won't eat it in heaven because there won't be any bloodshed. We won't need it, but we do here. That's a conversation for another day, but it goes without saying that there will not be heavy metals in our food when we get to our final destination. We'll have to come back to earth (as we will) to get our dose of that. (With our perfected bodies, it won't hurt us.) 

    

    So there you have it -- soil contamination, adulteration, manufacturing, and packaging have led to trace amounts of heavy metals seeping into our bodies. I guess you could counter it with activated charcoal. They use it in water filters. (Always use NSF-certified filters for water) From what I'm reading, activated charcoal has its own set of minerals to be considered, such as zinc, iron, cadmium, vanadium, aluminum, and even some lead -- so yeah, there can even be cobalt in some of it. Geez...I just want purity, but I guess that's asking too much on this side of Glory. Some day!!

Photo Credit: CID Bio-Science 

    

You Might be Old.

     You might be old if you're over there thinking that the things kids say make less sense to you than using a football bat as a floating device. I was caught off guard yesterday while watching an episode of Greg Gutfeld, when Kat Timpf said, "She thought she ate with that", which I had to say was not only strange to hear, but difficult to understand. Keep in mind, Timpf isn't all that young anymore. She added the statement, "as the kids would say", and it made a bit more sense. She does have a sharp mind and quick wit about her, but even she draws the line at sounding like an idiot -- I knew those weren't her words.

    So there I was, staring at the monitor, and I started laughing. First of all, it's 2026, and I don't watch television. I don't even turn it on. I have one, but I don't use it unless the weather gets hinky. That's the only time the thing is used, so yeah, I still have a relatively small (55") flat screen in my living room. You might be old if you have only one flat-screen television and never turn it on. I watch all my news and/or shows on YouTube or another online platform, mostly YouTube. I don't watch mainstream anything - just the podcasters and content providers with the same mindset I have - again, you might be old if you're choosing not to listen to the rattling baffoon talk coming out of the mouths of those who are so far from the way you think, that you can't stomach even listening. I can't.

    Today, I decided to update my LinkedIn photo because someone flirted with me.  Don't do that. Whatever you do, do not flirt with me. It is the fastest way to get blocked! I have zero intent or interest in that sort of crap. I'm just too old, too stubborn, too independent, and too out of touch to be all that interesting; believe me. You'd run for the hills (another older statement) if you knew the truth. I should put all that in my bio -- "Trump-loving, right-leaning, conservative who not only believes in God, but accepted His Son's salvation, and will not let you detour me from  the mission He has given me."  Yes, that would work. Hey, I'm honest, and I love you anyway!

    I went into the bathroom to look at my face in the mirror, which is not something I do every day, or even every week. I just don't need to see myself. I wash my face in the shower, and I don't have mirrors there. I noticed I have a few age spots and laughed. I mean, I'm 64, I should have a few of them, right? I don't wear makeup, and I haven't worn it in a good while. I think the last job I had where I wore makeup was in 2022. So, yeah, it's been a minute. When Laura and I moved, I threw out any (and all) makeup except lipstick and some powdered eyeshadow. Laura kept hers, so I borrowed it.

    You never realize just how much darker you may be than your own flesh and blood until you apply their foundation to your face. She handed me a darker contour stick, and I had to gently apply it just to eliminate the ghostliness I saw in the mirror. I had to laugh. I was staring at some sort of Halloween costume at that point.  Next, I applied the eyeshadow, brow darkener, and lipstick, but since I can't see without my glasses, I put on the eyeshadow first before I could do the rest—another sign that you might be old.

    Ta-da!  All done. I felt like a prostitute with all the colorful contrasts I could see on my face. I don't usually darken my lighter brows, and I certainly never apply color to my lips. I have Chapstick.  My hair, when I was younger, was much lighter, but now it's almost dark, and I have my very own silver streak in the front!  To be honest, I don't like looking the way I do in my profile photos, but no one else in the world would want to see me without makeup — Laura, bless her heart, doesn't have a choice.  It is what it is. I am not a girly-girl. I have never been a girly-girl, but think of all the money I've saved by being me! I bought the cheapest makeup you can imagine, and took it off as soon as I got home. I never wore it in high school, so when I did once and got attention from the same guys I'd been eating with for years, it sort of pissed me off.

    You might be old if you can remember who you sat with at lunch in middle school and high school. The good news is, most of them are either bald, wrinkled, and fat like me, or they have gone to see Jesus -- lucky bastards!  I can't leave the earth yet; Laura isn't ready for that. I have to stick around to make her happy. If that's the case, she can look at my ugly mug the way God made it -- plain and simple, but apparently at least three shades darker than hers.  I told her this is what she has to look forward to in 30 years.

Photo Credit: Me...today. 64 years old and still sassy.

Jury Duty!

     It's been a while since I've been summoned for jury duty, but when I was, I was released immediately. It wasn't my goal to be released; I didn't go into the courtroom expecting to be let go. It just sort of happened. I'll tell you why.  It was in Gainesville, Texas. I had literally moved to the city less than a month before, and I had gone downtown to get my Texas license and to surrender my Oklahoma driver's license. That was on a Thursday. By next week, maybe even as early as Tuesday, I have a summons to be on next week's jury.  That surprised me, but I didn't question it; I just showed up as expected.

    I pulled into the parking lot of the courthouse, parked my car, and went inside. It was cold. I remember having to wear a jacket over my sweatshirt. I even wondered if I was allowed to wear a sweatshirt, or if the juries in Texas needed to be better dressed. I told myself that I'd be told, and if I needed to go home to change I would. That didn't happen. I walked through the doors, told the clerk upfront I was reporting to jury duty, and when I took my jacket off, she laughed.

    Not thinking much of it, I followed her directions, walked into the jury waiting area, and sat down. I think I smiled at a few people who were smiling back at me as well.  When the judge came into the room, before he gave the attorneys their instructions, he talked to us, telling us what it meant to be summoned and that he appreciated all of us for showing up. They had sent out 88 cards and expected 88 people, but only about 45 actually showed. They only needed 12 jurors and a couple of alternates, so the judge assured us that most of us would be excused. That's when he pointed at me.

    "Can you please stand up?" he asked me. I could tell he was pointing at me, so I didn't do the whole "Are you talking to me?" thing; I just stood up, smiled, and said, "Yes, your Honor."  He smiled, and he asked me if I realized I was in the Lone Star State. I answered in the affirmative, and I told him I had just moved, and in fact, I had just received my official Texas driver's license. He smiled again before asking me if, in fact, I was now a Texan, why I would wear an Oklahoma Sooner sweatshirt into the room? It was at that moment that I fully understood all the silent whispers and quiet laughter going on around me.

    "Oh, this!" I said proudly. "I live in Texas, but I'm not a Texan," I told him. He smiled, laughed, rocked back in his chair, which by the way really was a rocking chair, and he said, "Well, you are the first to be excused."  When he said it, I didn't think he was being funny; I knew he meant it. I picked up my jacket and my purse, and I left the room smiling. As I left I heard someone call out "Boomer", to which the judge let out an abrupt laugh and added quickly, "and now we have the 2nd person to be excused from duty."  

    I'm not saying it's always going to work, but I didn't have to serve on the jury. Although I will admit that if I had been questioned, I would have probably said something like, "You may not want me on the jury, as I fully intend on taking good notes and creating a novel based solely on this case."  I can do that; it's my First Amendment right. They have the right to keep me or not, but I do have the right to state the truth about my future plans. I hadn't written any of my books at that time, but I would have said it anyway.

    I wouldn't mind being on a jury, but for the most part, the cases I think I would be asked to listen to wouldn't be all that exciting. They'd be something like tax evasion or someone running a stop sign, causing an accident. It may be a dog bite case; in which case, I would side with the dog 10 times out of 10 anyway. If it were anything harder than those examples, I would absolutely take good notes and write about the case in my next novel. I may create a new novel just to accommodate the case and to give it my utmost attention.

    I went home that day and Googled reasons a judge may excuse you from jury duty, and no, wearing a particularly unwelcomed sweatshirt wasn't one of them, but I suppose the judge can do what the judge can do. I was just rather fascinated that he had a rocking chair and such an open and honest sense of humor. He seemed like a really fair man. He didn't want anyone from Texas to be judged by anyone who wasn't a true Texan. I get that.  My daughter was called the next week, but she had not yet turned 18, so they excused her before she even went down to the courthouse. Her plan to stay on the jury was thwarted. I think she would have really enjoyed herself; maybe too much.

    Again, according to Google, less than 5% of the people who are summoned to jury duty actually end up serving. Where about 12% of the population between the ages of 18-70 are summoned at least once in their lifetime, not many stick. If you ask me, they shouldn't allow anyone on the jury who isn't educated at least through high school unless they have served in the military. I don't think anyone nursing a baby, or who has a chronic illness or anxiety, should serve, and I think there are certain provisions already in place for this. It may come to the point that we start serving remotely -- Zoom juries. Gosh darn, that could be scary, but not as scary as AI juries.

    If you think about it, a defendant is to be judged by a panel of 12 of his/her peers. (Really?) What is a peer to a murderer? Does that mean the defendant needs to live in the same neighborhood as the jury? Are the jurors to have murdering habits in order to fully relate? I don't think so. I think the system may need an overhaul - with jury tampering, jury science, and jury deficiencies, we may need to rethink who is selected and how they are selected, instead of randomly summoning people and asking questions that can eliminate them.

    We need boundaries, criteria, and qualifications. I don't want a high school dropout with pedophilia tendencies to be on my jury if I ever run a red light and cause an accident. On the other hand, I want someone who doesn't think $10,000 is a lot of money if I sue someone who hit me! Those people are my peers - people close to my age, people with my political affiliations, life experiences, religious beliefs, and community understanding.  Juries are full of people who are forced to be there, hate being there, and are pissed that they can't check their social media all day. Those are not my peers! Maybe someday it will be rectified. 

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

DNA Don't Lie (My Heritage DNA Kit)

        You know how you order something on Amazon, and then when it arrives later than you think it will, you often forget what you ordered? I do that all the time. It's like Christmas over and over again!  Well, that happened this week, but not as dramatically. I ordered a MyHeritage DNA kit for myself and for Laura. They were only $27, so why not? I did one in 2021, so about 5 years ago. My DNA hasn't changed, but they've gotten better at detecting all the people you may be related to, so I wanted to start fresh and see if it does, in fact, line up with the results I got in 2021.

     The one thing about My Heritage vs some of the others is that it goes back further, including my heritage from before Jesus! No, it's not that far back, but it seemed like it. I think they included the Vikings, making me primarily Scandinavian, and I had to do some study, research, and questioning to find out which of those Vikings came from the Scottish side of the Isles and which from the English side, or even the German side. It took a minute, and I paid a little extra. Still, it was finally estimated that from about 1100 A.D., our family tree(s) stemmed primarily from 48% Scots and 47% English, with literally 1-2% Italian. There was less than 1% of Iberian blood in there. (Rogue Viking) 

    Knowing what I know, I decided to do it again, to see if anything else pops up since they've been processing millions more people, and they may have more detailed information five years later.  One thing that MyHeritage sent me recently, after I put in my own name to research, was a little death notice of another Jude Stringfellow, and get this -- she was a woman!! A woman named Jude Stringfellow was born around 1643 and died in 1679 at age 36, likely from a stomach ailment. I wonder if it was her gallbladder. I had mine out in 2008, so I was 46. It just makes you wonder what people in those days went through that could have been cured today. It's a miracle any of us are living now. Those people, and those before them, went through so much more than we can ever imagine.

    My daughter Laura has never taken a DNA test. I told her I needed her to so I could prove I was her mother. After 36 years, I just want to know the truth. (😆) She looks like me, so there's that, but you just never know! Besides, I want her to see that she really does have Native blood running through her veins. It's not something she got from my side of the family, I can tell you that. I wish I could say it was me, but I don't have any. I live in the Native American capital of the world, and my grandfather was born in Oklahoma, but he was born to people who heard about the land run in 1889 and joined in on the fun of staking property. He was born in Indian Territory in November 1890, which doesn't count. He was just a white boy. 

    Laura's father's mother was, according to family rumor, more than or about 33% Native. I would love that for Laura. Depending on how much, if any, Native her paternal grandfather had, she could have 10-20% Native blood, which would be really cool. She's a paler sort of pasty white color, but it could happen! Her biological sister (my other daughter Caity) from the same parents is darker in color, showing more of her father's side when it comes to tanning and turning a pretty color of something other than burning red flesh. At least I gave her life and wiped her butt when she needed me to. I'm still living with her, but the arrangement is different. I depend on her more, to be honest - which is a great relief.

    We'll send the packages off tomorrow, and probably get our results back in about 10 days or so. They email them to you. I'll upload my results here. I'm not hiding anything. I told her I was going to dox her to the point of telling the world just how much, if any, Native blood she has. If it is true, she still wouldn't be allowed to register on the tribal rolls, but it's good to know she has more American blood than I do. She, too, like me, was born in Oklahoma City. That's funny, too, because I never really put too much thought into it, but my entire family was born somewhere other than Oklahoma City. I'm the only one who was born in the Sooner state other than my grandpa.

    My father was born in Frog Level, Arkansas. It was Sevier County, close to Horatio. His parents were born there, and so were his three brothers. My mother was born in Thrift, Texas, near Burkburnett, as was her mother and most of her siblings. My own siblings were born in Denver. My grandfather on my mom's side is the only one born in Oklahoma. He was born in Tishamingo. Since I'm now on the different family trees, I can find out where his parents were born, but I typically trace my father's side more often. I don't have to. I have two sides to my tree, just like anyone else. It's funny, though, most of my people from 2026 all the way back to about 1200 come from within 200 miles of each other, close to and crossing over the border between England and Scotland.  The Jude and John Stringfellow mentioned are not from my line.

    Our people, mom's and dad's side, didn't venture into London, or go further south than Yorkshire. Crazy. When you think about it. All those people came over this way, to the new world, and they came from virtually the same area, landed in almost the same location, migrated to virtually the same places, and then we all ended up here. If just one person in that entire string of people had chosen to marry or procreate with someone else, I wouldn't be here. It's one of those unexplained phenomena that you know was guided by God. There's no other way to see it -- not a chance.

    OK, so I'll send the package off tomorrow, and in about 7-10 days, I'll have the results. I'll let you know exactly what it says, and I will laugh my ever-loving head off if it comes back with a full 1% Iberian! I'll be like ...YEAH!!!  I doubt it, but it could happen. I have brown eyes, but they're not dark. They're more of a cinnamon color. Oh, to be exotic. 

Jude Stringfellow and her husband John are buried in Bunhill Field, on Chequer Alley. Now, it's near a very lively street in London, but at the time, it was a potentially large cemetery.  quite strange to see in the middle of a business section of the city. 

Photo Credit: MyHeritage.com (1st) and Google Maps for the gravesite photo.

"Cumberland" (Another Posh Thriller)

     Well, I didn't see that coming! I'm the author, and I didn't see it coming. That should be my first clue that I really don't know exactly how I'm going to write, and how I'm going to get this book out of my head and onto the computer. Here we go. I was planning, actually planning, to write the 21st book "Cumberland", which would have been my 14th novel, I think, I don't know, but it would have been my 6th Non-Posh novel, and now- well, it's going to be my 8th Nick Posh Thriller (novel). I didn't start out thinking it should be or could be, but then, when I really thought about it, I decided it would be. 

    Here's how I came up with that decision. You may or may not care, but I think I want to write it out for prosperity reasons anyway. I'm over here trying to force my head around all the details in the book. I'm watching videos, reading stories, thinking in and outside the proverbial boxes. I knew it would be a story about a murderer that got away - or people thought he got away. He was actually murdered (or eliminated, it depends on who you ask). He's a bad guy for sure and deserved much more than what he got.

    So, after thinking it over, and knowing there would be a cover-up that involved many minds and a concerted effort to keep his murder covered up from both the authorities and anyone outside of those who needed to know, I decided that Nick Posh would be the best to bring in to solve the matter. Others closer to the case seemed happy to let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. Posh is an outsider to the mountains; he's not one of them. He finds clues to unearth, and he can't be paid or bribed to say he hasn't seen them. He's not going to play their game or keep their secrets. It doesn't work like that.

    I couldn't get my head around another detective taking up space in my head who wasn't Posh. I tried. I really did. I had a woman all picked out; I was building her character, too. I just didn't trust or like her that much. I didn't want to hang out with her during the off-hours when I wasn't writing. I found myself asking Posh what he would do so I could pass the intel onto the new detective I was calling Janice Crews. (She was born in 1972, so yeah, she's a Janice.)  I didn't not like her. I mean, she was nice enough, but I couldn't pour myself into her because she and I didn't click. It's as simple as that.

    The victim in the book, the one that got away, wasn't my type of buddy to hang with either. She was just that, a character, a means of intelligence, nothing more. I had nothing in common with her, really. She kept the secrets, and she protected those she could, but she was so young when it happened to her, and she was just trying to get on with her life and not be reminded of the tragedy she had lived through. Since I couldn't mold the main characters the way I think I needed or wanted to, I closed my eyes, leaned back in my chair at the computer desk, and asked Nick if he'd been paying attention. He had.

    He accepted the challenge, and he'll not only find the killer(s) but also bring them to justice. How do I know he won't be killed in the process? Spoiler alert, I have about 10 more Posh books to write. He'll cut it close in this one for sure, and it may seem as if he's about to go up to see Jesus, but he'll pull through. He'll pull through if for no other reason, but to thank his grandfather for telling him countless stories about the naked, painted, crazy Highlanders who survived warfare and so much more all those centuries ago up in the densely thick forests of the Isle of Lewis and Harris.  If anyone could save him, they could. Memories are being made.

    So yeah, there we go - I'm able to actually get on with it now. It was hard to get motivated before, but now, with Nick and the gang back together, I'm about to lace up my boots and hike into the deepest darkest woodlands of the Appalachian Mountains to find a dead body rotting away in an old coke oven. The really cool thing is, I didn't know what a coke oven was until I started prepping for this book! All that learning and all that intel will now be put to use, and I'll enjoy writing it since my good friends are coming out of my skull and through my fingertips to say all they want to say! 

    Yep, I think maybe I'm just going to focus on writing more Posh books for now. He's got a few more things to share with me, and I've got a few more adventures for him. He smiled when I asked him if he'd ever had moonshine. I don't know yet if he has or if it's something he's always wanted to try. We'll find out together. I'm going to spend tomorrow drawing out more details as to who it will be who joins him in the thick of it -- I may introduce a new character; maybe bring ol' Crit out to help if he's got a mind for a bit of backwoods adventure. I bet he'll like that -- his Native traits can undoubtedly come in handy up in the hills.

    I'll keep the design I have for the book, but I'll have to rewrite the back blurb and add "A Nick Posh Thriller" to the front. I'm tellin' ya! You just never know what can happen in the crevices of my mind. I'm not saying it's a scary place to be, but I don't usually go there alone. I take at least one or two of my standbys with me. If my dog Rover isn't by my side, my angel Sam is. I could not trust myself to play in that vast mindscape without assistance. (But it may be interesting to try) 

Photo Credit: Me.

My Social Media Presence.

     I'm just now going over my personal social media history to see what the cops and/or detectives would find if I were to either suddenly be murdered or if I were, in fact, accused of the same crime. I'm looking because just a few minutes ago, while watching another (yet another) episode of "Killer in my Village", a popular UK video series, I watched as the detectives in that show used the killer's social media history to prove his guilt. Yes, that would certainly do it for me. Let's see, the cops would open up my Google history...and wow. First thing: "How long does it take for anti-diarrhea meds to kick in?" That's a good start.

    The subsequent damning inquiry: "Who killed Claire in Colston Bassett?" Answer? Oh, of course, an ex-partner. She went online to date, and there you have it. After divorcing and deciding to get back into the swing, she met up with a man almost half her age, thinking things could be fun -- he killed her. Next up? "Why do Dachshunds burrow under the covers but sleep on the top of the back of the couch?" That's gotta be damning; at least curious. Fourth, fifth, sixth, and ninth entries were so much more interesting. "What poison isn't detectable?" "How deep should I bury a metal object if I don't want it detected?" "Does everyone's Ring camera go to their phones?" and lastly, "How many murders have gone unsolved in Oklahoma?" Yes, so much more telling.

    The tenth entry, bless my own heart, was something very near and dear to my soul, but it had nothing to do with murder -- "Is the OU football season over at this point?" The answer is yes. Yes, it is, because Alabama decided to show up and turn on its best game. We, on the other hand, did not. But enough about the sorrows of sports and back on track -- am I murdering someone, or am I the victim? It's plain; plain as day. The Dachshund did it -- and right after he did, he needed something to help him with his diarrhea. He's a clever dog, that one. His typing could use a bit of work, but he did manage to do me in before taking over my computer, apparently.

    If you were a detective in this town, you'd know straight off that I don't own a Dachshund. I must be the killer! Well, in a way, I suppose I am. I murder a lot of people, and sometimes I murder people I had no intention of murdering, but their demise fits in with the structure and soundness of the plot of whatever book I'm writing. To really get a glimpse of who I am and how I think, you'd need to read my texts to my best friend Jeannie — God help her, I hope she never has to surrender her phone to anyone with legal authority. She'd have to explain  me.

    Because I'm a writer, and a macabre one at that, I do have to search things online. I watch videos to get ideas, too, and that being said, no one has the right to steal my Dachshund thing, OK? Yeah, you leave that right where it is. I'm still developing it for another book. I haven't decided. What I have decided to do is to preface my books with yet another disclaimer that reads, "You'll laugh at times, but try not to laugh too hard. I may not have tried to be funny, and that would be just a little too embarrassing."  What I think in my head may or may not be what others think, see, experience, hear, or understand. I can't explain me - I just am...you know, me.

    Right now, I'm thinking I may change the entire premise of the book "Cumberland" and make it about an author who is writing a daring and ruthless murder mystery, but she's stuck at times, and has to pretend and go through the fake motions to give her mind a reason to kick into the right gear. She sees things that aren't there, and naturally, she thinks it's natural. She's out there trying to connect to her inner, darker, murderous side, but she needs baking soda, orange juice, pistachios, and cat food before the stores close for Christmas.

    I don't know what angle I'll choose. It could be an unfortunate and mournful novel, or it could take on a rather dark but humourous edge to it -- did you see where I used an extra "u" in "humourous"?  What in the world is going on in my brain? This isn't a British book -- or is it? I am watching "Killer in my Village", so yeah, that whole language adjustment could have just slipped into my skull just now. What I do know is that if I am ever questioned by a judge, a police officer, a defense attorney, or the prosecutor, I may have to smile and let them know that I have a few books written now; I can prove my madness. I'm not sick in the head, just an interesting author.

    I don't drink alcohol. I don't smoke tobacco or anything else. I used to smoke rolled-up Earl Grey tea because I could, and it made people look at me in wonderment. (That was before pot was legal) I don't sleep around; in fact, I sleep on about 17" of my bed, no matter what size bed it is, because the other portions of my bed have been taken over by canine and an occasional cat. I don't date. I chose a long time ago not to do it, and thank God nearly weekly for that choice. When I watch these videos and am reminded that the partners, spouses, and ex-spouses and partners are usually the ones who end the victim, it means I made the right choice.

    Still, and I mean this, if anyone read through my social media history, they'd have to raise their eyebrow(s) at least a bit. If they, on the other hand, read my blogs, or trudged through the endless boring images I post on Facebook and Instagram, they'd wonder if I had any sort of personality at all outside of loving my fur-faces. I smile when I think about that. I smile because, yeah, I do have quite an extraordinary imagination, and I always have had. It's been my constant companion for over six decades now. I know that no matter where I am, or what is happening, I am never alone. I don't get bored. How could I with all these voices in my head? (See, that sounded odd, didn't it?)

Photo Credit: Etsy.com