Trumped!

I am not the least bit ashamed to admit that a year ago, in January 2016, I was not sure I wanted Donald Trump to be "my president". In fact, I remember laughing at the fact that he was being serious when he said he would run. I think I was narrow-minded and perhaps thinking too much in the box when I conjured my first impressions of him. It wasn't his hair that did it, but that is a rather strange piece of mop-top (if we had to be honest) now, isn't it? I think what I was thinking at that time, or what I remember thinking, is that he won't make it past the General election, so there's no reason to worry about him.  I didn't vote for him in the General, and I was really surprised he won! I was elated to find out this past November that he won the Big Prize, because I don't know if my heart could take it if Hillary Rodham Clinton had won. She is such a waste of space! In my opinion, and probably that of millions of others, she's a murdering piece of trash that doesn't need to be breathing right now, but that's being polite. If I really wanted to verbalize my opinions about her, I wouldn't hold back.

Trump? Really? Well, OK, let's talk about it. From the day I first heard his name, sometime in the 90's, I thought he was the guy that killed the Canadian Football. He was the guy that outbid every contractor in NYC and he was the guy that started a ridiculous reality show that set people up to be humiliated on air. I watched the show 2 times and said to myself "No, he's rude, he's arrogant, and we can't all be rich and semi-famous for being rich and semi-famous."  I wasn't impressed.  As time went by, and through this past year, I've become impressed.  I've become more than impressed, I've become convinced that he may be the one guy on the planet that can actually do what needs to be done if he can stay alive, and not be shot for his work, words, and deeds.  There are so many whack jobs out there trying to make a name for themselves, or trying to push their New World Order agenda, that his life may be in constant jeopardy. We'll have to add a few extra prayers for him now and then.

When the debates came, and he wouldn't (or couldn't) stop harassing Hillary, I was amused. I'm not going to lie. I was Twittering "Bitch stop lying!" and worse. I was screaming at the television and hoping he'd bring up the leaked emails. I was hoping he'd dominate and bust her chops more, but he was a gentlemen and held back most of his disdain for the former First Lady.   Sadly, the only time the word "Lady" is every associated with Hillary is when the word "First" is tagged with it. She's no lady. She's a witch, and a practicing one at that. Well, no worries...from what I understand, Pence and Trump are both born again, they can pray a hedge around themselves and the wrath of her kind can't touch them unless and until God wants that to happen as part of His plan.  Obama was most assuredly in God's plan. God used him to divide this nation, to bring about prophecy, and fulfill His promises. Just days before Trump stepped up and took office the Satan-lovers in the Obama camp wrecked havoc as they saw fit, but God protected Israel -- and He will always protect Israel.

The ONE thing that got my vote for Trump in the Primary was his stand on Israel.  Ben Carson was a good choice too, as was Huckabee. There were a few good people to choose from. I knew I didn't want another Bush. I didn't want Cruz, and I didn't want Rubio. Cruz is a great guy, but he's Canadian born, and I just have an issue with that....since our LAST president was Kenyan born, I have a real issue with it.  The stand Trump took for Israel was the clincher. I wanted to believe him. I watched, and I listened, and I cried when I heard that he stood up during this past week's Peace Conference (not at it, but during it) and he said he would do everything in his power to stop the 70 nations from coming against Israel, he wouldn't honor their forcing of a two-state solution, and he wouldn't back the UN in the future. LOVED that...that was that. He will be a good friend to Israel, and possibly spare America from REAL punishment from God. Trump, like me, takes God at His word when He stated in Genesis that He would bless those who bless Israel, and curse those who curse her.

Mike Pence is from Indiana. I spent 4 good years there. I loved that place. I loved that man when he was our governor. He and the man he replaced, both fantastic!  Trump and Pence make an amazing team, and I have to be honest with you, I was short sighted then, but looking toward the brightest future we've seen since Reagan, and I have to add, it may even be better.  We're going to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.

Go Trump.

Paleo, Paleo, Where For Art Thou, Paleo?

My new life, my new diet, my new way, my new challenges - here we go.  My son is a Paleo Diet eater, he looks good, so maybe it won't be so bad.  My best friend is a vegetarian, and there's absolutely no way I could do that. I'm not fond of diets, never have been a conformist in any way. I've always had to beat my own drum, even if the beats sound very familiar to someone else's drum.  I don't listen to anyone else telling me what I need to do, it has to be MY decision.  OK, it's my decision now; I'm going Paleo.

I remember when the Paleo Diet was called the "Cave Man Diet" because apparently you're allowed to eat just about anything they ate back in the way-back day. If they caught it, if it lived, if it was hanging off a tree, or growing out of the ground you can it. That's nice and all, but I'm also throwing out the lectins.  Lectins are (according to Google) "any of a class of proteins, chiefly of plant origin, that bind specifically to certain sugars and so cause agglutination of particular cell types."  Well, of course they are!  Did you catch that? What the hell is an agglutination, and really, I don't care what it is, I don't want my sugars or anything else doing that inside of me. Keep your lectins!

Lectins are found in tomatoes, potatoes, all beans, nuts, soys, any grain whatsoever, and that last one is the saddest bit of news I've ever had to type out in public.  If coffee or chocolate had lectins I'd say screw it, and die, but they don't. I can have all the dark chocolate and all the coffee I want! Take that LECTIN!! In your face!  But I digress.  Giving up grain products is part of the Paleo / Cave Man Diet too, but it allows tomatoes, and it allows potatoes. I'm choosing to let them go; just one more thing to not have to worry about in my digestive system. That area of my body hasn't been properly clean in years, and it's about time to start.

About nine years ago I started the new year with the resolution to lose 30 pounds in 60 days or something silly like that. I jumped feet first into the gambit. I swam in the lies. I was all over it for about a week before my body decided to shut me down with an unforgettable gallbladder attack. Seems you're not really suppose to go cold turkey when you're old, and you haven't properly prepared yourself for that big of a change.  What a set back! I was in the hospital for over 4 days due to complications; which of course is an entirely different blog spot, remind me to tell you what happened. I was on really really good drugs for most of the duration and I do actually remember some of the stupid things I agreed to with the nursing staff.

Again, I digress. I'll get around to letting you know how this thing works out, and when I do you'll either decide to do it as well, or you can have fun laughing at me, with me, because of me, it doesn't matter, I'm doing it!  I'm not looking to lose 30 pounds in 60 days this time, more likes 40 pounds whenever it decides to come off, but I'm going to chip, chip, chip at it until it does come off...without chips, chips, chips too! I'm going to do it one egg, one side of green beans, an apple here and there, carrots for snacks, and chicken! I'm doing the chicken thing! If I can eat all the chicken and eggs I want I should be good. I was all about those beans and tomatoes yesterday. I couldn't wait to pile on those red chunks and scarf...until I found out that lectin THRIVES in tomatoes and more so in BEANS.  What the hell? Well, it's true, and there's not a thing I can do about it. This cave woman is not caving in. I'm not allowing it, I'm saying no, and there's not a gallbladder in me now to argue! Ha!

Tonight Laura and I went to the barn to love on the horses, then we drove to Crest to get a few days worth of good from the Earth eatin'.  On the menu for the next few days will be:  eggs, turkey, chicken, beef, avocados, apples, carrots, grapes, spinach, salad (premix), pumpkin seeds, walnuts, raisins, dark chocolate, coffee, my one downfall - half and half in small amounts, and green tea. Lots of green tea will be made in the Stringfellow house my friends....strong green tea!  Raw honey is good too, but I already have it, and Reuben told me I can eat peanuts, so there's that binge too. I'll allow it as I'm just that much a rebel. I can't do anything 100% properly, it wouldn't be me if I did. There, I have my one dose of half and half, and my handful of raw peanuts. Oh, you don't like raw peanuts? You think they taste like plastic? OK...I'll eat yours, I have no issues with it.

Paleo, here I come!!  I'll keep my calendar handy so I can write down any substantial weight loss. Maybe once a week I'll weigh in. Seems like a plan. Keep reading, you'll probably find something you can relate to.

The American Mustang in My Life: Norman Brock Stringfellow

Ever since I was a kid I wanted a Mustang. I never dreamed I would actually have one, owning a Mustang isn't like owning a domesticated horse. A domesticated horse, such as a Quarter Horse, Paint, Tennessee Walker, or any number of other breeds, have one thing in common: they have been handled by humans since the day they were born. Their parents were born in captivity, their ancestors too, and that can make a huge difference in the social and emotional make up of a creature.  Think about this way; would you go out and find a wolf pup to raise in your house? Taking on a non-domesticated animal has certain challenges. I wanted to be up to accepting them without compromising the animal's experience. I didn't "own" a Mustang until I was 55 years old. I don't own him now, I have adopted him. There is a difference.

His name is Norman Brock Stringfellow today, but when he was born he was dubbed #10612979, a bay colt born to a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) captured mare probably under the age of 6. If she had been older than 6 she wouldn't have been kept once she was rounded up. She would have been treated, allowed to foal, and then returned to the herd she came from. Norman's number was shortened to #2979 when he was tagged at the facility where he was born. He was born in captivity on May 11, 2010, at the Herd Management Area holding facility called Broken Arrow in Fallon, NV. He was one of many bay colts; nothing really all that special, and certainly nothing stood out about him as the next few years passed. He was chosen or picked to be trained at a northern Nevada prisoner camp, a place where wild burros and horses are taken to be gentled and adopted out, but Norman wasn't adopted out. Somehow he had been dubbed a "hump back" and was either left untrained, or wasn't given the full training as others were. He was passed up on adoption day, and then returned to another holding facility, and onto yet a third, the Pauls Valley holding facility in central Oklahoma.

Once at the Pauls Valley BLM area #2979 was taken to two more places to be seen and examined by would be adopters. Though he would stand taller than most American Mustangs at 15.2H, and he had both back "socks" of white, as well as a star, stripe, and white snip on his dark bay face, he was not chosen at either. Perhaps it was the hump back that kept him from being picked, or perhaps the BLM had grouped him with more flashy horses and not enough adopters had shown up to pick him on either occasion. I like to think that God had other plans for Norman, and that he was saved for the day I would happen to ramble onto the premises this past October 11, 2016. I think Norman knew something was up before I knew, but however it happened, it did in fact happen, and before the adoption-ending noon bell rang, Norman was being loaded onto a trailer and being carried off to be trained by a professional TIP, or Training Incentive Program trainer.  He was adopted by ME and he was no longer a wild horse. He was on his way to being...well, domesticated.

I wasn't going to the BLM that day to adopt anything. I wasn't expecting to adopt, I wasn't thinking about adopting.  I was there to look at horses for my daughter Laura who had wanted to adopt one soon enough; she wanted to train one to become her mounted shooting partner. She and I took the day off, the 2nd Tuesday of the month, as that is when adoptions take place at the BLM in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma.  I went to help Laura. I wasn't going to find the love of my life; it just sort of happened.

When we pulled up to the gates we saw a few others standing around, waiting for the adoptions to take place. We had never been through the process, so we were hanging back and watching. We weren't participating, we were just viewing to see what would happen, how it would happen, if it happened, and why it happened. There was a woman there with her young blond daughter, the girl was about 11 years old. We watched as she galloped back and forth calling to the horses. She was home schooled, and her mother wanted to show her the animals up close, as sort of a field trip. There was a man with his wife as well, she was smallish, and seemed a bit timid around all of the barricaded animals; she looked as if she feared at any moment one of them would jump the 6 foot fencing and attack her. Nothing of the sort would ever actually happen, but she stood close to her husband just in case.   Her husband, a wealthy car-dealer from another state, was eager to find the exact horse that would make him happy. He wore an arm sling, a trophy of the effects of finding a horse that wasn't exactly the right horse.  He and his wife had decided to bring a horse back to the BLM facility in fact, one that didn't work out for him.  The man was open, fun, and smiling at all of the horses, going from one to the other, hoping to make eye contact and know instantly that he had found his match!

There was another set of people there too. There was a man, his wife, and her young adult daughter, who looked to be around 18 or so. The couple were quiet, and moved about, watching the daughter, and listening to the eager man wearing the sling. It became obvious by counting the trucks and cars in the parking lot, that these two couples had come together in a truck with a very large trailer. The fact that the quiet man had the keys in his hand, led me to know that he was the owner of the truck and trailer. This meant one thing to me, he had to be a trainer, the other man was the buyer. The man with the sling bought or adopted horses, and the quiet man trained them. I figured this out about the same time that Norman decided to put his large imposing head over the fence and onto the top of my head without warning!  "He likes you!"  said the quiet man; that point was obvious to everyone now, as the horse continued to press himself closer to me, and through the rails of the fence.  If he had arms he would have reached through the fence and grabbed me, probably holding me against his chest, it was quite interesting how Norman would not allow other horses to come near me. Using his body, his tail, his voice, and his feet, he kept all of the others away, and stayed as close to me as he possibly could. To the quiet man, who was now smiling, and sticking out his hand for an introduction, this meant that #2979 had found his match, whether or not I was obliged to return the sentiment.

"Hi, I'm Tim Brock", said the quiet man now standing in front of the larger than life horse who was refusing to release me from his gaze. I introduced myself, and listened as Tim explained that for the past few minutes he was considering taking #2979 as a TIP horse either for Jeff, the man with the sling, or just because, as he felt that the horse had more potential than others. He hadn't made up his mind, but he was thinking about it. Lauren, his step daughter, who is also a TIP trainer, had a few others in mind, and the boring big bay gelding wasn't one of the ones she wanted.  Jeff didn't want him either, he was too big, and there was that hump or high wither that didn't interest him. Laura, my own daughter, laughed at me and said, "You know, you already have your adoption application in the BLM  system, so you could take him."  I smiled. I didn't do more than that, but I did smile.  It was then that Tim explained to me how the TIP program worked. Seems he was being paid by the Mustang Heritage Foundation to train qualified horses at the BLM; ones who would then be adopted. If I wanted Norman, or as he was named #2979, all I had to do was say so. Tim would take him to Missouri where he lived and operated, train him for two or three months, and bring him back  all ready to go!  It would only cost me $125 to adopt, and whatever to bring him home, but since he'd be back to pick up others, it shouldn't be much.

Was I hearing this correctly?  I was being asked if I wanted to adopt this massive 1100 pound horse, the one standing a good hand taller than the tallest horse I would ever want? The horse that for some odd reason found me more attractive than the others at the gates that day, and the one that wasn't even all that...different. He was in fact rather ordinary if you had to be honest about it.  The Mustang I had always dreamed of owning would be smaller, around 14.2 hands maybe, and he'd be bright colored, maybe sorrel, maybe roan, he could possibly be a bay, but with a broad blaze and four white socks. This horse was staring at me, and in that moment I realized that he was absolutely perfect. There wasn't a single thing wrong with him; even his hump backed wither seemed to be saying "at least your saddle won't ever fall off".  I told Tim yes, I would adopt the horse, and yes, he could take him to Missouri to train. The only thing left to do was to let the BLM guys know, because they're the ones who actually take the money!

There's more to the story of course, and I'll save that for another blog post, but suffice it to say that on that day, October 11, 2016, #2979, a big beautiful bay American Mustang gelding became my new best friend; and naming him after the city of Norman, Oklahoma was easy! It was that or Boomer. His middle name is Brock for his trainer Tim, and of course he bears my surname.  When Gary, the BLM hand,  cut the nylon tag with the number on it from Norman's neck he handed the tag to Tim, who then handed it to me, symbolizing that Norman was no longer wild or captive.  Norman was now adopted, I think I cried in my soul.  He deserved to be loved, and on this day he demanded it.  Thank you God.

Most photos by Karin O'very (Tim's wife)

PEOPLE Magazine SHOT MY DOG!

Actually they shot all of us!

Brandi Simons (Photographer) and Shasha Gill (Hair/Make-Up Artist) got us ready for a really fun shoot for an uncoming PEOPLE magazine.

Confessions of a Writer

The man in this picture was not only a writer, he was an orator - a speaker of great power and prose. He was Temple Lea Houston, son of the great Sam Houston, our country's legendary hero. So why would I be interested in this man - well, besides being talented both as an orator and a writer, he was Oklahoma's premier lawyer of the frontier. I don't know the exact count, I used to know the numbers, he represented the little guy, the downtrodden, the poor - and without asking for much in terms of payment because he was set for life by his father's wealth, Temple Houston brought true legal justice to a group of people who otherwise would have faced jail time or worse - a noose if he hadn't been gracious, generous and giving.

That said, I also think the man was really hot and when I first found out about him all I wanted to do was read everything I could about him, trying to weasel my way into his life long enough to really get to know him intellectually. I used to tell people that my main goal once I actually got to Heaven was to track this man down. The fact that he's now had over 100 years to get to know the territory up there gives him at least a fighter's chance - but I do have time on my side. Eternity is truly - eternal.

I think the statutes of limitations has run out on what I am about to confess - and if you've read this story before somewhere, it may very well be that you have relatives in Western Oklahoma who have sent it to you after a version of my tale was recorded in the papers - making it legend itself. Truth can be stranger than fiction, and in my case, in this case, it is indeed quite strange - but I had my reasons.

It was at the time that I was reading about Temple, getting to know him through one of the only two books written about his life - Glenn Shirley's book "Temple Houston: Lawyer with a Gun". I found myself mesmerized by the very spirit of this compelling pioneer who would not only choose to leave the life of luxury that he had been given but to avoid politics in general after having been nominated for such high offices as a senator, governor, even once being asked to run for the vice presidency - he declined. After getting to know him, knowing that his temper was as fiery hot as his silver-tongue oratories were generous and lyrical, he made the right choice. Today, he would likely be arrested notably for outrages in public that you and I would consider manic at best - firing guns in the courtroom, for instance, bringing snakes in baskets to public schools to prove which ones bit and which ones didn't - you just can't do that anymore without licenses and surety bonds, letters of recommendation, and all the red tape Houston would have thrown out the door as being unnecessary.

I wanted to know the man, I wanted to hold his gun, wear his hat, sit at his desk, breathe in the air of the city he lived in - which at the time of his death was Topeka, KS, but he lived in Woodward, Oklahoma for many years prior to the actual event of his demise. To think that the museum of history in Woodward, OK was not only NOT displaying his things, they were saying they wouldn't be getting around to organizing them either.  What I did wasn't exactly criminal, as I was not told I couldn't be on the premises, I was never asked to leave either. I simply didn't leave when the ladies closed down the museum for the night.  I set out the tables in a fine and organized way, still in the back room, as I felt that there may be cameras in the front lobby. This being 1987 or so, I wasn't sure what type of technology to expect. I wanted to be safe as possible, but do as much good as I could.

When the ladies returned the next morning to open shop, the display I had created using almost all of Temple's belongings at the museum, was in fact in order and ready to be viewed - even if only in the backroom.  I was careful to use gloves, and I recorded everything in a fine and meticulous fashion. The only thing I didn't use in the display was a book owned by Temple Houston, one he had personally drawn in. I took that book home, again, not breaking any laws because it was never mentioned (or warned) that I could not. I returned it after I had cleaned it properly so that it too could be displayed (and wipe my fingerprints from it).  When I returned it I looked the front desk clerk in the eyes, handing it to her, and I said "I believe this belongs to the museum."  She looked at me with a sparkle in her eyes. It had been a few weeks since I had organized the display.  She took the book easily, gently, and she said to me "Why, yes, it does belong here. Was it a good read?"  I answered that it was. She then said, "Thank you, by the way, the display couldn't have been more tenderly created."  I smiled back at her, not wanting to betray myself, and I said..."Well, I don't know what you mean, but if I did know, I would say you're welcome."

How did I manage to evade the ladies that day, you may ask? When they went to close the museum I was the last patron. I excused myself to use the bathroom, then called out "good night" before retreating to the men's restroom. There was a bell on the front door, so I let the door close before sneaking back to the men's restroom. They never looked in the restroom for me, I never came out. It wasn't exactly against the law, but I wasn't exactly going to take the chance.