Coincidence? I Don't Believe in Them.

 It was the evening, or rather pretty late into the night on September 22, 1985, when as a young woman I found myself pregnant and unmarried at the same time.  It wasn't supposed to be this way; I was engaged, and if the truth was told, though I rarely told anyone because it was so unbelievable, I only had sex one time with my fiance, and that was on June 22, just a few months back.  Since I was now knowingly pregnant, I also knew exactly how far along I was. I also knew how far I had to go before the baby was born, but I didn't know if I was going to have a boy or a girl.  This was before everyone was able to run down to the corner and have an ultrasound or sonogram performed. Those things cost real money in 1985, and I just wasn't in the financial place I needed to be to even attempt to find out what sex my baby was, or was going to be. I'd have to let God tell me I guess. God...yeah, about that...He forgave me. I'm not sure I forgave myself.

What I remember about the dream of September 22, 1985, was the way it ended - when I woke up I used the ending to restore my memory to recall the beginning, and to try to flesh out every detail I could. Being a person who always dreams in color and in detail, it wasn't too hard to recall it, but I didn't want to miss a single thing so I remember grabbing a ball point pen and writing it down exactly as I remembered. I wrote it in the baby's Baby Book, a Disney themed book -- neutral; not for boys, not for girls. I wrote it all down.

I saw myself walking through the white metal paneled stalls of the Oklahoma State Fairgrounds.  Mid September is usually the time Oklahoma has their state fair, so that in and of itself was not surprising to me. It also wasn't surprising to me that I was in the stall or horse area because I love horses, rode them, and had recently stopped riding due to being pregnant.  I was in the barns (in my dream) and I was just casually walking through them looking for someone.  I found the person I was looking for, he was kneeling inside one of the stalls and on the outside of the gate the word "Cavalry" was painted in green letters. Some would even venture to say olive green - - Army green. 

Now, this is when the dream gets really good. I am outside the stall, looking inside the stall at a large man wearing denim jeans, boots, and a red flannel shirt, he is holding his red baseball cap while he's on his knees praying. I call to him. "Boy, come on, we gotta go" I say to him. He lifts his head a bit and nods at me and calls back, "Mom, I'm praying, I'll be there in a minute."  MOM...did he just call me MOM? Oh my goodness, this must be my son! I'm looking at my son! This was all I could think of and nothing else mattered in the world. I was going to have a boy! I was really really going to have a baby boy and God was letting me know he would be a man of faith. THANK YOU, Jesus! But wait, there's more.

I waited on my son to finish his prayer. He stood up, put his hat on his head and walked out of the stall. Importantly, he opened the gate, would not let me into it, but closed it behind himself, and then put his arm securely around my shoulder. He was standing on my right side.  As we walked through the streets of the State Fair I thought it may be fun to see Bozo the Clown, boys like clowns, right? My son, no name was given at this point, shook his head in silence. There would be no clowns.  As we walked the streets there were others also walking the streets at the same time, and as they turned to see us they were gasping, literally staring and seemingly in awe of what they took into their sights. I couldn't see what they were seeing. When I turned to my side I merely saw my son, however, when anyone (and everyone else) turned to him they saw what can only be described as a steely black giant warrior, a knight with his sword in one hand and a clinched fist in the other. I turned several times but only saw my son; ball cap, flannel plaid shirt, nodding as he passed others, not smiling, but not angry, just walking beside me. Protecting me.

This is where I called his name - - I clearly without any reason for it said, "Reuben, what are they seeing? I don't understand."  He stopped me, turned me to face his face and put his hands on my shoulders. He said "Mom, my name is Lauren Gregory. They see me. That's who they see."  With that I woke up. I woke up feeling ever so confused too; if I had a son I would most definitely name him for my father whose name is Reuben, but I would never in a million years have come up with the names Lauren nor Gregory! I decided to look up both names and see what they meant - - they had to mean something. Again, this was many years before smart phones; it was off to the library for me! I found the books I needed and found to my surprise, but not entirely surprising, that the name Lauren means "Victory" and the name Gregory means "Guardian".  I wrote it down in the book.

Six months to the day came and went. On March 22, 1986, the most beautiful baby boy was born to me, and it was my time to give him a name. I remembered the dream, but I honored my father. I also honored my sister Andralyn by naming my son Reuben Andrew Stringfellow.  He was my tiny angel. As time does, it ran over us, leaving us in its wake - - skipping ahead exactly 21 years to the day from September 22, 1985 to September 22, 2006, I heard the phone ring. It was Baby Boy, a name he doesn't always cotton to hearing when I use it. "Mom, get downtown, come to M.E.P.S. at 6th and Walker. I'm swearing in."  Swearing in.  My son was leaving me to protect me.

Upon arriving at the front door of the M.E.P.S. (Military Entrance Processing Stations) in Oklahoma City, I opened a white door - the word "Cavalry" was painted on the door -- yes, in Army green.  I walked through the door, through the halls, and called out to my son, "Reuben, are you there?"  I found him, he was on the carpet kneeling in prayer - about to stand up with his Commanding Officer. My son was wearing denim jeans, a red flannel plaid shirt, and he handed me his red Oklahoma Sooner baseball cap.  He told me to hang on to it, he'd need it when he came home.  He did it.  He became the Victorious Guardian - - he became Lauren Gregory.  My Reuben, which by way means "Behold my son!" was now no longer mine -- he swore himself away to the United States just a few minutes later; and he hasn't vanquished that promise, not even to this day.  Behold, my son, the Black Knight. The Army's mascot is The Black Knight.

Today my son serves in the very elite Oklahoma National Guard 45th Infantry Division, and he is currently (at the time of this post) a Staff Sgt.  He has deployed several times both through the regular Army, where he served 6 years and with the Guard, having now served 8 years in our state.

God truly is amazing. His grace eternal, and His love unbound.

I'm Not For Everyone!

 You know, it goes without saying...but I'll say it; I'm not for everyone. I get that, in fact, I hear that more often than not.  I've literally had people look me in the eyes and say "Oh my goodness, you're just out there! You're .... not for everyone, are you?"  The simple answer is "No, I am not."  Then again, if you think about it, who would really be for anyone? HOW BORING would the person need to be in order to be suitable for every last one of us? This can't even be a possibility really, because I'm part of that "everyone" and I certainly wouldn't want to end up with a blase beige of an individual who could neither find it in themselves to have an opinion or to challenge mine. Nope, I'm not for everyone, and this is where I say "Thank you, Jesus."

I've written a book that I will publish soon enough titled "I'm the Only Me I Could Ever Be". I think there's a quaint crop of it here in a blog somewhere, in fact, all of my blogs should give you a bit of insight as to exactly what sort of crazy, wonky, nutter, space case I really am - - or am I? The terms could be reversed you know; I could be "clever as a fox" or even "feigning as a possum"; you've seen fainting goats haven't you? Maybe I'm a fainting goat just waiting for you to walk by so I don't have to deal with you - - ever thought of that? The truth is, we are all 100% perfectly made both in the image of God and in His perfect plan. I am me, you are you, we are we, and we are .... well, all together.  

I was not given the gift of music but I do in fact, never go an hour without it. I'll either hum something to myself, play an LP, turn on Pandora, make-believe I'm a rock star, and belt something out, but there will be music -- but I don't have that enormously gracious gift that God has chosen to give to others. I can't tabulate, I don't even know what a tab is, and I certainly can't expect my fingers to cooperate when my brain is wondering where to put them on the neck of a guitar - - but I do own a couple of really cool guitars. Maybe I'm thinking I'll someday learn, maybe I'm thinking I'll just hold them and dream I'm able to play. Maybe I'm just thanking God for those who actually do have this talent. I know I appreciate it.

I, instead of music, have been given the gift of discernment. I've talked about it before, but it has actually been getting in the way lately - - the only way I can compare it to show you what I'm talking about is to use an over exaggerated example of this:  My discernment has been in overdrive lately, and it gets noticed, much like it would be noticed if Eddie Van Halen (rest in peace) were to stand on Aisle 9 at Walmart and start blasting out riffs all too familiar to some, hideous to others, and quite confusing to most! I've been waking up thinking things, going to bed thinking things, minding my own business thinking things, and then when I'm not thinking things I wonder why I'm not thinking those things and how I could be affecting those who I'm constantly thinking of.  If you were Eddie and you were playing your guitar 24/7 at a relatively loud level of volume, you MAY begin to understand how I'm feeling right now; I love the music - - thoughts, but is it really necessary?

To give you another example, I was hosting my friend the other day at home, we were just having coffee and I asked her if she always wore socks with holes in them or if this was a new fashion statement.  Her toes were securely inside her shoes, and she hadn't taken them off, so she stared at me and asked how I knew she had a hole in the big toe of her sock? I don't know the answer to that. I don't know how I know a thing, why I know things, or even if there is a reason for some of the things I am aware of - - it just happens and I can (often do) end up blurting something out of my mouth (or keyboard) without thinking how the other person is going to take it - - it's not easy to take, I'm sure. 

It doesn't stop with socks. I know when people in front of me at the store have just gone through a family trauma; God tells me in ways you can see as well, but I end up paying attention. Body language, eye contact, lack of eye contact, subtle moves, and noises people make. Often times it comes to what they don't say when they typically say things, or what they don't mention on a podcast when they used to mention it, or more blatantly when they are flat out asked and they avoid the question entirely. Yeah, I noticed. 

Having a medical doctor in the family would be a really good thing right? That person could help you diagnose issues of your physical body, maybe make a few suggestions to help you feel better. Maybe having a mechanic in the family would be useful? Can you see where I'm going with this particular analogy? Having someone with the ability to see, hear, feel, smell, even taste your anxiety, your depression, your hurting, your needs would be...I don't know -- GOOD!  But I often overstep myself and ask questions so penetrating from a place others think is being forward or intrusive, but in my heart and in my soul the question is both needed and warranted. I have the answers. I really do. I am so very very grounded in my walk with Christ that I absolutely understand what a person who is suffering needs to do - - unfortunately, most of the time, these people who do suffer from these ailments see me as being blunt, forceful, again I'll say intrusive when my actual intention is love, just simple old-fashioned understanding, and love. For some, even mentioning the "L" word is intrusive. If they only knew how powerful LOVE really is.

Love is all.  I think the Hebrew language has many variations on the word "love", different words for the one word we Americans use and that's a good thing. Instead of simply saying "I love you", we could be using a more accurate and precise word such as "I really want you to understand that the feeling you're having is normal, and we have all had it. If you care to follow a few simple exercises you can get over the anxiety for now, and work on a way to keep it at bay."  That's how precise some of the words for "Love" are in that beautiful language.  We are deprived when it comes to the true essence of the word - - we are misunderstood. Because we are labeled as aggressive, (stalking) or invasive, we are also labeled as an outcast for trying or having the audacity to believe we have the right to CARE! 

Well, I'm not going to lament over this issue. I know the Truth.  God, Jesus Christ is the TRUTH, and He made me who and exactly who I am. He has given me both talent and strengths that I will forever use to honor Him, not to hurt you or anyone else - - my prayer today would not be to belt out a few chords and rock out to "JUMP" in the middle of the candy aisle, but to stand firm knowing I will be here if you need me. I will listen if you speak. I will cherish your thoughts as if God had gifted me with them, and I will pray with and for you - - like music, prayer heals.  Let go, let God. 

If I can help you, (and I mean this) let me. It's tantamount to you singing a song for someone or painting a seascape - - I can't paint either.  Nope. I can't. I suck! LOL.

Pulling My Weight in Weights.

 OK, OK, I'm lying -- I'm pushing my weight in weight, but not pulling it yet. I can pull 70 pounds at the moment and that's about 40% of my weight - - Oh no, did I just tell you how big I am right now? OMG! I'm OK, I'll survive it. I'll be past my goal weight in a few months; right now I'm on the LOSING TEAM for sure.  We have a group of us at the Y calling ourselves the Losers, but with a really good purpose. For every pound each of us loses the others give up a $1.00 to the charity we all decided was a good cause. This charity is a homeless shelter for women and children here in the Oklahoma City area, and believe me, I hope (to God) that we all lose every single pound we ever hoped to lose and maybe a few more. The shelter needs our help - - we need our help -- we all need God. 

As I have mentioned in the past, the YMCA is literally across the street from where I live, so I have no problems going three or four times a week. I decided not to go every day, but to dance on my "off" days and do my stretches and "doga-catoga" every morning when possible.  The dog and cat insist on the workouts, so it's not like I really have a choice. At least 10 minutes will be spent bending, pulling myself, stretching, and reaching for whatever animal is closest and/or furthest away.  It does work toward the ultimate goal(s) of both loving one's creatures and stretching one's tight muscles.  

I go to the Y usually around 12:00 noon and stay only 20 minutes. During that time I'm focused and working my poor bones like a military machine for about 19 of those 20 minutes, only allowing seconds between machines. If one of my favorite machines is taken, no problem, there's another one, there's always a substitute at my Y.  Because it is located across from the hospital I am in no way fearful of dying on the floor - - someone will scoop me up and drive me across the way to the Emergency Room. I can die a proper death at that point rather than being hunched over a leg press with sweat pouring out of my face like a maniac. I would at least pray that the coroner or someone give me a good cleaning before the funeral, that's always my biggest concern in my dreams anyway. 

I start the march with the crunch machine, pushing about 150 pounds (nearly my weight) in a backward motion, hands clasped behind my head. I stay there pushing for about 4-5 minutes or until my belly screams and says I've reached its peak.  Next, the arm pull (doing 70 pounds now!!) and I do about two fast sets of 15 before putting the weight back to 50 and do another couple of sets at a much slower pace. Next is another arm machine, but instead of biceps it works the back of my arms and my entire chest. I can only push 30 pounds on it due to the angle of my arms being slightly behind me when I push downward. I can do two sets of 20 without too much happening but let me try to start the third set and my chest starts reminding me that my heart hasn't been 20 in a few years.

After the chest and arms I do the ever-so-lovely leg presses. There are two at the gym that I use, but there are 6 variations of it. I like the one I call the ankle press. I don't really know its real name. You pump your ankles and push weight (150) and you feel it up the sides and back of your calves. The next is the standard leg press, again at 150 to 170, depending on my heart and what it is recommending. If I'm about to faint at this point I do 150 and do 40 pushes, if I'm doing OK I do the 170 at 30 pushes. It's always a gamble - - such a surprise!  What will it be? Will she fall over or walk out on her own today?

The last machine is the new addition to my routine, the squat machine. I'm doing 140 now, and because I did break down and ask for assistance, I do know how to lower the weights to be effective. I should be doing 120 but it was already set at 140 and I thought why not! I can do this. It was not easy. I was about to simply let it go to the floor and me with it, maybe roll out from under it, maybe not be seen, but you know there are cameras there both for insurance purposes and to have a really cool video for the monthly bloopers that I'm absolutely sure the workers compile for fun - - I would. I would so do that! I would even sign a waiver allowing them to show my oops as well - - I'm hilarious! I don't mind rolling out from under a massive squat machine laughing while six ladies all older than I am come over to assist me! ( Not only is the Y across from the hospital, but they have a following of mainly seniors. I'm literally one of the youngest members.)  We have fun.

After 19-20 minutes of torture, I can barely make it home before the sweat appears and the heart stops pounding out my name in its weird little clickity click click bump rhythm. My heart has an extra "click" to it, no one knows why, it's been there this entire time, probably not going to change, I live with it until I don't.  It has stopped on me a couple of times -- I decided to sign a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order just in case -- NO ONE is going to cheat me out of going to see Jesus if I have a legitimate claim to do so. NO ONE. I don't give a damn if you want another three or four years out of me, NO. If I can go to Heaven and hang with my Papa and my Uncle Marvin, you better get out of my way!

It's been since August I guess since I've been losing the weight on a steady and not-so-steady basis. I have dropped 26 pounds I think, I have another 26-30 to go. I'll do it, I'll make it, it will happen. I'm down three dress sizes and will consider wearing a dress now. I'm riding better, my horse appreciates me, my dogs appreciate the extra time I give them. The cats could really care less, but as long as I'll deign to rub one or the other if it happens to cross my path, it's all good. They pretend they don't care I think. I think they may. I'm not going to lower myself to ask. We nod at each other. We know.

Work it out.  It works. 

Metaphysical Much? (A repost from 2008)

 Because I am a born-again Christian, it has been beaten into me from birth that all things strange, out of the ordinary, that which cannot be explained and/or examined is, therefore, of the Devil. I always tell people that I used to be a Baptist, but now I'm a Christian. I mean that. Nothing against the Baptists...they are awesome, but I don't call myself one. I call myself Christian.

  

Being raised in the Baptist church was fantastic for me. It gave me the sense of spirit and love that I needed from God and the head knowledge to win every trivial game involving the names, dates, events, and locations dealing with the Bible. I can say all 66 books of the Bible are in order, and I can tell you the various differences and similarities between the prophecies of Daniel and the Book of Revelation. I know all about the Rapture, the Second Coming, Armageddon, and eternal peace, which will follow the Millennium of peace on Earth and the destruction of both Earth and Heaven. What I cannot do as a Baptist is to have true FAITH. I got out of the box that is organized religion and have found the true essence of my soul - which is Christ. Being able to walk through walls, to walk across water, turn water into fine wine, and ascend and descend at will seems a bit out of the ordinary and probably couldn't readily be explained. 

  

I decided to leave the box of organized religion when I couldn't get anyone in the box to explain the verses in the Bible dealing with the Angels and the giants and the true whereabouts of Eden. I couldn't find solid answers to some of the things we are expected to simply believe - which means we DO accept the metaphysical, but we don't talk about it. If spirits existed, then they exist today, and I am willing to bet that they will outlive us all - except for the fact that we are actually...go ahead and say it with me - Eternal! I talk to Sam. Sam is always with me; Sam has been with me since before I was born. Sam is my Guardian Angel, and though his actual name is Theonopholus, I still call him by the name I gave him when I became aware of him at 6. That's another unanswered question I had to deal with. I asked my preacher, my teacher, my Sunday School teacher, my mother, or anyone with a background in the church who this guy was that was hanging over my shoulder (left) and why he was so prevalent, even to the point of interrupting me when I was about to cuss someone out...not at 6, but later on. They couldn't answer. I couldn't see him, but he was there. He needed a name, and I gave him one. He seems to like it when I ask his advice. 

  

I am the type that will intentionally shake up the bag to see the contents mix about. It's not beyond me to ask someone a question that will define our boundaries or borders socially. It's not a game but an awareness. Since I'm actually pretty damn aware of the way I live and love, I often wonder if anyone else out there thinks the way I do.  Is it a Celtic gift? Some say my ancestors could tell truths - - I know I think things, and they happen. It's not an everyday event, thank God, or some people's lives would surely be ruined.  I love to dance. It's good that God decided not to give me the gift of ZAP!

  

Knowing this will help you understand who it is you are keeping company with through my words. Knowing who you are and what you are capable of is such a gift. Money isn't important when you have clear goals - money doesn't even play a role. I get it as I need it. I use it as I need to, and I usually see it coming and going without fear. Now, if I could only convince my creditors of this method of believing in one's ability to do what is necessary. That, or perhaps I need to dream larger... Most of the time, my dreams are really too busy to include making money. I'm either making love to a beautiful bearded Scottish man who was at one point wearing a kilt or just enjoying the peace that I dare to expect. Dreams are good, and you can control them if you work at them.  I work at this. 

Something else is strange about me. When I walk through stores, people find me and ask me questions out of the blue about nutrition, and I'm not exactly thin yet. They ask me questions about their lives, what to do about a situation, or where they should be right now in their world of existence. I'm not kidding you. I must have a target on my face that reads in bold letters, "Ask Me Anything I'll Try to Help You," because I'm singled out of crowds in Times Square. I've been picked out by flight attendants at 35,000 feet. I would like to look into the future and come up with 6 lucky numbers on a weekly basis. That would be nice, but the truth is (obviously) that money isn't what I need at the moment. I've been doing well enough without it long enough. Maybe it would just screw things up for me. 

  

The truth is - the truth is there. It sits in front of us, lays around us, floats above us, and all we have to do is look at it squarely and accept that it is. It's not going to change. If people want to ask me for help, I will try to help them. What will be, and what will be is. So, whatever you think you will achieve, you will - good or bad. Whatever you think you will be - you will be, again, favorable or not. It's all being drawn to you by you and through you. I've often been accused of being aloof if someone cuts me down - it's not that I'm aloof, no, that I don't believe them. I have to accept an insult before it becomes one. If I don't accept it to my soul - it merely vaporizes with the words themselves - and is gone. Hence the existence of very strong self-esteem. 

  

What does my future hold? God knows, and I wait.  I've accepted a "Don't Worry, Be Joyful" way of life. It beats worrying all the time, and besides, I don't have time to worry if I'm using that time to dance. Spirit people, it's the SPIRIT. Let HIM LEAD YOU!  

I Call Him Sam.

 I may have been around six years old when I first gave my heart to Jesus; I had been a sickly kid and knew what it meant when my mom taught me to pray "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."  I had been in and out of the hospital a few times with pneumonia, asthma, double-pneumonia, and a whooping cough that mom says just wouldn't lend anyone to believe I was human! Being born about a month premature, weighing in just under six pounds and having to fight for every breath may have contributed to my characteristic meanness because I just won't give up or give in. I don't know how! I'd rather fight my way through a mess than let it take me over, and I sure won't let you or anyone else know I'm dying if I am, I put that sort of nonsense to rest and speak only to God about it. He's in charge, isn't he?

Around the same time I gave my heart and soul to Christ I began asking questions of the preacher, my Sunday School teacher, my mom, granny, and anyone else who I thought may know the answer to the hard questions a little squirt can have.  "Where is Heaven, anyway?", "Was I alive in Heaven before being born here?"  I tend to dream that I was alive and well up in a place much like people describe as Heaven, and I was with a little boy, we were playing and dancing, and I slid in and out of the colors of the Rainbow with him. I'd pop up and have a different color all over me, and we loved that game. He had to be blue, I must be gold. That was the thing, that was the rule - - but he's not Sam. He's probably my best friend and I'll see him again as we both Wait to Fly.

After I became a Christian and got a few answers to my questions, I asked another question about my own personal Guardian Angel because I could feel him over my left shoulder and around my back. He was always there even though I could never actually see him. The thing is, he was the same angel that I knew and felt in Heaven, and even though I didn't see him there either, he was always there helping me and he could be described openly as being the wind, the thing that lifted me, the power behind my belly laugh, he was always there with me. I don't think he even left for a minute between the time I realized I wasn't saved and the time I accepted Christ because the two moments happened almost simultaneously - - what a blessing! I didn't ever, not even for a day, go without knowing Jesus! 

"What's his name?" I asked my Sunday School teacher. "Who?" , she asked. "The angel on my back, the one I talk to. What's his name?"  She wasn't the sort of teacher to shush me, and to tell me to go out and play with the other kids, not to bring up matters that couldn't or shouldn't be discussed.  She leaned into me and said softly, "Well, he's your angel, I suppose you can call him whatever you want to call him. He probably has a name already, but you can name him whatever you want."  That answer must have satisfied me. I immediately began calling my angel - - some would say my imaginary friend - - "Sam". He was Sam now. He was there, he had always been there, he was quiet, but his silence could be quite loud at times when he needed me to pay my utmost attention. He wasn't a frilly silly tiny-wing-flapping angel that had a little halo light and a plastic harp...he was big. I didn't know how big, and I wouldn't know how big until 1981; some 15 years after he and I were on first name terms.

July 27, 1981 rolled around and as usual in Oklahoma, it was hot.  I was driving my little V.W. Bug to church so I could board the bus and head off to Santa Fe, New Mexico for a retreat with about 50 others from both the singles groups and the young married groups of our church.  I was single.  As I sat parked in my car at the light on the main drag of Bethany, Oklahoma waiting on the light I felt a pretty good bump -- it was like something hit my car from behind and maybe it even pushed me forward a bit. I remember looking down at my hands because they weren't on the steering wheel and before I knew it a man in a ball cap and overalls was opening my door and yanking me out of the car!  "Where is the man?" he asked frantically, as he stood holding me (actually hugging me) and pointing to the backseat of my car.  

MY CAR!!! Oh my gosh!!  My back bumper was crinkled and was poking into the back of the drivers seat! The left back fender was gone, the wheel blown out, and the entire left side (driver's side) crunched and crushed in what can only be described as a heap of junk metal.  "There wasn't anyone else in my car, I was alone."  I answered the man - - turns out he was the driver of the Mack dump truck that had literally ran over my car because he wasn't paying attention and when the light turned green up in front of him he just moved forward, not realizing there was a car in front of him. Insisting that there was a man in the backseat, and hugging me tighter than medical professionals would advise these days for someone who had just been pulled from the ruins of a wrecked vehicle, the man was adamant that there was a "White man....a...white....wait, he was white. He was like chalk white, alabaster white. He was...he was huge."  As the man slowed down his description I knew what (who) he had seen. "Oh, that must have been Sam. He's usually on my left side and around my back."  I said this to the poor man as if anyone and everyone hung out with their Guardian Angel on a daily basis...."He's fine, he's behind me. He's OK. You didn't hurt him."

This was of course, before cell phones, so the two of us walked to the drug store just to the left of where we left the vehicles. We called the Bethany police, and we called my dad, who came up from home just a few miles away, and he went on to take me to the church.  The busses were kind enough to wait on me! I was really excited about that. I don't think I gave my car much thought to be honest. I knew my dad had it under control. I just went to Santa Fe and hung out with great people. Glen Campbell the singer gave his testimony that weekend, and I came face to face with a mountain lion for the first time in my life that wasn't at the zoo!  Again, I didn't really get scared, I just walked away quietly and told my friend not to go up that way -- mountain lion.  To say that now makes my eyes pop out just a little. I just wasn't the type to freak out I guess.

Sam made another appearance a few years later, and I could go into all the times we've met face to face, or I've spoken to him through a dream state only to realize I wasn't really sleeping.  Angels are not to be worshipped, they are to be spoken with, appreciated, and even questioned, but never worshipped. I was having that discussion with Sam in my dream state one evening and as I leaned over and said something like ...."you know Sam..."  he stopped me; he put up his hand (which if I'm honest is about the size of a pizza pan) and he said sweetly, "Judy, my name is Theonopholous, just so you know."  LOL...OK! Well, I did think that Theonopholous was a pretty cool name, not gonna lie, but he had been Sam just a bit too long for me to start calling him Theo at this point! Sam it is!  Every now and again I'll lean back a bit and whisper a thank you to the being that he is - - and I've even used his real name once or twice, but just like no one really calls me Judy, the name I was born with, I don't use his real name either. He's always and forever Sam.

Sometimes I wonder if when we get to Heaven if he'll still hang out with me. We won't need guardians at that point.  He must know his days and nights of employment are coming to an end - - but there's just that glimmer of hope that I have that he'll choose to hang with me in eternity and we'll dance and play on that Rainbow again with my buddy and maybe with his guardian angel.  I wonder if Sam knows that particular angel. I'd ask my Sunday School teacher, but she's gone now - - then again, if you think about it, she's up where the REAL answers are! I may have to ask her tonight. 

Be blessed.  Remember what the Bible says about angels -- often times we as humans entertain them and we aren't even aware of it.  Well, often times...we are aware of it. 

Another Pound Bites the Dust!

 YEA!!  YEA!!  It's been just over five months and I'm down over 26 pounds. I have another 25-30 to go if I'm honest with myself, so maybe in a few more months, I can write the blog claiming to have met my goal weight and tell you all the timely and untimely stories, reveal to you all my not-so-well-kept-secrets, and make it all seem like it was just a walk in the FREAKING park!  (You can't see me laughing but I'm about to wipe another wee tear from the corner of my eye!  I lost another pound!!

Today is January 27, 2021, back in early August 2020, I woke up and decided to weigh myself. I said to myself "C'mon, you have to know where you are so you know what you need to do to lose it. You have to know where you are weight-wise so you can know what goals you want to set."  I had NO IDEA what I was about to do was going to send me into such a spiral of emotions! Having not stepped on a scale for almost a year, maybe 8 months, I really didn't have any idea just how heavy I was. You know how it is, all your friends and co-workers say things like, "You look good" or "Well, you could tone a little, but you're OK".  They say that because they don't want to hurt your feelings. OH MY GOSH, my feelings needed to be slaughtered! Those damn feelings were literally sitting on my body and needing to be exercised - - cut off, starved, banned, and forbidden to return! 

I couldn't believe the number, and no I won't say it until I lose all of my weight and can come to you and show you the evidence - - I was too upset to take a photo of the number on the digital scale. I cried and I didn't go anywhere that day. I hadn't started my temporary assignment yet, but if I had started it I would not have been able to go into work from what I call onslaught depression!  I say "depression" because I was instantly saddened by the number, but at the same time I was FURIOUS with myself for having allowed myself to get to the point that I literally weighed almost as much as my fully grown son who of course works out and is absolutely healthy for his size and frame, but I WEIGHED AS MUCH as he did almost, maybe 3 or 4 pounds under him, but that was not acceptable and I knew there had to be another way for me to live.  I did what I always do in these types of cases - - I prayed about it.

Once I left the closet from praying and could see through my tears that were still pouring down my dampened face, I made myself a few promises: I wouldn't overdo it, I wouldn't force it, I wouldn't try to make it happen overnight, and I wouldn't weigh myself until I knew I had lost at least 10 pounds. There was just no reason to keep the feelings raw - - It was war, and war means making plans as well as carrying out those plans without making a big fuss about it and alerting the enemy. In my case, I was my own enemy, so I decided to just do what I knew was best -- stop the insanity by putting down the snacks, walking away from sugar, and changing what I could change to make small but significant differences.

Have you ever walked into your own kitchen, opened up your own cabinets, and taken inventory of what YOU bought at the store? You, if you're like me, maybe a creature of habit, thinking you have to have this snack or that one, you must keep at least two of these in the house, and by all means, you need that!! That, whatever that is, is just so important to your well-being, you couldn't thrive or survive without THAT....that had to go! That was the first thing to hit the trashcan! THAT was sugar! I found jellybeans, Ike & Mikes, Laffy Taffy, Twizzlers, gummie bears, and chocolate mix for my milk. I found breakfast bars that could only be described as sugary oatcakes with fake or nearly fake fruity filling. I found grape juice, and you think "that's not bad, is it?"  Have you seen the amount of sugar poured into Welch's grape juice? Even the 100% juice has about 25 grams of sugar in it, and here I was thinking I was being all healthy -- NOPE.

After I cleaned my cabinets and cupboards of sugar-filled foods I found I had so much more room for vegetables, real fruit, nuts, seeds, and actually healthy protein bars that I could use to supplement my daily diet without making it feel like I was starving to death between meals.  The hardest part would be lowering the portions of food that I ate because I could put down some pasta, let me tell you. If there's one food group I love its noodles and that's just not a good plan when you're at war with your own body.  The amount of carbs in pasta is outrageous - - so outrageous that pasta is literally on my cheat list and I only eat it once a month now - - and I cut my portion in half.  If I lament about any food that would be it. I can do without desserts. I can do without creamy gravy and sauces, but take away my noodles and I stare at you - - drilling holes into your soul. 

After the change in the diet came the change in my exercise routine. I had to get a routine because I had sold mine for sugar a few years back and needed to remind myself that I too was worthy of being both healthy and attractive. I knew that exercising was going to hurt and it was going to be something I couldn't play at - - if I was serious about it I needed to bring in the big guns. I needed to hire a professional. I needed what every woman needs when she's literally 50-60 pounds overweight and realizes that she could be dying without really understanding her own contribution to her own demise. I called my son and asked him to do what he does - - for me this time, not for the soldiers, he's been training for years.  I brought in both the best physical training expert, but one who had a vested interest in seeing to it that his new charge was going to survive his program. 

We started out easy as that's the way to do it.  I went to work about a week after I started the program, and realized that most of the time I was sitting but I could be standing if I wanted to. I put the chair in the corner and chose to stand.  I walked about 5,000 steps every day, measuring it with my new FitBit that I bought just for the occasion.  I gradually worked my way up to 10,000 steps a day, and when that happened the boy put me into a workout program at the YMCA which is literally located across the street from where I live. It's been there the entire five years I've lived here, just to show you how far gone I was. I could have been so much healthier for so much longer, but I CHOSE to be an unhealthy woman...that was ME. I made that decision and it was (and is) time to change that forever.

My daily workout now is so much different than it was five months ago. First of all, I'm working out every day either at the gym or at home. In the beginning, I was only working out every other day and my dang body hurt so much from the last time I worked out, I wasn't able to really push it that hard until after the third month, I'm not kidding. I was still seeing the scale go down but my clothes weren't really feeling much looser than they were; maybe just a little bit.  Finally, after a terrible 60+ days of being the EXACT same weight, I found a way to break through the plateau and make things go in the right direction.  I am NOT kidding. I went 60+ days at the same stupid weight number - by this time I was weighing myself every day because my son insisted on it, telling me that even an ounce difference would be an indicator of what I needed to continue to do or stop doing. He was right.

I bought an online canister of BHB powder and began drinking 8-10 ounces of water with one scoop around 11:00 a.m. every day, just after breakfast and before lunch.  I do the intermittent fasting from 6:00 p.m. to 10:00 a.m. every day, so breakfast at 10, BHB at 11,  work out around noon, lunch around 1, and the only snacking I do is a homemade trail mix that I came up with that has sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, cranberries, walnut pieces, and a few chocolate chips.  I eat a good dinner at or before 6 and I don't eat after that - - I do drink an enormous amount of green tea! I will tell you, from noon to nine when I go to bed (yes, I go to bed at nine) I drink about 10 cups of green tea either hot or cold. It starts out hot, ends up being cold, and I fill it back up with hot, allowing it to get cold again. It's a thing. I don't mind cold green tea - - no sugar.  I'm weird, I know.

So, today I got out of bed and the funniest thing happened; my shorts fell off of my body before I made it to the bathroom.  They do have a drawstring, and I had tightened it I'm sure, but when I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom - - boom! The shorts hit the floor.  There I was, mooning my dog! After going to the bathroom and washing my hands, I did what I do routinely now, I stood on the scale. I sort of halfway expected it to say what it said, but when I looked down and saw it with my own two eyes I felt so ... awesome.  Not only had another pound come off my body, but I could honestly say I will never be officially "obese" again. With that one pound, I went from a BMI level of obese to overweight. I can handle that so much easier - - I'm definitely winning this war. 

What is it then? Is it dieting? The exercise? Is it the routine that is making all this a reality for me? No. It's the prayer.  You have to understand that until you give it all up to God you can't have anything whatsoever. When we think we know what we're doing and leave God out of it, we are doomed from the start.  I remember leaving that closet that August morning and saying "God this is you, this is all you. Tell me how to do it, what to do, when to do it, and I'll do it."  It just feels so much better to know that I am NOT in this alone. I have an awesome God who gives me the nod every day saying I'm doing what I knew to be good and He is pleased.  LISTEN to your heart and follow the Word. That's my advice anyway - - and it seems to be working for me; give it a try.  God bless.  (The photo is my son with his face looking up, and his friend J.J. They are at the Battle Frog obstacle race in Indiana. They do this every year.)  I weighed as much as either one of these guys - - NOT NOW! Woot!!

Girls Don't Fight Fairly - - Why Expect It?

 Please!!  EVERY time I hear someone say "He fights like a girl" I just want to laugh right out loud and say, "Oh, you mean he's about to kick some ass, without taking names? 'Cause I've NEVER known a girl to fight fairly."  (I say "fairly" with the "ly" because it's an adverb situation, and ultimately the proper way to say that particular statement.)

No! Girls do not, do not, do not, fight fairly, and no one on God's green Earth should expect them to. Why in God's raging Hell should we fight fairly? What's the point of fighting if you're just going to obey rules and regulations which could somehow give away your next move? NOPE...we do not, we will not, we should not, and we won't ever fight fairly - - be forewarned.

When my son was just under four months old he and I were living in this tiny rinky-dinky little flat that didn't have central heat and there was only one door in or out, just one entrance.  Sometime in the middle of the night a man I didn't know (drunk, raging angry at his ex) came to my door - - he began pounding on the door and demanding that I give him his baby! He was absolutely insane with his fury, but because I didn't have a telephone at the time (before cell phones) I had to try to convince him that I wasn't his ex, I wasn't who he thought I was, my baby was in fact MY baby, and I needed him to leave before I called the police.  "Ha!" he cried, "I already cut the damn telephone line, bitch", was his retort.  ACTIVATE PLAN B.

Plan B for me was to quickly toss my son into the closet with as many blankets and pillows around him as possible while simultaneously continuing my conversation with the drunk, letting him know I was not about to let him walk into my house and steal my son. I reminded him at least a dozen times that I was not who he thought I was -- all the while talking I was in the kitchen pulling out the drawers and locating two large cutlery knives, one a Butcher the other a serrated slicer. I found the knives, and I also found a half roll of duct tape in the same drawer - - Plan B, Part B crystalized in my brain.

Strapping the two knives to the inside of my wrists (both, and no it wasn't easy) I managed to use my teeth to cut the tape and place myself in an awkwardly dominating position on top of my couch facing the front door  JUST IN CASE the man decided he had heard enough back talk and wanted to enter my home!  He wanted to entered my home!  BOOM! The man used all of his weight and force to come crashing through my door only to see a half naked angry mother bear on top of a couch with two stainless steel killing mechanisms strapped to her in a position of upward motion rather than an obvious downward one - - this man was about to be split six ways to Sunday and I didn't give a damn if he spewed his nasty blood all over me, my couch, my floor, the ceiling, the walls, he was going to DIE! 

It didn't take the man more than his initial first second of entry to realize he was standing at Hell's gate and I was about to Sparta his butt right over the pit!  "Oh!" he let out - - "You ain't Darla!"  NO I AM NOT DARLA!  I am the mother of a baby boy who is resting silently without any knowledge of his maniac mother about to take the life of a would be kidnapper - - I am a MOTHER and you do not ever mess with a momma's baby -- you just never want to do that; even the most gentle of beings will fight to her death when her baby is endangered.  What are rules? What are signs? What are regulations if all we know is to protect?

I'd like to say that I've grown out of the raging maniac stage in my life, but I'd be lying if I said that. If someone tried to take my kid(s) today, my grandkids, even my dog probably, they'd find that I have a really nasty side still thriving inside my veins - - thank God I've kept her quiet all these many years.  Jesus has been such a good friend to keep me at bay and from exposing myself - - (giggles).

The Power of Prayer

 You say to me with clinched jaw,  "I'm not going to give you anything. You can't make me, and I would never give you anything!"  OK, that's fair,  never asked for anything from you.  You see, when I need something I don't ask you; I ask God.  

Let me ask you a few questions, and you tell me from your heart, from your soul the truthful answer. When you need something, when you really truly want something who do you ask? Who do you go to to pray and ask for that desire? I don't bow my head, get on my knees, hide in the closet and ask YOU for anything. No, if I want something, I go straight to God and I ask Him for whatever it is that I want, and you really don't even come into the picture as far as being able to either produce that desire for me, or to have to authority to give it to me. No. You don't, and you can't. You aren't God. You are not Jesus.

If Jesus, being Jesus, opens a door are you able to shut it?  If He should shut a door are you able to open it? I believe there is a verse or two about that; the answer is simply no, we are not able to open that which He has closed, and we are not possibly able to shut that which He has deemed to stay open. Who are we? He is GOD, so we go to GOD, we don't ask men, there's NO ONE alive or dead (for those who pray to Mary, the various saints, or their dead ancestors) who can bring about a thing, a tiny possible thing even if we begged them to produce it. It's not there, it has never been there, it will never be there, ONLY GOD. 

If you ask of something from God am I able to stop it? Would I have some sort of power or authority over you to make whatever it was that you really wanted NOT be given to you? Then if you are able to say no to my question, why would you begin to imagine that you have any authority or power over my prayer or my desire? You don't. Again, we don't pray to men. We ask of God. We don't trust men (I say men, but I also mean women), we ask and trust ONLY God.  Seems so simple, but really, it's very deep and ultimately profound. There is only one name, only one source, only one fount from which that blessing of life is given; and the security of our being sustained. God....through Jesus' name.

I am secure in knowing. I am secure in my believing, and in my faith, that when I bow my head and ask for my heart's desires I am being heard because I have fulfilled my end of the passage's instructions (obligations) in that I have delighted myself solely in God - - HE is my rock, He is my refuge. I will never ask anyone for anything but through the power of the prayer to Him through the name of His Son Jesus, and in doing so, well, the giving has been set in motion hasn't it? Be still and know He alone will be the giver, and He alone can take away. The good news is, He will never tell one person one thing and another person the opposite thing - - that would NOT be God's way.  If it is to be, it is to be, and there is nothing more to do than to thank Him.  Be blessed and know that if you are being prayed for by someone who truly loves you and wants God to bless you - - you will be fine. You are already fine. You are more than fine, you are divinely covered. 

The power of prayer is one thing, but through the name of Jesus is a GREAT and powerful thing. 

Closet Christian. (I am one)

 Do NOT ask me to come out of my closet as a Christian, because I'm INSIDE my closet because I'm praying! When I say be a closet Christian, I really really mean it, I want you to be on your bum in the middle of your closet (I use a chair to sit on actually, which was a talk starter for my friend when she came over to help me clear out my closet of old clothes to donate.) BE IN THE CLOSET and on your knees if you feel more comfortable in that position, but however you may be seated, be in prayer! That's the place to do it, and there is scripture to back me up on this one too just so you know. If you don't have a closet to get into it's OK...God's OK if you go to the bathroom too. Just remember to close the door.

Matthew's account of the Gospel tells us in Chapter 6, verse 6 to go into the closet to pray, and when you go into the closet you are to shut the door. There must be a reason for that direction - - I looked it up further and the reason(s) seem to stem from Greek and Hebrew words that correlate to the word "close". The King James says this:  

"But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."

Remember the other verses about praying in secret? There's the old tale in the Bible how the proud man stood in front of the window to pray every day so others would think he was pious and doing God's will, but the humbled man, who was ashamed of his personal sin, hid from the view of others, could hardly speak to God, and in fact, he beat himself in anguish because of his sin. That man's prayer was heard, not the prayer of the really proud man -- he received his "reward" having been seen by his peers as being a doer in the word. Aren't many Christians like that today? I mean, c'mon, we all want to be seen doing the right thing, wearing the right clothes, hanging with the right people, and you know -- being RIGHT!  God has another word for it - - it's not pious and it's not righteous when we do that, it's self-serving, it's pride, and it's sin!  Get yourself in that closet and close that door. If someone's looking for you just tell them you're going to pray a minute and ask them to leave you alone for a while; it's OK if they know what you're doing, they don't need to know what you're saying to God; that part is sacred and between the two of you only.

How do you start a prayer in a closet? How do you know God is there listening to you? Well, for me, I just start out being quiet and listening to my heart. Sometimes I know exactly what I'm about to say or ask, and other times I just feel the need to be there in that darker space, maybe with a cat or a dog, maybe just me and the hanging clothes and linens all around me. I start out with the simple things - - I thank God for being God. I thank God for being with me. I thank Him for His Son. I thank Him for my Guardian Angel Sam, (whose real name is Theonaphilus) and I think of a million things I could be without if it wasn't for God - - after that I start my confessions, telling God what I remember and what I hope to repent of, to give up, to try and better, to make amends, and then I go into the part where I need His help and I really would appreciate some direction in this or that matter. The Bible tells us if we ask for wisdom He will supply it in great amounts - - BE CAREFUL. Do not ask for patience....He gives that in great amounts too; and it's usually by putting you through the wringer so you'll rely on Him for literally everything - - if you want patience, you may want to ask for a BIT of patience, as God is truly in the business of absolutely providing your desires and needs.

One more thing before I go: God doesn't lie.  God can't lie. It's impossible for God to deceive, and it's 100% guaranteed, assured, and already set in every stone possible, that God will do exactly what He said He will do.  That being said, if you read Psalms 37:4 you'll find that God promises (covenants) you that if you delight in Him HE will give YOU the desires of your heart. He made a promise - - He will keep it. If you do your part, He does His part - - EVERY SINGLE TIME.  Be joyful, choose to delight in Him even if you think it's hopeless because you have that covenant and you can take that to your Heavenly Bank of Guarantees with Jesus. He will provide, He will answer, He will give you what you desire - - when you delight in HIM, not in yourself.

Back to the closet for one minute - - before you finish, before you open that door and walk out, be sure and leave your prayer right where you sat. God will keep it. You don't need to drag it around with you. He has it - - it's safe. KNOW that your prayers were heard, and are being answered. Sometimes God answers NO. Sometimes God answers YES.  Most of the time God will say "Wait"....and you should. Don't argue, don't get upset, don't wonder if it's a waste of time to go back into that closet and talk about it again; it isn't. God's will and His timing is perfect - - breathe!  Say Amen, open the door, and go about your day -- closets aren't gathering places, they are meant to be private for a reason. You've got this.

Spoiled American or Smarter Than the Average Bear?

 How many of you (go ahead and raise your hand if you knew this) KNEW that most homes in Scotland, and for that matter I'm told all of Europe, don't have electric dryers in the home? How many of you are now staring at the screen absolutely dumbstruck with a head shake saying "What? What do you mean there's no dryer? That's...that's..crazy, right?"  It is crazy - - for Americans anyway.  When I first found this to be true, late last year, I literally asked my Scottish friend if people in Scotland were incredibly poor and couldn't afford an electric dryer - - in which case I could start a Go Fund Me for an entire nation of deprived people, or was it something else entirely? Could it be that (GOD ONLY KNOWS WHY) the citizens of Scotland (and most of Europe) feel there is no need (shaking my head twice, but you can't see it) for anyone to own their own electric dryer. I keep saying electric dryer, but it could just as easily be a gas-heated dryer, they simply don't own dryers in the land of the Scots.  They hang their dampish wet clothes on "green lines" outside instead -- you know, like Great Grandmas used to do back in the ancient times.  Wait? Doesn't it RAIN in Scotland like....you know, all the time?

My friend, a very sweet, upper middle classed man (married, no kids, but has a mortgage, car and full time employment) went on to tell me that women there don't really consider it a chore or out of the question to hand hang the clothes on green lines, or even on these really (I gave a shriek when I saw it) handy-dandy dangling-from-a-cord lattice looking things that resemble a do-it-yourself 4-plank flat shelf that suspends by a cord like a blind suspends from a window. You see this is some homes, and when you do they are in the kitchen area usually where the washing machine is (Yes, I did say that the washing machines are in the kitchen, I know, you're still giggling over the green line, but stay with me, their washing machines are in the kitchen). Sometimes these laundry blinds (we can call them that) are in the hallways or in a utility room perhaps.  

For no reason whatsoever, my friend decided to challenge me to a Scottish laundry dual.  He said OK, my wife and I will do a load of laundry now, hand hang the clothes outside on the green line, you do your thing and we'll see what the difference is.  Couldn't he have just bet me a $100 and be done with it? I don't mind taking his money, really, I don't.  I accepted the challenge.  We set our clocks at 12:00 noon for the following day because his 12:00 noon and my 12:00 noon are 6 hours separate, but we wanted to be sure to have the same type of timing and he wanted the most optimal weather he could muster for his cause, I suppose. I wasn't the least bit worried regarding the outcome - - my dryer works 24/7 and in all sorts of weather. I would be lying if I said it stopped working during a tornado. The only time it would NOT work is during a power outage. We set our watches, said good night, and waited for the next day to arrive.

Noon arrived in Oklahoma City six full hours after it had arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland of course. By now my friend's laundry had been washed and hanging outside for around 5.5 hours, I'm certain. I started my load, pushed the button, pulled my clothes out 36 minutes later and stuck them in that magically wonderful heating apparatus we Americans take for granted 99% of the time. Today, I thanked my dryer just for being a dryer.  Less than 44 minutes later I retrieved my warm clothes, laid them on the bed, let the dogs lay all over them, and made the call to my Old Town music instructor who by the way, was just finishing his dinner dishes without a dishwasher because YOU GUESSED IT, they don't have one in their kitchen! I asked him if he had retrieved his clothes to which he said "most of them were dry" he had to leave a couple of towels out a bit longer, but they were in fact mostly dry. 

WHAT is the point of this story? He's a nutter and I'm apparently spoiled to the core according to him, his wife, his sister, his sister's kids, and the lady next door who just happened to speak to him over the fence line while he checked on the two towels. I'm the SPOILED AMERICAN, that's who I am. I want things given to me too; that's what I am perceived as anyway. I can't take a little hardship. I can't be a little inconvenienced. I am rotten, rotten, rotten - - OR AM I?  Maybe I'm just smarter than the average bear, and I want my dogs to enjoy the cozy warmth of fresh linens from the dryer. It could also be that I'm conditioned to being smarter than the average bear, and I like seeing my furniture and not draping wet underwear over the corners of chairs. I'm told his wife actually hangs up their underwear to dry so it's not seen - - OK, that's one point in their favor.  

How can we be so different in this matter? It makes me wonder if when I do move to Scotland if I give into their ways or bring my own and educate the youth of Mid Lothian so that soon their will be this uprising of children wanting American conveniences. I don't want to be fully responsible for that, so I'll likely just buy a dryer and keep it hidden in the closet. I may leave the green line outside instead of pulling it out the ground so as not to give away my position to the neighbors. I may even put the random load on the line just to seem as if I'm assimilating into their culture - - my dogs will know the truth, and with them my secret will be sacred.