"Failure Is the Flavor of Success"

     I didn't write the saying "Failure is the Flavor of Success" and I don't know who did, or I would give them credit for having said it.  The truth is, I failed today. I took an SIE (Securities Industry Exam) for the purpose of eventually obtaining my securities license so I can trade on the secondary markets for stocks and bonds. I made a 62% on a test that requires a 70% passing score.  The thing is, I wasn't bummed about it; instead, I look at it as a stepping stone on the path to becoming a successful trader.  I am just not one at the moment.  Because I don't worry about things and have been living stress-less for years, I decided to regroup rather than retreat. It's the stubborn woman living inside of me, but I won't allow myself to give up or quit anything. I will pass this test soon.

    I could give a whole bunch of excuses and say that the test was harder than I expected, but it wasn't. It was just as hard as I expected it to be; I just wasn't as prepared for it, and that's another "it's OK" moment because now I realize that I should have taken more time studying rules and regulations and less time studying the options themselves.  The more you know, the more you can achieve. If I had known what was on the actual test I would have been more prepared, but NOW I'm more prepared and won't spend as much time on other topics. It's strictly about rules, regulations, and how products work! That's the ticket. I think I will make at least a 70%, at least a passing score, next time, but hopefully even more than that. The thing is though; if you pass they don't tell you what your score is; only that you passed! If you fail, they tell you exactly what you failed at and what your non-passing score is - - in my case, I got 53 of the 85 questions correct.  

    I came home and explained to my daughter that all throughout the test I made little tally marks on the scratch paper that they give you.  I made a mark for every question I flat out knew I knew, and I marked it in the "KNEW" column.  There were two other columns I could use as well - - "I DON'T KNOW"  and "MAYBE".  The Maybe column is literally what it sounds like; I may be right, but I have only a fraction of faith in myself; the I Don't Know column is anyone's guess and was certainly my guess. I gave it my best, but you just have to concede at some point, that you just don't know what you thought you knew -- or you just don't know what you know you don't know. I did not know over 30% of the exam, if I were completely honest with you.

    The study guide I used is called PassPerfect, and they really do prepare a person if that person takes the necessary time to go over the questions, the videos, the mastery exams, and then if they review every question they missed - - that would be awesome.  Life happens, you get busy, you fail yourself, I fail myself, and we just end up having to reschedule, restructure, re-do and relax. Life is a roller coaster at times, and there are those times when it free falls and you just can't stop it. We move forward. It will happen! I have no doubt whatsoever that I'll get back into the study materials tomorrow, and go over every flashcard, eliminating the ones I don't need now that I know what I know, and keep those that I have no idea about, and those I could maybe possibly know something about. It's a plan. There is always a plan.

I plan to pass!

I Find Things

 I don't know what it is about me, but I am a thing-magnet. I find things all the time and end up having to call the owners and say something like, "Hey, I found your wallet at the feed store, where do you live and I'll bring it to you?"  Usually, when this sort of thing happens, the other person is shocked clean out of their minds, and they can't believe someone is willing to bring them their lost or stolen item.  I love it. I absolutely LOVE IT because it means I have an opportunity to say that Jesus has blessed me so many times, and when I lose something I know He'll provide the same type of courtesy to me that I show to someone else.  That's been my experience anyway.

This time, (and you can't see me over here laughing) I had to stop posting to answer the third call that the guy made to us to be sure we're not lying to him; he just can't get over how anyone would (a) find the wallet (it was a wallet that I found) (b) go through the wallet to find his correct name and address (c) having found his address, and realizing he is from another state, would try finding him on Facebook (d) having found him on Facebook, would message him and say "Hey, I found your wallet at the feed store, if you tell me where you are right now I can bring it to you."  Well, he doesn't know me very well, that's for sure, because there is nothing else I would ever do! I could not, I would not, and I should not throw someone else's property away. I would never keep it either. I would never take a penny from it, I would never stalk him further than was necessary to find out who he is - - but Laura did! LOL

Laura found out through his Facebook posts that he's not only a bleeding heart Liberal voter, but he did also in fact vote for Joe Biden for president and now the man (owner) is really upset with himself and says if he had to do it again, he'd vote Trump!  I thought that was funny, so she read a few more posts to me while I drove the car.  Turns out the man is Cajun, from Texas, moved to Oklahoma recently, has purebred dogs that he was selling, that's why he was at the feed store, and get this, he's so anti-everything we believe in or stand for.  You couldn't have found someone with more different views. At least he's a Christian man, or at least he states he is on Facebook. We'll have eternity to laugh about what we put ourselves and others through on this Earth thinking and feeling we were always right to think or feel that way we did.

Laura wrote to him on Facebook to let him know we found his wallet, and before we would agree to give it to him he needed to verify his middle name. He did verify his middle name (on the license) and she called him.  He was surprised that a person (Laura this time, not me) who was so different from himself would be so kind. She told him she was raised correctly. I told her we were both raised correctly, and that Jesus does things like this so we can share His word.  Laura mentioned this to the man, and he laughed, agreeing with us, and saying that he was very grateful that Jesus led us to his wallet and not someone who would take money, credit cards, throw away pictures you can never replace, and of course licenses, banking information - - you name it.  

Interestingly, his Facebook posts could be considered racist; but he stated that you can't be racist toward a white person. I find that to be both racist and offensive; and here we are, returning his wallet, not stealing a dime, and thankful that he will be able to get on with his life without the inconveniences of having to cancel cards, get a new ID, etc.  He laughed a second (or third) time when he found out we were Trump supporters.  "Really? Are you serious?"  He asked.  "Yes, we are, and the only reason I mention it is because of what you said on your wall. You said we were all crackhead crazy.  I'm not really all that crazy, just maybe a little bit", was Laura's answer.  He apologized and said,"Well, you know what? That's God right there. He knows I need to change my heart about things. He knows I have been too critical of others, and this just proves it. I'm sorry."  

Recently, maybe over the past year or so, I've found two wallets, a few dogs with and without collars, a horse blanket that was worth well into the $$$, and I found a shoe that was literally just randomly placed in a marked parking spot where I live. I knew the shoe didn't belong to the owner of the parking spot, he was a man, this was a smaller woman's shoe, and something about it told me to leave it where it was, but take photos of it, and let the manager know.  When I did let the manager know, she mentioned that the police had been by earlier asking about a kidnapped woman who may have lost her right shoe. The woman was found (safe) and now the cops knew that she could have been taken by someone who lived in our complex or at least knew someone who lived in the complex. To my knowledge the shoe was returned; I can't say the same for all of the dogs. Some were rehomed when no one claimed them.

So, one down, and God only knows what to expect, or how many more to go. I'm here if He needs me. I count it a blessing since I know I've been silly enough to leave my purse (and other things) on top of my car before I took off without them -- the struggle is real.

The Blog Book -- It's a Real Thang!

 Check it out! My new book is a real thing! I will submit the manuscript on Monday, in just a few days, but the cover is out now. The design company at Palmetto Publishing did a bang-up good job. I didn't ask for anything specific, trying to keep it as simple and as creative for them as possible. I am the writer, they are the cover masters, so I don't want to invade into their space even if it is my book; I feel that they are professionals, otherwise I would not have hired them to publish my baby - - my first blog book.  I've written five books now; no, that's not true, I've written so many more than five, but I've published five books now, and this one is not about Faith, my dog, but she is mentioned in it of course.  This one is a collection of stories literally pulled from this very site.  I didn't ask the design crew to come up with a color scheme either, but I am bowled over that they went with blue and gold lettering!  I LOVE it. 

I have about 700 blogs on the site, and I pulled about 100 out to make Vol. 1.  I added 15 poems, and I stationed them in the middle of the book, separating Part 1 and Part 2.  I didn't specify or make any fuss over what went into Part 1 or Part 2.  I could have put the blogs in chronological order but decided against it. I want the book to be something anyone can pick up, read a bit, maybe three or four blogs, and then set the book down and come back for more. I did (and/or will) add a Table of Contents, and the publishing company will paginate the book for me adding the correct numbered page for each blog -- good thing  I paid for that; what a headache! 

What I did not pay for is an additional editing master.  I am using Grammarly to go through the book myself, but you and I both know I'll miss something and that OK. As a human, as a creative human, I don't mind making mistakes and I certainly don't mind anyone pointing out my mistakes if they are in fact mine. I own them. I think it's OK to be less than stellar and still make your point.  As a professor of English, former professor of English, I would not have allowed many mistakes to be presented in a graded essay or prose, but in a book - sure; it is what it is.  The best of us use a ghost to clean up our little messes grammatically; I just chose to use Grammarly than to pay an additional $$$ for their premiere editing program, which I'm sure is either Grammarly or something very similar.  (Did I mention I was Scottish? I don't spend money unless I have to.) 

So today is February 24th; the cover is out. I'll submit the manuscript on March 1, after I attend my first 405 Contouring session. If the light contouring works I'll blog about that, and if it doesn't work I'll be sure to blog about that fact. I wanted to add the story to the book- - as it is part of my transformation into a new creature. The butterflies on the cover of the book are a GREAT way to illustrate my life changes right now. I'm going through a wonderful transformation from being old to being young again; using prayer and everything available to me to feel, look, act, and be much younger than the calendar says. I have lost over 35 pounds so far, slimmed up, trimmed up, changed my style, changed my hair, changed my outlook -- and I'm really feeling great about it. Life is just too short to feel too old. I was not cut out for geriatrics.  I so much prefer being Jude instead.  I hope you like the book - - I loved writing it. 

I Wish I Could Rescue Them All

Between Angie Koontz-Pike, Robin Moorhead, Laura, and myself, we've probably rescued more than 1,000 horses, mules, donkeys, ponies, goats, dogs, cats, and cows over the past few years. It's a thing, not a competition, but if it were a competition, Angie would beat us all!  Not only does she have the truck, trailer, and acreage to host over 200 animals at one time, she has the 501(c) 3 non-profit status to back her up, and THANK YOU, JESUS, for that, because there have been moments when we (meaning Laura, and I) will make the same mistakes Robin makes, and go out onto Facebook and look on the kill pen sites, you know, "just to see what's out there", right! No one ever goes onto the kill pen sites thinking they won't find something that has to be taken home right then, and right there.  I can usually resist, but that Robin, Lord have mercy!  I think I'm being 100% honest when I say she even named one Merci. Merci currently lives with Angie. Did I mention that Angie has wings and can be seen playing the harp now and then? She's our rescue angel - - and we love her. 

I can't tell you how many times I have called Angie up on the phone, texted her when she didn't answer, and then emailed her if she refused to text me back!  If I still can't reach her I've gone through Messenger, but let me tell you, I am not over and above getting into my little Seamus (car) and driving my happy ass over to her place in the far outreaches of the country and unhooking her gate lock to hunt her down to tell her we simply MUST drive up to Stroud THIS VERY MINUTE (of course, bring the truck and trailer) and we have to save Reagan! We have to save Zahara! We have to save Ava!  We have to save Sable! We have...you get the picture. We are always and forever saving someone, something, or two or three things at once; don't get me wrong, Angie is not so much of an angel that she isn't just as guilty as we are. Yes, she is! The best thing about that is, she doesn't have to drive 40 miles in the pouring rain to tell herself she needs to go RIGHT NOW and save some animal that is being hauled off in a few hours to Mexico to be slaughtered. It's a real thing; and it's just heartbreaking. 

Our vet Sammy Crosby, Jr., not to be confused with his father, our other vet, Sammy Crosby, Sr., is our large animal vet. Sammy Crosby Sr., is our small animal vet. We like to keep things simple.  Sammy Jr. is usually the second person to be notified as soon as we pick up a four-legged, skinnier-than-should-be "poor" creature, who just couldn't be turned away.  Sammy has brought our loads back to life a few dozen times, and when he can't bring them back, he's the best at sending them on their way over the Rainbow Bridge. A job no one wants, but we appreciate his connections with the gatekeepers up that way; so far as we know, no animal has ever been turned away from the Bridge, and we rest so much easier knowing they didn't suffer another day here on this wretched Earth because someone either threw them out for losing a race, threw them out for being pregnant, threw them out because they couldn't produce the right color foal, or threw them out because their daughter went off to college and they didn't want to mess with feeding and watering their kid's animal - - that happens too. 

When Angie is called and she's hooked up that trailer, some animal out there in the wild world will be saved and saved for eternity.  With her connections and her non-profit, horses mostly, but other equine, bovine, canine, and feline will never be sold or given to anyone who may end up dumping their charge back at the kill pen; no way, it just won't happen.  They say you can't save them all, and I get that, but for the ones we can save, we try our best to make the world of difference in their lives that was needed; and we try over and over and over again to the point of eating ramen while we spend $$$ on trimming, chiropractors, vets, livery, floating (teeth work) and more. Every horse deserves to be pampered, right? I say it over and over again; "If God ever lets me come back as something I'll come back as one of Robin Morehead's horses" because that woman knows how to spoil a pony! If I believed in reincarnation, which I don't, I would or could just as easily come back as one of Angie's rescues because I know that my freedom ride will mean I am given a forever chance to live my life the way it was supposed to be lived - with love. 

Thank you, Sissy! I love you! 

To donate to Angie's 501 (c) 3 rescue, you can send money through paypal.com at: Countryphilly2002@gmail.com 

Acquiring Children

     It happens now and then; I'll be minding my own business, because that is what I always do, and my life is turned upside down, sideways in less than a second's time. There was a moment in my life when I was not the other mother of about 13 young people, all of which hung on and clung to me as if I had actually given birth to them.  One of these graciously sweet, rugged, and oh-so needy children is my boy Jonathan. How I obtained Jonathan was right out of the pages of a Stringfellow novel for sure; he's more of a victim than anything else -- Reuben happened to him.  Reuben's happen.  I tell people all the time, "Be careful, Reuben's happen!" Sometimes they listen.  I didn't have the opportunity to warn little Jonathan, he was unceremoniously dragged home from school one day by my son; I think they were in the 4th grade.

    "Mom!" came the bellow of my oldest; a 4th grader who was big, bulky, and brilliant of course; "MOM! Where are you?", he continued.  "I'm on the couch Baby Boy", came my answer, and as I began to straighten myself and get ready to welcome my children back home from their 2nd day of school, I noticed there was an extra kid standing before me, this one a boy, and he was a bit taller, more bulky, brawny even at the age of 10, and he was dark complexed.  We live in the Southwest part of the U.S. so I made an assumption that so many people probably make; I assumed our new visitor was Mexican - he was not.

    "Mom, can I have a Mexican friend?" asked Reuben. I know my eyes popped right out of my head at the sheer rudeness of the question, even for a 10-year-old; I thought I had raised my kids to be a lot more respectful of people and their cultures than that! Before I could answer my wayward son, the boy himself retorted with a quick scolding to my son saying, "I've told you, Reuben, I'm not Mexican. I'm Puerto Rican on my dad's side and my mom is from El Salvador."  My nod toward the bigger kid was genuine; I wanted to thank him for helping me straighten my own flesh and blood out, and help him to understand we have friends, not Mexican friends, not Black friends, not White friends, not Asian friends, we have friends. I continued nodding, and I gave my answer to Reuben as well as to his new friend, "Yes, you may have any friend you wish, but you can't call them names or use words that may seem insensitive at best, and racist at worse."  I asked him, "Remember when we lived in Arcadia, and you and the girls were the only white kids in the area? How would you have felt if Tyrelle had asked his mom if he could have a White friend?" To my shock, Reuben told me that's exactly what Tyrelle had asked his mom when the opportunity presented itself.  Just, wow. "Yes, " I said, you may have any friend you wish."  I then turned back to the bigger boy and asked him what his name was. He told me it was Jonathan Rios. From that day, that wonderful end of a summer day, I've been Jon's other mom, and it's been a tremendous pleasure.

    Jon's family is the family that gave us Faith!  Jon's dog Princess was Faith's mom, and though Princess was a full black chow, and Faith a yellow short-haired mutt, Princess was not the motherly type. Reuben literally had to rescue Faith from out from under Princess as the mother dog was trying to smother the little deformed puppy - - but that's natural; I mean, it's not cool, no, but it is natural.  Besides giving us Faith, Jon has given me a grandson as well, little Jasper is almost three, and he couldn't be any cuter. Before Faith, before Jasper, before most of the grown-up adult things that Reuben and Jon have been through; standing with each other at weddings and formal occasions come to mind; Jon and Reuben have been on the raw side of trouble too.  I think I recall a time the two of them and their friend Crayton found a real dead guy at the park near our home and rather than calling the cops they poked him with sticks and ran home to tell me about it.  They've walked the wrong way to a school event and ended up needing a ride home from the other side of town. They've partied at places they had no invitation to be at, and again, ended up calling me for a rescue! 

    Today, standing just over 6'3" and about 240 pounds, Jonathan is still a bit bigger and bulkier than Reuben; but their smiles compete with each other, neither boy (man) can stop laughing once the giggles start, and you know, you just know something happened - - but no, neither of them is going to be willing to squeal on the other; so, yeah, you just have to walk away shaking your head sometimes.  I think one of the funniest "Jonathan" stories I have now took place at Reuben's wedding to Josie in April 2019.  Jon of course was expecting to be Reuben's best man, though I don't know that it had been discussed; Jon made the assumption that he would be, and then when Reuben's good and close buddy from Indiana showed up, a man Reuben had hung with during the four years (more recently) that he lived in the Hoosier state, Jon began the whole I-May-Have-to-Pee-on-You thing; something men do I guess to show both dominance and possession.  Sizing up J.J. wasn't that difficult for Jon with his bulk, it was the subtle moves that J.J. was making, just sort of flanking around, moving into position at the right time.  I, of course, knew the outcome; you don't spend years and years camping with, bar-b-queuing, fishing, racing, hot-wheeling, playing ball, beating each other up and/or out doing each other for over twenty years to be 2nd man...no way!  My champion! Jon walked straight up to Reuben at the service, head held high, chest out, arms pushing J.J. to the side almost - - it was epic, just EPIC. 

    Last night Jonathan posted on his Facebook that he had a hampster to give away to someone who could take care of it. I think it was on his wall about three minutes before Laura was knocking on Jon's door with her hands held out. "Why didn't you call, Bro.?", she asked. "You don't have to post it, I'll take it. Is it a Dwarf?" she asked Jon?  I loved his answer, he said, "Laura, I'm surprised at you; you know your mom raised you better than to be rude like that, the hamster has feelings you know."  I swear, sometimes I just want to smack them all, but Jon is just a bit too tall for me to reach now.  He gives great hugs though!  I love my boy.

Why Don't You Act Your Age?

 Act my age? What the hell does that even mean? Who would want to act like an old woman even if they were in fact (as told by the calendar anyway) an old woman? Hell no! I mean heck no! I shouldn't be cussing this much; I'm old. I blame my kids - - I'd like to say I blame them for most of what takes place to me and I'd be 48% correct if I did, but I have to at least admit from time to time that my antics are in fact my own. Today will not be an exception.

I bought an LED light mask to put on my face to use every single day. You hook it up, rev it up, pick your colors and set your timer, and BAM! You're 30 years younger in just 40 minutes. Well, I mean, you are if you believe the advertising and the photos plastered on the brochures.  The company knows the product is catered to the older gals, those of us who refuse to settle down and accept that we may soon be comparing walkers and lift chairs. We're the ones who refuse to accept the fact that time slipped not only out of our hands but right past us; leaving us to wonder where all the cannolis went, and whose dog is under the table anyway? Does anyone remember picking this one up at the shelter or did he just walk in the door on his own? Can someone go look at on the poles to see if he's officially missing? Is anyone even listening to me? No, they are not! No one is in my house, it's just me, and me alone with my new LED light mask - - and someone's Beagle. 

The light mask was told to have great healing abilities, and the low low price of only XYZ, it was going to change my life! I was going to be able to literally watch the wrinkles and fine lines in my face disappear, but wait, if I used their special, handy-dandy collagen serum on my face and neck before I subjected myself to laying alone (with some random dog on my bed) for the next 40 minutes, I could not only see the changes, but I could feel the changes too - - the tightening of my skin, the closing of my pores, if that wasn't enough, I had seven (count them, seven) colors of lights I could choose from; each with their own healing promises and properties.  How could I possibly resist? I mean, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't say to myself "Gosh darn Jude, I wish you looked 30 again instead of 32"  You can't see me laughing, I'm 59 at the time I'm writing this, but dammit I look good! (smiles)

It's not just the LED light mask. For the past several months this old woman has been working out nearly every day at the YMCA, losing weight with diet and exercise, riding my bike, riding my horse, walking the parking lots (I'd say the streets, but that carries with it an entirely different connotation you know) and I've been doing the best I can to not only stop the aging process but to ward off all the would-be suitors who find my new skinniness and tight-pants wearing self to be a bit more attractive than I was when I was really actually old; last year.  I'm not going to lie, it's rather curious to me how men will write to me without knowing me and ask me not only where I'm from, but if I'm married, what I do for a living, and if I'll hang out with them in various chat rooms - - I know the new me is so freakin irresistible, I get that fellas, but no, I'm the same ol' me when it comes to wanting companionship. If I want it, I'll go to the shelter and .... wait, I don't even have to do that anymore; apparently dogs just show up at my door. Does this Beagle like me now that I'm 30 pounds lighter? What?

I dance at home too; and I dance in public, which absolutely embarrasses my kids. If I can embarrass one or the other of them at least once a week I feel I've done my duty; dancing helps me keep my glutes in place and someday very soon I'll be stealing all of Caity's clothes and because of my new light mask she'll think it was Laura who took her things - - Ha! That's the real plan, right there. Just 30 more pounds and about 100 wrinkles to go and BAM...yes, BAM...I will be ready to be a Barbie model for Mattel! They can call this one the Boomer Barbie; she can wear an Oklahoma University t-shirt and really be sportin' because that's the only BOOMER we know; I'm not about to admit I'm aging not when I'm having too much fun flirting with this Beagle from behind the red flickering light of the LED mask.  It's a thing, it's a real thing. I'm going to have to post pictures to prove it, but it's a thing.

George.

     The most perfect dog almost ever had just passed away of cancer; I was devastated by the loss of my best friend Matrix.  He was around 12 years old, not nearly long enough for me, but because he was in fact my best friend, I let him go see Jesus when it became obvious that he couldn't stay with me and not be in pain.  I have Caity and Brandon to thank for being so kind as to take him into the vet's office for his one way ticket to the Rainbow Bridge. I just couldn't do it. I had done that so many other times for my own dad and for friends, this time it would have been too hard on my soul.

     As I lay on the couch in my house on that cold, cold, cold, Indianapolis evening, praying and crying, thanking God for my Mr. Matrix, I got a text from my good friend Gordon Dean Flick; I have to say his full name because there's another Gordon Flick in my life, believe it or not, a Facebook friend in Oklahoma, but this text came from my good Confederate buddy GDF, who lived just a few miles from me in Indy, and he and I were going to discuss a particular event that took place during the Civil War (he doesn't call it that; he calls it the Northern Aggression.)  The text started off with a sweet condolence about my friend Matrix, and Gordon's recalling of a dear memory that swept across his mind when he last saw my dog during the filming of a Australian animal show with Faith. Gordon had been invited as part of our family for the shoot -- he was in charge of wrangling Matrix so for Gordon, Matrix's passing was a moment of sorrow too.

    Later that week, not long after the grieving began, I got another text, and I thought it was from Gordon, but it wasn't. It was from a woman named Gordy who lived in Ohio, just over the Indiana border. She ran an animal rescue and wanted to know if I could help her out. Apparently, she had seen the Australian animal show, she had seen my name, recognized it on her Facebook home page, and decided that I may be able to help her since I had posted about Matrix's passing.  Seems she had a little weenie dog that was about to be put down due to his food aggression, but she swore up and down that he really wasn't like that, he just decided to be a boo-bear during the intake testing.  He was literally on death-row!  Could I help? 

    Gordy explained to me that the way it works in her county and her state is that when a dog comes in there is an intake, he either passes the test or he doesn't. If he doesn't pass the tests he could be immediately put down, or they could post him in another jurisdiction, but it had to be one that crossed both the county in Ohio, and the state line if the dog was to be retested and given a chance. She wanted to know if I would foster the dog for a week and then she'd come back to collect him, retest him, and if he passed the test this time he could be adopted.  I told her no. I would not foster the dog for a week. I told her I would take the dog.  I had no idea.  

    The snow was ONLY a foot deep outside, it was not quite a full on blizzard, so yeah, the girls and I decided to drive sixty miles to the East of our little house in the center of Indianapolis and meet the unknown, aggressive dog I was about to give the next several years to; why not? We're brave and adventurous souls; we can do this. We rescue horses in worse conditions, why not a dog? He was, after all, a weenie dog.  Weenie dogs get a bit more leniency in my world - - OK, they get the entire world, we'll go with that. They get whatever the heck they want -- before they even ask.

    We met around 11 p.m. and it was cold; did I mention it was freezing cold? It was OH MY GOSH cold, and it was dark and there were virtually no lights to light up the grocery store parking lot we had decided to meet at; it was just miserable and there we were with our smiles and our hopeful faces waiting for Gordy to pull into the parking lot with an untamed maniac with a short legs, a long body, and probably an attitude the size of Godzilla; he was, after all, a weenie dog.  She pulled into the parking lot next to my car, and we said our howdy-dos, we hugged even though we didn't know each other because I'm from Oklahoma, and it turns out Gordy is from Southern Mississippi, so yeah, we're gonna hug, it's a Southern thang; it will be done. We talked for a minute, we exchanged vet information, and the moment she opened the little cage door to retrieve my new friend -- he bit me.

    Gordy's face sunk. She was not sure what to do; she was not sure what she would say, but she knew that this meant the immediate end for the little dog.  She hadn't met the Stringfellows before, so she had no idea what to expect.  Laura grabbed a blanket from the back of the car and wrapped the little shivering brown Dachshund in the blanket so tightly he had no choice but to settle down; and his muzzle was not free to make a second dig at my hand.  "Thank you" Laura said to Gordy, as she loaded the new dog into our car without his kennel.  She decided she would hold him all the way back to our home and if he bit her she said she'd just bite him back! That's my girl.  Gordy cried, then she laughed. We're still good friends all these years later.

    What are you going to name him, Mom?  I looked at my daughter and said, "You remember the Bugs Bunny cartoon where the abominable snowman was holding Bugs and petting him?"  Laura said she did remember it.  "I'm going to love him, and squeeze him, and call him George."  Was my answer.  And that is exactly what we did.  He came home with us on December 31, 2012, and he was my best friend for about 8 years before he too made the decision to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For George it wasn't cancer, it was an accident that left his back end paralyzed.  Oh, I cried. Oh, I wailed and wailed. I only thought I missed Matrix. When we all see each other again, it will be a fight to the finish for them I'm sure to see which one I grab first; but oh, they don't know about Rover.  He was my first weenie dog; and he will be my forever right hand companion. There will be a few falling behind that dog, but I'm positive that Matrix and George are already deciding who follows Rover most of the time.

Preface to my Book

 Preface

Now, before we get started, there is something I need to do.  I need to tell you a little story about my three children so you can better understand where it is that I’m coming from, and why it is that I said what I said about each of them. Remember, most of the blogs were written years and years ago; my children’s lives have changed dramatically since these writings, but for the most part their personalities have remained intact.  This is a little story I made up to explain the differences in my children. This event never actually took place. 

******* 

One day I was sitting on the couch in the cold den because the heat had been turned down below 60 for some reason; no one really knows why, no one with three children in their almost teen years anyway. As I sat freezing under a couch pillow, contemplating getting up and finding a blanket, my son Reuben came into the house; big, brawny, bulky, he was covered in mud and had a really excited gait to his step, half breathing, half talking, he asked me, “Mom, where are the matches?  I want to burn the barn down out back behind our house so I can clear it out to play football?”   Did I just hear him correctly? If I did he’s not done it yet, and he’s actually asking my permission in his weird little way, letting me know both his intention, and saying he needs my help.   

As I was no longer sitting on the couch, but flying to the kitchen and over to the third drawer where I keep the matches, I blocked my son from taking them out of the drawer long enough to begin to explain to him why it would be that we should not, cannot, will not be burning any barns down any time soon!  Before I could finish my little mom-rant, my 2nd child Laura, cute as a button, never actually looking her age, and just smart as a whip, came walking into the kitchen with her little notebook. She always carried her little notebook so she could write out things she was thinking, or calculate things she needed to know. This time was no different. Her big brown eyes glanced at Reuben first, then at me, noting that I was blocking her brother from the third drawer she said, “Mommy, I took the matches. I saw Reuben coming and heard him talking to Jonathan outside, so I knew what he was about to do.  I hid them so he won’t get them, but here’s the deal; I made a list of all the reasons why Reuben should be allowed to remove the barn, and even made a chart with graphics to explain how it could be done without actually having to burn it down. Do you want to see?  To be honest, her actions even took Reuben by surprise this time, not me. She’s always been that way. 

Just as I was about to let Laura show me her drawings and have her try to engage Reuben into her means and ways of finding a better way to facilitate whatever it was that he needed or wanted to do, my ears were pricked by the sound of the city fire department’s truck and engines barreling down the side road behind my house.  Upon looking out the back window all three of us could see black smoke billowing upward into stark, twisted, dark plumes...it didn’t take any of us long to figure out what was happening. Caity found the matches.  

******* 

Enjoy your read. 

Been There, Done That.

 My daughter Laura and I own horses, the other kids don't really get into them, but Laura and I have been most of her life - - which as you may have guessed, is a really long time. My kids are so old, it's really sad how they've gotten out on their own and don't truly need Mom anymore. I keep Laura around for the simple fact that I don't want to ride by myself, feed animals by myself, train by myself, or just overall hang out with people I don't already know; been there, done that, it wasn't fun.  A lot of times when you have horses you'll see one for sale or someone wanting to buy one, and the language they have in the advert will say they're looking for a "Been There Done That" type of horse, meaning a gentled soul that isn't going to tear them apart, buck them off, run them over, kick or bite them, and they have been worked to the point of near boredom.  Well, I don't mind admitting I like that in my horses too.

Laura, besides being a horsey person, plays online games and I hear her from time to time playing with people from only God knows where, and they like to play the weirdest things too; one game is called "Never Have I Ever".   The game "Never Have I Ever" is a fairly simple one, you try to one-up someone by NOT doing something that most humans have done, and you get points for having never done it if they have. Simple, right?  Well, I'm listening to them play and I notice Laura over there in her room calling out things I've done that she hasn't done, to see if anyone else has done it, so she can get points. Apparently, she lived a rather sheltered life, and hasn't been caught making out with someone under a tree, she hasn't gone noodlin' for fish, and she hasn't stuck her arm fully up a cow's butt to pull out a baby that was turned around sideways.  I count myself a failure when I hear how many things Laura hasn't actually done, and it makes me wonder if Caity is any better educated with life experiences or if I failed both of them.

Reuben would be really bad at this game too; it wouldn't just be me losing.  He's been to several foreign countries because of the job he has with the United States Army and now the Oklahoma National Guard (He's in the elite 45th Infantry); he's been there a few times and done that a few times, I'm sure of it. One of the players called out from their computer somewhere that they had never driven a car! WHAT? Where are you? Who are you? Are you 10? Here in Oklahoma, we're driving tractors at 9 or 10, trucks and cars no later than 14, and on the roads by 16, most of us anyway.  Then another calls out, "Never have I ever kissed a pig", got me.  I've kissed pigs.  Another calls out, "Never have I ever sang on stage"; oops...that one took Laura out of the game! Boom!  I have sung on stage too, but Laura made money at it.  She was using the most interesting strategy for the game too; waiting until there were just a few left and then announcing (almost with pride) "Never have I ever skinny dipped"; NOPE...been there, done that...a few times. My good friend and director Michael Givens often tells me he can't wait to get to Heaven so we can do that again - - to which I laugh. I had my clothes on when we were in the ocean, now whether or not he did is another story and not mine to share. 

I guess there are times I wish I could say "Never Have I Ever " done this or that,  but there are more times I suppose that I would be lying if I said I hadn't.  I guess I can say I've never won the game "Never Have I Ever" that's a fact.  When we were kids we played "Truth or Dare" and I always took the Truth-telling because I didn't want to be dared to do something I would have to do considering I don't really ever back down -- I always tell the truth, even if it's brutal and too honest - - count on me to ruin your day in less than two seconds!  OK, here we go, "Never Have I Ever...parachuted".... ha! Reuben would so lose!  He's eaten camel spiders too -- I should remember that when I ask him to play; that may be a good match come to think of it. "Never Have I Ever played Never Have I Ever with my kids!" That may change.

Sailor Ellis Jayne Stringfellow

 How is it that this girl has made it seven long years without Gramma writing about her in a blog? No way!! I couldn't even believe it when I went through my blogs to find one just dedicated to her sweet soul. Nope, there wasn't one. I talk about her a lot in a bunch of other blogs, but I didn't even take the time to write one just for her, so that's what I'm doing right now!  Ode to my Sailor Ellis Jayne Stringfellow!

Sailor came to us on the morning of May 10, 2013, and she was one pretty baby, let me tell you -- not as big as her brother at nearly 10 pounds, but she was a whopping 8 pounder plus! She held her own, that's for sure, and she's never been the slightest bit shy about telling you just how to make things happen HER way. She's 100% her own, even at the age of two, we knew this when she took off running down the street diapered trying to catch a dog that had caught her attention from the interior window of my house! OFF SHE WENT - - opening doors, climbing down the porch stairs, pumping it down the road, foot over foot screaming "DOGGY! DOGGY!"  It wasn't long before her mom and I were able to wrangle her and bring her back to the world of obedient children; where moms and grannies aren't taken by complete surprise. The dog got away - - but only that one. Sailor is exactly like her mom Caity, if the animal isn't claimed she's gonna own it! That includes squirrels, deer, rabbits, ferrets, gorillas...no, she'll probably let the gorilla find its way back to its home base; maybe.

At seven Sailor has mastered gaming, basic computer skills in general, and is interested in programming. She's an artist, a writer, an actress, a painter, a cook, and she likes to dance and sing too. She's eclectic and has her own style.  Because her dad is so freakishly tall, Sailor is already a head taller than her best friends of the same age and class at school.  She's that one girl you always remember from elementary school that stood almost as tall as the librarian and could out-eat any boy in the school for sure. She's athletic and loves to hike, but that's where things can become tricky if you know what I mean. If you see her picking up a rock along the trail, don't assume it's a rock, it could have feet, a tail, a nose, and it may need a name soon.  

Like her brother Copeland, Sailor was raised by two overly active parents who ride bikes, hike, go walking, shop at new stores, vacation, go traveling, like to camp, and her gramma and aunt have horses, so you know she's gonna want a pony of her own soon as well.  Sailor loves games and she's not all that upset if she loses as long as she doesn't lose by too much. She's a good sport about it when it's a fair game. I've seen her walk away when things got too heated and she couldn't pull a rabbit from a hat to save her life, but she was pretty good about it; offering a cookie as a reward to her big brother for his win! He's the type to thank her, and even apologize for winning; she's the type that will let him apologize.  They make a good set. I like them both....ah heck, who am I kidding, I love them!

She's my girl.

Brandola! Brandola!

     When she came home from a weekend camping venture, all Caity could talk about was Brandon this, Brandon that; Brandon, Brandon, Brandon. OK, I get it, you met a new guy and let me guess, his name is BRANDON!  Most men were boys when it came to Caity's attention. She was entering her last teenage year when suddenly she switched gears like she was running her heart on a railroad tracking system, BAM! She no longer looked at boys -- they had to at least be over 18, tall, handsome, rugged if possible, and if they had a job she was all about that - - enter, Brandon! (Did I mention he was flat-out adorable, too?)

     Like every young man, Brandon had issues with maturity, trying to make decisions based on both his own personal experiences and those experiences he's been privileged to monitor throughout his young life. He hadn't been exposed to too many good examples when it came to male role models, and that bothered me, having raised the girls without their father for the past several years; his choice, not ours. My dad was a very positive role model for my girls, as was their older brother, who at the time Caity brought Brandon home to meet everyone, was just getting back from Iraq, having spent a year of his life in the sand.  

    Reuben's concerns about Brandon took on a more fatherly type concern than it did a brotherly concern, but to say he was impressed was more of an overstatement. He was never going to allow Brandon the opportunity to even glance at Caity as long as she was still his baby sister -- good thing his duty station of Fairbanks, Alaska was over 3600 miles away!  Brandon met Caity on a Friday I think and was living with us the next weekend. He never left. We still have Brandon; who I call "Brandola" because I can. He's 30 now, over 6'4" tall, fully bearded, working full time, earning his own, they bought a house for themselves about a year ago, and because he's the nicest guy in the world, he made me two grandbabies with Caity. I love the guy. I'm going to keep him even if I sell Caity.

    I can't say that I agree with everything that comes out of Brandon's mouth; he's a Virgo, he thinks he's correct when he should obviously realize that we Scorpios have that market cornered. He's brilliant in many ways, talented, quiet, respectful, engineering, quite attentive, well adjusted, and he still listens to those around him so that he can add to his own personal experiences. I don't think I've had a single argument with the man in over 11 years of knowing him - - interesting.  True fact.

    I could go on and on about the guy, talking about his love for MMA wrestling, how he likes to play competitive video games, but he's not so absorbed in them that he can't get off the chair to make his own dinner if Caity's too absorbed in her game to do it for the both of them. He'll even make hers too, and dress and situate the kids while she's destroying the worlds around her. He's been 100% supportive of Caity in her growing projects, always willing and able to put in the efforts necessary to pull off an impossible feat -- if possible.  He's had a few jobs, lost a few jobs, learned from his mistakes, made more mistakes, and continues to kick himself for some of the ones he and I both wanted to kick him for, but he's the best guy out there right now for my little girl - - and I thank God every day for my Brandola.  Everyone needs one. I have one. I'm blessed.