Two Books are Better Than One!

 God is soooooo amazing!!  I don't even care how "churchy" that may sound. He is just OUT THERE awesome, and we all need to be aware of His love, His power, His promises, and how He keeps those promises.  I tell people all the time that if they will just listen to God, listen really well, and do what He asks of them, they will have every last desire of their heart. No joke, He promised it in Psalms 37:4. (I mean, King David probably wrote the Psalm, but yeah, it's God's promise to us.) It says, "Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart."  It doesn't say, "Do what feels good", and it doesn't say, "Go off half-cocked whenever you think it's necessary, it will be OK."  God is very specific about what He wants in our lives, we just don't have the patience most of the time to pay attention to His calling. I listened. I obeyed. He's giving me so much more than I ever imagined. Thank you, God, thank you, Jesus! 

I knew I would write Jude's Almost Daily Blog book someday. That day has arrived. The book is in the publisher's hands right now and is being produced for the last round of corrections.  I'm so happy Palmetto Publishing was kind enough to let me make the first round of corrections without laughing at me too badly.  I mean, c'mon, I'm a freakin' English professor and I made over 100 mistakes in my own book. Most of the mistakes, nearly 87% of them, were not putting things into italics or not putting quote marks around certain words.  Believe me, I would NEVER EVER forget to put quote marks around an actual quote, or fail to give credit where it is known! Oh my gosh, can you imagine? I doubt I could ever breathe again if I was to plagiarize! Stop the thought! Get out of my head!! NO!  The book will be finished in 1 month and it will be sold online as a PDF as well as a print-on-demand book. I'm taking control of the distribution of this particular book so that I can control the price. I don't want it to be very expensive. I want as many people to be able to afford it as possible. That was intentional. You give up the rights for publishing and you give up the right to costs. 

Secondly, I wrote a book several years ago now, called "Faith Walks".  It is a delightfully lively book about a dog who came into our lives in 2002 and stayed with us as a family companion until her passing in 2014.  During those years she became known as the miracle dog who walked upright like a human. Faith was trained to do this, and it became her technique of mobility. She was taken around the world and seen locally, to show people that you didn't need to look perfect or have everything everyone else has to be perfect yourself. She could not have had a higher level of self-esteem. Faith walked by her own faith and God's grace. We were blessed to call her our own. The book "Faith Walks" was self-published many years ago and will be resubmitted to be republished through Palmetto Publishing in the near future. or I may leave it with Xlibris and just promote it.  I am creating a website to host and promote both books as well as books I write in the future. So far this has been an amazing journey. I hope you will consider following me!

Two books at one time! Wow! I am overwhelmed with excitement and humbled by God's amazing timing. He alone is able to make all things come together.  Once the book has been picked up I can submit the YouTube video for you to see the book trailer. We want to keep it a little private until the houses have a chance to see it. Thank you for your prayers and love, kind words are always welcome.

PEOPLE Suck! That is All.

 DANG it! Ding and dang it! I'm not the happiest camper today and because of that, I've decided to blog about all the sucky sucks out there who feel it is their given right to be both annoying and inconvenient. I am so over this; but alas, here I am, living it. Well, ha! I get the last word, and these people will forever be written in my book for eternal prosperity! In 2525 people will read about how so and so sucked! (That is, "if man is still alive, and woman can survive") True story. I'll begin with just people who suck today, but I'll get around to angling my suck stick at others too. I am just going to vent, and I really hope you don't mind - - I'll even add myself to the pot! I suck sometimes too, but today it's not me! Today, I don't suck. (giggles because I'm an adult and I can say "suck" whenever I feel like it!)

This is Saturday, a day I could and should be sleeping in, but my nutritionist wanted me to be at her office rather early so she could get to her son's baseball game. I do a light treatment thing where I lay down on "pads" that have thousands of LED lights.  The light pads are then wrapped around my entire body except for my shoulders and below my knees.  Over my face, neck and upper chest is a thing that looks like a welder's mask, it too is chock full of tiny lights. When she puts my eye goggles on I can still very much see the really bright red lights, but it's better than not having the goggles on, I'm sure.  The light treatments last about 25 minutes each time, and I do them twice a week. So far, and it's been about 6 treatments, I've lost 12 inches and 11 pounds, so yeah, I'd say it's working. 

I was REALLY looking forward to being there today and doing my treatment, but when I arrived the nutritionist wasn't going to be there to get me out of the contraption, she had an assistant. NO.  No...I am not going to get naked for someone I don't know. I'm really rather picky about who I get naked with. I didn't know my nutritionist, but she was in fact a nutritionist, and the one I'm paying to assist me. Sorry, I'm not being a bitch, I swear, but my boobs and boo-boo don't get seen by that many, and certainly not some random someone you paid $10 an hour to take people off the lights. Heck, I don't think she was even of legal age! (No, she probably was, but she was tiny and pretty so yeah, no.)  NOPE.  We rescheduled. I drove the 28 miles back home and got the text asking me to come back in literally 3 hours -- sure; why not? YOU SUCK!

The text said "I'm really sorry, I wish I had known" and I thought really...because I wish I had known too because I would not have woken up so soon, showered, driven 28 miles one way, and had to tell someone they're not worthy to see me bare-skinned. I got another text saying how sorry she was again, and she'll give me a free treatment for my inconvenience. OK, well, I'm not going to lie, I do appreciate that, and I'll take her up on it, but you don't do that. You own the shop, you get paid to do the work. Show up! I do. I always show up and do my job. I don't know, I guess it's a First World problem, but there you go - - call me an impatient and impetuous American, and I'll probably agree with you, but dammit I do my job when I'm called upon to do it, and I don't push it off on someone else; never have. My Mom raised me to be that way. I'd like to think I've done the same.

Who else sucks today? Oh, there are at least a dozen people I could rattle off to you. Let's start with Karen M. of Texas. She was supposed to buy my horse today and didn't show up.  She's one of four who have all called, all texted, all wasted my time explaining every last detail of my horse and her behavior, and then they swear, promise, and affirm that they will show up and take her home. We spend hours talking about their ability to ride, their desire to have MY horse, and how MY horse is the ONLY one they could possibly consider. I have learned that horse people are good for about two things; telling lies and not showing up when they say they will, which is sort of the same thing as lying, but it's worse. I have driven out to the barn four times now to wait on people who don't show. When I call them they don't answer. When I text them they don't answer. I am left to wonder if they're dead on the side of the road or if they are like so many are, just sucky people with sucky lives who have nothing better to do than to suck. I am usually not wrong.

Oh, and yes, my daughter sucks! Caity sucks!!  She grounded my grandson (my one and only grandson) from his phone so now Gramma can't call him and Facetime! YOU SUCK THE WORST, but maybe she only sucks the worst because all the others suck and I wanted to talk to my booger bears (Copeland and Sailor) so I could moan and complain. They listen to me. They have to, I'm the Gramma. I mean, yeah, most of the time they tune me out, I know they do, but that's because I suck and they know it. At least they love me. I believe that. I'm going to have to get in my car and drive 110 miles to get a hug now. Tell me that's not the most unfair treatment in the world!  Again, First World issues, yeah, I know. I'll get over it. I'll get over all of it really; it's just that people need to be more ... I know, better!

OK well, that should do it. I'm about to make myself a chocolate banana smoothie because I can. I need this, and it's going to help with all the sucky poo poo I've had to deal with today. Maybe I'll just tell the dogs I need a hug and I won't have to drive 110 miles. I can just wait a week until my grandson isn't grounded - - what did he do anyway? C'mon! He's a sweety!!  No way he said THAT! (must have gotten that from his Gramma too...oops!) 

I Was Terminated! THANK YOU Jesus!

 It is not every day that you can wake up and thank Jesus that your job decided to terminate you, but today was one of those days. YES! I can now take the time to sleep in, read my book in peace, work on my guitar lessons (I'm training myself), and I can exercise in the middle of the morning without feeling like I'm cheating on my boss' time. I'm the type of employee who actually works from home when I'm contracted to work from home. I actually wake up, log in, work the hours I'm asked to work, and I will even give it a good college effort, but lately, I've been sorely upset with myself for accepting an assignment that not only took me away from my beloved bed - - God knows I love my slumber; I go to bed around 10:00 p.m. and if left alone I'll sleep past 8:00 a.m., giving me the good solid 10+ hours I really think I need and deserve. Well, now I can do that again and not feel guilty for waking up, logging in, and running to the kitchen twice to get coffee when I wasn't properly clocked out!

My bud Kevin called me about a month ago asking me if I wanted to take on another assignment, and this one was a good one - - and it was, he wasn't lying. It paid very well, it had benefits once they decided to hire me full time, which would have been in 90 days. I can do anything for 90 days as long as I watch myself and don't go rock climbing or something stupid like that (laughs because I don't climb rocks but I will jump on my horse in the rain.) I take zinc and low-dose aspirin, so I've staved off the 2nd round of Covid for sure; no one realizes it, but zinc actually really does keep it at bay. The more you know! I drink over 100 ounces of water every day too, so maybe that has something to do with being more healthy as well.  The bottom line is, Kevin is a friend, he's in the employment business, he needed to fill a hard-to-fill slot, one that required prerequisite knowledge and experience in sales and insurance; so he thought of me. I agreed, and there we were - - there I was, getting out of my bed at 6:30, working 7a-4p, not sleeping in, not working out on my terms, not reading books, not practicing guitar, not spending too much time on social media, and basically hating myself for being so nice; no more nice!  I got terminated!!

From Day 1 of the new job (which is from home), I had tech issues. I don't do tech, so they had tech issues. I turn computers on, I expect them to work, and when they don't I call the Help Desk. The guys at the Help Desk and I became closer and closer, we chat now, one even became my Facebook friend, we do blog exchanges now because I spend an extraordinary time with them every single morning trying to get my new out-of-the-box laptop to work properly.   The company I agreed to work for couldn't get their software to load; it finally loaded, and I lost my H drive. They couldn't find it, then I lost my S drive. I don't want to think of the embarrassing looks I could have gotten if the office(s) were open and people knew my H and S were not loaded; that I was in fact H-less and S-less! Basically, it meant I couldn't receive or share information with others in the company. I couldn't send out prewritten scripted dialog to physicians, insurance companies, credential contracting administrators, and the like. I was only able to make calls, verify whether or not an office received a package from us if they had time to review it if they wanted to sign up with us, and if so, they could let someone else know because let's face it, without an H or S drive, I was just another pretty face in the Matrix! Worthless!

I could save things to my desktop, but the company gurus thought it wasn't secure. Apparently, with the type of credentials I was trying to obtain, I had to be on a secured drive. I get it. I was less than secure and therefore, they had two choices. I could take on a less position; one I am absolutely overqualified to take, and therefore the company would never consider it, or they could terminate me. I didn't really have a choice mind you, that was all them, but they made the right choice! THANK YOU....they let me know at 10:00 a.m. this morning, but the funny thing is, about 9:30 today my new book (the first blog book) came back to me to review, but I was unable to review it until I got off work at 4:00 this afternoon! HA! Yes, now I can! I can not only review my book, but I can also lollygag too. I can pittle. I can goof off, I can act the fool, I can do the dance, and I can even go shopping for journals and dog treats in the middle of the day without feeling guilty or lying about my actual time on the clock! I'm not on a clock! I'm terminated. God is amazing!  There are times I just want to reach up and KISS HIM!  

Believe me when I say I'm not making light of people who find themselves out of work; I know that's a terrible thing, and I've been stretched to the hilt a 1000 times in the past myself, but this time around it's such a blessing! I don't want to overstate it, but I didn't really want to take the assignment. I just wanted to help out a friend, make a little money for it I guess, and maybe do it until the book sales come in for the first book, maybe a bit longer so I can be paid for said book sales, but I had NO INTENTION of going permanent after 90 days unless the company was willing to let me fly to Scotland and set up shop in my semi-detached or terraced house in the Kingdom of Fife! I have plans, I have goals, I have dreams, I have desires! I want this, and God knows this. He's literally opening every door and He's got this covered for me. He's 100% in my corner, both supporting me and making it happen for me. I love that.  Woot!  (Does the dance in her little plaid jammies because she can!) SMILES.  It's all working according to hope and faith. 

Earl's Rib Palace - That is All.

 There are those places where you go when you can say something like, "Hey, I'm going to Earl's, you want anything?" and when you say that, when you do that, you are immediately met with wild-eyed hungry varmints who can't beat you to the car fast enough! Climbing in all four open doors at once, you find yourself among friends, family, neighbors, even strangers if you say those words loud enough; at least here in Oklahoma City, you can expect that.  Co-workers are apt to sneak out and not tell anyone where they're going if they plan on making an Earl's run. They know they'll spend their entire lunch hour just putting in the order and then there may not be enough people in the packed car to bring it all back to the office. You more or less want to just call in that order, and maybe have DoorDash bring a van! 

Sure, sure, yeah, there are other BBQ places in the city (we don't write out Barbecue here, we say BBQ), and you know Earl's is well aware of their competition; I think a new guy named Dave is actually making a name for himself on the Southside of the city, off of 149th and Western, but I won't make a thing about it if I go; even if I love it, you find a hole and you stick with it. You don't cheat on your Q. You don't do that! Several retired alumni from OU (OK Univ) football team(s) over the years have tried their hand at starting up a Q either in physical form or just creating and lending their name to the sauce they claim. It's all good. We're in it for the long haul here in the Sooner State; God help you if you shout out "Boomer Sooner" at a new hole; there are some things you don't mess with, and Q is that some thing. You find your hole and you stick with it. If your daddy found a good place to eat at, and you were raised on it, you stand your family ground! You stick with it. We are an EARL'S family!

Before Earl there was a place, (a man) called Leo's that absolutely mastered the tech of Q and his reputation took on many many legends, the smallest of which was possibly a hole in New York City where I found myself in 2006 ordering a 1/4 slab of ribs with mild sauce and a side of coleslaw. I don't do fries - if you eat Q you eat coleslaw, baked beans, even okra, but you leave the fries for burgers; OK? I found myself in the Big Apple ordering ribs and I joking asked for Leo's homemade sauce - - they had it! WHAT? ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS right now? They had it. They "imported" it from a dealer out of the Sooner State and yes, they had Leo's. I had to pay an additional $4.00 for a small tub of that nectar, but honey, it was so very worth it. It was HOME! 

Go far! Stay near! Whatever it takes, but keep your tongue and your belly loyal to your BBQ hole and spread the word about it. There are families out there who haven't made their choice(s) yet, and the more they know, the more educated they'll be - - I think Earl's has three or four restaurants now; this actually means he may be too big for his britches in our neck of the woods. He may become commercialized and if that happens, if the sauce and smoked meats are ever compromised, we Okies tend to friendzone a place in a heartbeat; and we walk on, walk out, but not without placing an order because that would be stupid. We're still gonna eat your food mind you, but we're gonna only do it if we're really starving and can't make it to our other hole fast enough. Keep it local. Keep it small. Keep it tender. Keep it mouth-drooling smokey; and by all things holy, keep the recipe a dang secret! C'mon now! There is sacred and there is BBQ and that's the way it is. Ya'll know that.  (Ha! Ain't that cute? Grammarly tried to autocorrect the word "ya'll" to become "you'll".  NOPE!) 

Happy Birthday Baby Boy !

     Oh hey, yeah, I'm sorry, that would be Staff Sergeant Baby Boy, now, wouldn't it?  My son Reuben turns 35 years old today (March 22) and let me tell you, he's just as gorgeous today as he was the first day, I saw him over 35 years ago - - in a dream.  I was privileged and blessed by God to have a very very colorful and vivid dream about my son when I was 3 months pregnant with him. I saw him, and he called me Mom. I knew that second that I was going to have a son, and I would name him Reuben after my sweet daddy.  Reuben was born EXACTLY 9 months after he was conceived to the day, and he's still the very same way - - on time, every time, never late. I don't know if he got that from me or not, but we both feel that being early is on time and being on time is late.  

    Weighing in at six pounds ten ounces, the boy was literally 22" long and, all arms and legs, and he was pushing through the canal leading with his shoulder! The doctor had to turn him around, push him back, and dang if he didn't do the same thing again! My swift-quipping doc leaned over my spread legs and said "You got yourself a linebacker, Mom".  He was right!  Reuben did grow up to be both a lineman and the captain of the team - - but of course, he did. He's always been a natural leader; could be why he's still in the Armed Forces and why he decided to go enlisted rather than become an officer. He's a troop-man, not a paper pusher. As he says "I work for a living", and I absolutely thank him for that dedication. He's my personal hero and he knows it. They don't make moms prouder than this one! He doesn't understand all the fuss, but he allows it.  

    Thirty-five years ago, I was as big as a barn of course, and laying on my side that cool and breezy Saturday spring morning when out of NOWHERE I got the first real contraction; but true to his ever-present commanding ways, Reuben did not give me a few warnings before he made his entrance. No, he stepped up and called out his position with the hardest hitting pressure I'd ever felt; more like a sucker punch to the base of my.... well, down there.  BAM! BAM! BAM!  It was not a gentle knocking, or even a sweet "Hey mom, are you awake? I think I may be coming out now."  No, he pushed through like a Drill Sergeant; demanding my attention, and compelling me to fly to the hospital with little to no time for prepping myself, the nursing staff, or the physician. In fact, they had to find a physician because mine was just taking too long to get to the hospital, and Reuben was not taking his time to arrive. He was set to be out at a certain time, and by God, he made it!  Welcome to the world, Mr. Reuben Andrew Stringfellow! He was born at 12:34 p.m. March 22, 1986, in Oklahoma City's Baptist Medical Center, and into my heart, taking his permanent residence there forever!  

    Today Reuben is in the very elite Oklahoma National Guard 45th Infantry.  He is a Fire Support Specialist (13F), having first served as a 19K (Stryker driver) in the United States (regular) Army; having deployed overseas several times including a stint in Afghanistan and Iraq.  He could see another deployment before he gives up the combat boots, but who knows, he could be a lifer -- he goes back and forth on that one.  What does an 13F do? Here is what the Army Job Profile online had to say:  

"The Fire Support Specialist, which is a military occupational specialty (MOS) 13F, is primarily responsible for leading, supervising or serving in intelligence activities such as target processing for artillery units and brigade maneuvers."   

    All I know is this; my son is damn awesome.  Just so very cool, and did I mention he's really handsome? He's really really handsome.  I would know.  Just ask me, and if you don't believe me, ask Gma! She doesn't lie. Nope, she does not lie. Happy Birthday son, and may God keep you, bless you, and protect you always...always, no seriously...ALL WAYS and always.  You are my heart. 

 

Wisest Man, Huh?

 The Bible is really an interesting read; if you're into murder, mayhem, romance, polygamy, war, and famine, you'll not find a more action-packed book for sure. Now, keep in mind, the Bible is actually 66 books, not one. When I was a kid I was subjected to the memorization rituals that all good Southern Baptist children go through; before I was 7 I couldn't really read the big words of the Bible, but I could sure as heck tell you where to find Deuteronomy and I knew Jude came JUST before the end of the book. For such a powerful "book", Jude is really less than two pages I think. That Jude and this Jude have very little in common when it comes to talking - - just saying! If I had been THAT Jude the Bible would have been about two inches thicker. There's no way I could wrap up the importance of salvation in just two short little pages. NOPE! This blog will end up being longer than the Book of Jude; watch!

So, as kids, we're told by our Sunday School teachers that Jacob had 12 sons, but we're not necessarily told that in order for him to get those 12 sons (and a daughter named Dina) he would have two wives and two concubines! Don't ask me the exact job description of a concubine, but let me tell you, I would never want to have to admit that first, I shared my husband with my older sister, and second, we just simply weren't enough for the man, so he went steady-eddy with two of our closest friends or co-workers, made a few babies with them, and we're just supposed to go along with it - - nope, that just simply would not sit well with me; Jacob would be flat out on his keister BEFORE I married him if I were Rachel; and just after he took my little sister as a wife, if I were Leah. I have NO idea what those two sisters decided to do with the man's laundry, but if you ask me, he would be run out of the house buck naked and he'd owe me every sheep, goat, chicken, and ass he had to his name - - except the ass attached to his backside; he could keep that all to himself!

Children are so gullible; in this case, it's a good thing. Can you imagine if our Sunday School teachers were going over the story of King Solomon in our weekly lesson and the question about his wives popped up in conversation? Jacob had a couple, and that's bad enough, but here we go with the "wisest man to ever live" and it turns out that boy had over 700 wives, and half as many concubines to boot; he had princesses, he had ladies from every country! He was a man whore if there ever was one, and no, there's no mention of King Solomon being like his daddy King David, and being a "man after God's own heart", in fact, we're told that God specifically told ol' Sol not to take wives from foreign regions as they would end up turning him away from his own God...which they did.  How does it work if you're one of 1000+ women and you're "married" to the King? Do you take turns in bed with the man? Maybe wait for him to call you up from wherever you lived in the kingdom for a tryst? C'mon, think about it, you can't have 1000+ women all married to the same (even if he is devilishly handsome) man, living under one castled roof! It would be impossible. This is the best example of what a real kingdom is or could be used for; housing 1000+ women and probably over 3200 children.  

No! Just a big fat, NO...I'd have to decline the offer if it was extended to marry the man. He could ask all day long, but the answer would be no. I mean, I may have to move out of the kingdom if that's where I kept my sheep and all, but I would have to move, and I would probably change my name too so his henchmen couldn't find me and drag me back someday in the future after word of my refusal finally made it back to the son of the greater king. Or, maybe I could say "Sure, why not!", marry the man, get the stimulus check he most likely would have put out for support purposes to anyone looney enough to agree, and when it came my time to sleep with him I could always say "Oh, you know what Solomon, I would, but I'm washing my hair, my camel's hair, my goat's mother's hair, and tonight is the night we play Bingo with the Moabites - - maybe next time?"

I know the Bible is Holy and there are no mistakes in it. I get that. I also know it's been translated a few dozen times, and there are language issues, barriers, changes, and there are different interpretations as well; but there's just NO WAY I can wrap my brain around a few of these men in the Bible who either drop dead because they chose to lie to God (always a dumb decision), they end up murdering the husband so they can have the wife (King David), and there's Sampson - - seriously? It's more than obvious that Delilah wasn't all that into you; why did you tell her your secrets? Oh, OK...they don't tell us that as kids either - - he wanted sex.  Sex.  He gave up his STRENGTH for it. He lost his sight for it. He ended up dead because of it. Men! (Sorry, that was a bit of a rant)  Like I said, I am just not that sure that somewhere along the way someone may have forgotten to mention that the wisest man in our known history had way way way too many women calling him their own; more like "Take a number, I'll be right with you ladies!"  Again, yeah, no.  I'm either #1 or not one at all, but I'm no one's fool.

Maybe it worked out in the end for Solomon - - oh wait, no, he died without loving God, so there you go, no, it didn't work out for him at all.  What did we learn? I guess that Sunday School is a great, really great place to hear about and learn stories from the Bible, but maybe we shouldn't be too hard on the teachers for not revealing EVERYTHING they found out when they got a bit older. I think I was in my 20's when I realized Eve and Adam didn't have, or couldn't have belly buttons. Go figure.

Self Appreciation - It's a Thang!

 You see people at the bookstores and they'll all lining up to read the latest self-help book, and for some, it's an addiction of sorts. You see them week after week, month after month, reading, searching, researching, trying to find that magical answer to their deep-seated issues regarding self-hate; here's a thought, stop hating yourself! At the risk of sounding real (and I do mean overtly) arrogant, or as my friend Tex would say, "cheeky", I think this blog being my own creation, and my own personal space in the universe where I can say what I want to say, and mean what I say; I think this blog warrants me saying to you right now to stop hating yourself and start appreciating YOU for who YOU are. Simple? No, it's not, but then again you aren't simple either, now, are you? 

Suppose you close your eyes (not now, you're reading my blog) and you think about yourself as a kid; is that when the self-hate started for you? Can you pinpoint the time when you started saying things to yourself that you couldn't or wouldn't say to your grandma without being taken to the shed and whooped with a leather strap? Some of ya'll probably don't even know what I'm talking about, but there was a time when grandmas were the scariest things on the planet, and you tip-toed around them because if you said a word that didn't fit into their cluster of appropriate things to say, you were, as I said, taken out back to the shed and your backside was tanned up a bit either with a good strong piece of leather strap, or the nearest switch she could find laying around the yard from off one of her old fruit trees. Grandmas always had big strong fruit trees too; don't you remember? God forbid she ever asked you to get your own switch so she could whoop you with it -- kids are so dumb, they found the smallest thinnest greenest piece of tree possible, not knowing that was the worst pain-bringer under God's eye.  Grandmas were (and are) the one things keeping you safe -- a Granny prayer can equal 100 standard prayers; you know it. 

If you don't start every single day off with at least a dozen good solid compliments to yourself then you need to regroup, pull all 75 trillion cells in your frame into one big lump, pull yourself by your bootstraps, and look your pretty face squarely in the mirror so you don't lose sight of who it is you're talking to. You don't have to say a bunch of words you don't mean, and you don't have to lie to get the truth out either; you are absolutely and positively the ONLY you out there, and as such you deserve to be treated and admired for that single fact. You have everything you need to be perfectly you and any deviation from that united soul, body, mind, spirit, self is just off-balance and out of place. You have to put it back into place, polarize yourself to who you were created to be, and if you can't find that person, you do what everyone must do if they need advice about a product; you go to the Creator and ask Him what He thinks of you. He'll tell you - - you don't even have to listen for Him to tell you, He'll tell you. You do need to listen to understand. You are awesome.

Start out really simple and look at your face in the mirror. Instead of cursing at yourself, talk to yourself, and say what you want your heart to hear and understand. We all want to belong to something, so start by belonging to you; accepting you. If you need change, be that change. If you need help, ask for it. Look at your eyes, say something about them. Appreciate what they do. Look at your nose, again, out loud say what you think and what you need to hear, without being degrading, belittling, or rude to your nose. It's helping you breathe, isn't it?  Talk to your freckles, your mouth, your teeth, your tongue, your eyebrows; and never forget your ears, never, ever forget your ears. They are so important. Once you get past your head move to your neck, your shoulders, your chest, arms, hands; stop at the palms and really look at the lines. Do you understand the lines? 

Once you're finished with your hands, your fingers, your nails, and even the hair and freckles that cover you, move to your belly, and if you say something mean to your belly you deserve to be taken out back twice (tell your belly thank you). Move to your hips, your productive organs, even if they don't or haven't produced they are marvelous, they are created to create. They are so intricate and unique. There's that bum! Grab it! Let it know you see it and let it know you won't forget about it today as you thank you for all the things you mean to you. Those legs are not just for standing, walking, or crossing. When we think of what we would do without our legs we are immediately reminded of the sacrifice many have made for us in war, in combat, through surgery, diabetes, accidents.  Thank your legs. Take a minute to rub them and let them know you'll drink more water to assist them with their responsibilities. 

Finally, you're at your feet, aren't you? You can't over compliment your feet. It's impossible. They are some of the most interesting things you'll ever encounter and there they are just waiting to be loved by you. Polish your toenails, file the callouses, check your heels twice because they really need to be reminded sometimes, just how superheroish they are from time to time. God bless our heels! Once you've loved your body - - move on to your soul, your spirit, your mind. Don't chinch on this! This is WHO you are, your body is WHERE you are living. Find YOU and remind YOU of all the creative and wild imaginative things you want to see, hear, feel, touch, taste, walk through, and explore with that body of yours.  Don't let your mind be a place you would not feel safe. Create within yourself the gardens of hope, peace, brilliance, and of course love - - places you build, places you want to share with others; but first, you have to feel good about it; about you.

You can't appreciate yourself without believing that you're worth appreciating; it's impossible. If you need to get a journal and write out the reasons you know you're fantabulously great, do it. You don't have to lie - - tell the truth. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain and share with others. No one said you have to be arrogant, "cheeky", or conceited, but there's no reason to hold back, lie, or mislead yourself into believing you are less than what God Himself created. If you will sing a hymn about your assurances being blessed, and you don't love yourself, then why would you waste your own time trying to impress God with your song? He made that too. He knows already just how marvelous you are - - you won't ever over thank Him - - you can't. Love God, love you, love others. That's how it works. 

You're welcome. 

Photo: Emma Gatewood "Gramma Gatewood" to some.

Detox! Natural Poopy Pills!

 IF you have the privilege to know my comprehensibly rude and overtly inappropriate family, you would know that my three children will at times have competitions that involve poop -- yes, you heard me, human waste.  They will, independently, collectively, competitively contact each other through text, messenger or through a game on the headset, and they'll talk about their last poop. They'll make it a joke of course, but they're very serious about making it a one-up situation; forcing the other one (or two, depending on how many of them are on the call) to either lie about their last poop, or to admit they were inferior in their production of said waste, unless of course; and this is huge (no pun intended) they are telling the truth, and they can prove it - - yes, I said prove it. They are (and never have been) above sharing graphic photos to each other. THANK YOU, children, for not sharing with the rest of the world! I did at least get that part right when I tried my dangedest to raise you - - I did something (if only one thing) right!

We have always been a family of poopers, I can tell you that. With the vast amounts of protein being blended in shakes, cooked on the stove, and just eaten out of cardboard cans, my family will out fart any family I know; and I'm not above admitting to being a part of that statistic. Reuben wins, we all agree, there is no one in this family arrogant enough, willing, or able to challenge the man, he's the King, and we give him that crown. I have written in another book that it's sad (to a degree) that as a mom I can literally walk into a fart and know which kid produced it - - KNOWING that I was about to walk through the door or hallway; it's a thing, and they all get the biggest kick out it - - sometimes I literally sit in my overstuffed chair just thanking God for their individual homes while I breathe in the clean fresh conditioned air of my home...and say a little prayer of gratitude for the years I raised them too.  How many moms can undisputedly claim that all of her children continue to communicate on a daily basis at least two to three times, and even if it's just to compare waste, it's sharing love. TRUE love.

One of the ways I personally stay in the game is to eat raw fiber and protein vs. protein shakes, but I do drink those if I work out. EVERY day I pop in a few natural poopy pills (as I call them), somewhere between five or six dates, four to six figs, and a handful of raisins throughout the day. I can be seen putting cranberries in my oatmeal; I have trail mix which incorporates nuts, seeds, and either raisins or cranberries, and I try to drink about 100 ounces of water a day. I think that's about 3L, let me go check that out for my UK friends. Yes, Siri just told me that 100 ounces equal 2.96 liters. There you go! I am so close to being prepared to go to Scotland! (I'm laughing) I also prefer to say I am 167cm tall than five feet and seven inches. My weight in kilograms looks so so so much better than it does in pounds, believe me. 

When I was a kid, my mom and my grandmother used to pop prunes like candy so I did too. I just never got over it I guess. I love prunes to this day, but do prefer figs and dates when given a choice. I'm flat out amazed at how many of my friends (all but one) don't like fresh fruit at all and will never even consider eating a prune, date, or fig.  They'll eat a Fig Newton cookie! They'll even talk about how healthy it is because it's made of figs. They forget about the sugar, the processing, and yeah, the cookie part. They eat two of them and think they've mastered the corner on healthy snacking. I smile.  I tend to smile because it feels so much better now that I've stopped banging my head against the walls trying to get my friends to understand that what goes in must come out and if it doesn't come out the way it should, you really maybe might kinda wanna start thinking about not eating it! PUT THE PROCESSED FOOD DOWN!  A good rule of thumb really is if it comes in a box in the frozen section of the store, it's not good for you. 

A good detox is good for the body of course, and it is good for the mind as well. There is truth to the fact that our psyche is attached to our bodies and when we feel stopped up inside it's no surprise that we aren't thinking happy thoughts, doing happy things, or making happy choices. Most of the time you see and hear depressed people say they eat more than they should when they feel down and out - - it's time for Ben and Jerry's or it's another afternoon with their "therapist" who just happened to be a big bag of Oreos and a bunch of Diet Coke. For some reason people still feel that drinking diet colas with snacks will somehow even the score - - it does not folks. It makes it so much worse. Try prunes instead - - you get sad, pop a prune. You get pissed off? Find a fig! You can't see straight from the stress of the world, your spouse, your kids, your job, EVERYTHING seems to be crashing all around you? That's when you hit the closet and pray, but when you get out of it, you pick up a pear, an apple, something with fiber, and you get that poop right out of you. No drugs needed...just fresh, vibrant, living fruit, and maybe another 30 ounces of water, because you have to be honest with yourself, you probably didn't drink enough clear water today did you? (C'mon, you know you didn't) 

Well, that's my rant today - - more fiber! More fiber equals more poop. More poop equals more smiles and more smiles equal one happy person.  If you multiply that happy person by a few thousand you have a happy community. If you multiply it by a few hundred thousand, you have a happy city.  Try multiplying that by millions - - billions!  We can do this. We have enough fruit out there. We have enough water too, but do we have enough toilet paper? That's the real question. That's an entirely different blog! 

Because 'Merica!

 MY GOODNESS, I wish I had taken his picture!  Laura and I were walking into Winco, the grocery store about a mile or so from our place.  We typically shop there because they have an amazing bulk section where I can literally get whey protein by the pound and not have to pay exorbitant prices for it at the health food stores or even Walmart. I think it's 100% the same recipe sans sugar, and it's one-fourth the cost! I'm not lying, but whey protein powder is NOT what this blog is about; not by a long shot. 

Laura and I walked into the store and just as we approached the door we both (almost without thinking about it) reached into our purses to pull out those stupid masks that don't work, and no one believes could possibly really save a single life, but there are those who are still a bit sheepy and a bit nervous about stepping up and thinking for themselves; we'll leave it at that. I don't need to get all political on you. As we were about to put our masks on our faces  - there he was in all of his wonderful, big, bearded, beautiful, brutish self.  If he had been wearing a kilt, he would have been sent by God directly to me, I know this, but no, he was wearing his Wranglers, and on the right hip of those denim gloves, he wore a leather holster with a loaded .357 (pearl-handled in fact).  He was glorious! Thank you, Mr. Patriot. 

Mr. Patriot was about 6'2" tall, weighing in at somewhere between 215 and 230 pounds. He had a clean-cut but his face was majestically hairy - - we're talking several inches of free-flowing beardedness - - I gave this man a head nod and said "Thank you" out loud in front of God and everyone. I pointed at his gun when I said it. I asked him if the truck outside with all the American flags flying all around it was his truck. He stated it was not, but that he had seen it, and wanted to know where he could pick up a three-pronged flag holder for his truck's bumper! I thought maybe BassPro would have it, but I'm sure he can order it. I don't have a truck - - but the free-flowing American flags draping and cascading are fabulous representations of how my heart felt when I watched the man walk into Winco without his mask.  THANK YOU AGAIN, Mr. Patriot. It gave me the courage I needed to put my mask back into my purse, and of course, Laura followed suit.  

We were not alone.  As we walked throughout the store many other people saw us, gave us the nod, turned to their friends, partners, children, whomever they were with, and they began demasking! It only took ONE good Patriot to stand up. I'm rather ashamed that it wasn't me, to begin with, but I was in compliant mode I guess; not anymore.  I'm fed up with the masks, I'm done with being bullied. I have asthma. I'm not even supposed to be hassled if I don't wear a face mask, but hassled I am. I have been told I can't shop at Winco, Target, Kohl's, Best Buy, and other stores if I am not wearing my stupid mask. Funny how the Tractor Supplies, feed stores, tack stores, and car dealerships don't make you wear one.  There's someone at Best Buy's door to turn you away.  I realize the poor souls are just doing their job, but the bosses and owners need to realize we, the customers, keep the doors open!

Bless the big man's heart! He walked slowly, even methodically through Winco with his head up straight and tall. His tight tight veteran's t-shirt proudly proclaiming his patriotism, and the fact that he had given several years of his life defending his and my right to shop, eat, drive, dine, work, and interact with others freely and without fear of the government overstepping onto our Constitutional rights.  Not one manager, not one employee, not one customer said a word to any of us about our choice to be maskless - - thank you, again. I have to say thank you because it's the way things should be. If someone feels the need to wear their own mask, so be it, but it's like trying to tell me I have to pray to someone other than God, it's just not going to happen; if I had things my way everyone would pray to Jehovah YHWH; no one else. 

THANK YOU, to every single person, American or not, who is willing to stand up for themselves and make the statement that they are going to live without fear. We didn't shut the world down for the flu, we didn't shut it down for diabetes.  We didn't shut it down for any good reason whatsoever; and we were bullied into going against what we knew intellectually was false - - no more.  Don't Tread on ME!

Gosh Darn, I LOVE my Bankers.

 Last month my banker called me to say she saw some suspicious activity on my account. It's not as if she was going over my account personally; no, I am sure they have an A.I. out there routinely servicing their clients' account searching for purchases that just don't seem like they "belong" to the patron; and that's exactly what it was. Some banks send you an email, some may simply note the account, keep an eye out and let you know only if it becomes a habit or pattern, but not my bank. Nope.  My gal was calling me and saying in her sweet Southern accent, "Hey Jude, I think I see something on your account that doesn't make a lick of sense. Did you download anything from the UK recently?" The truth is that I had actually done that, but right behind the CD I had downloaded came two and maybe even three attempts to withdraw another amount, this time for services to an anti-virus protector but my banker was saying that it appeared that the two transactions were linked. (Turns out she was mistaken, but it did appear that way since the UK download was in fact from Scotland, and the anti-virus purchase was from England) 

To be honest, the entire event was both upsetting and confusing as I knew the singer/artist whose CD I had just downloaded; knew him by reputation, and felt 100% certain that he would never have anything to do with the fraudulent acts that may or may not have been attached to his PayPal account as it was being evaluated by my bank's investigators.  I let the man know immediately, and yeah, it was a bit embarrassing and maybe I could have been more subtle about it; looking back, I may have escalated his fears to a degree, but better safe than sorry.  My bank immediately notified INTERPOL and they also gave my money back to me, changed the card I have with them and contacted PayPal to let them know their A.I. would place PayPal on a 180-day fraud alert to let them know they've got my back! I was happy. It's not every day every bank is so thorough and/or thoughtful.

I've always had a good rapport with my bankers! In Indianapolis I could be seen standing at the counter inside the Kroger store, where my bank was located, just talking and chatting it up with one of the 6 bankers that worked the small station.  We ate out together, shopped together, brought small acceptable gifts to each other at birthdays, anniversaries. I even found a job for the wife of one of my bankers, and to my knowledge, after so many years, she's still working for the school district.  Sometimes it's not what you know, but who you know, and my bankers have always been supportive of my volunteer work, my rescues, you name it, if they could get involved and help the community in one way or the other, they did. I've never banked at larger banks either; that's the difference. I would rather work with smaller groups of people who are people-oriented and want to be the change! It always helps to know your banker's birthday and kid's names when you come up short on a payment to something too; they can spot you a quick loan for a day! Whew! That's happened more than once.

Yesterday I got another call from my banker -- this time it seems that someone I paid through PayPal again, was unable to get the money I sent because of the fraud alert. You guessed it, she lived in the UK, and had never used PayPal before, so my bank's A.I. picked up on the less than standard behavior of the transaction and put a hold on the amount I paid out to the artist for her newly released CD. She thought it was her fault and was greatly embarrassed having to contact me to ask for payment before sending the CD. I don't blame her! You don't give out your life's work on a promise - - no, she was 100% correct, but then again, so was my bank!  I guess we just live in troubled times where anyone and everyone is trying to one-up or outdo the system some way or another. Well, it all got straightened out and even though it took me driving 7 miles to sign a waiver, it was worth it to know I'm not only protected, but I'm loved as well.  My gal Linda offered me a sweet sugary cinnamon bun for my trouble. There's a bakery next door to the bank, and yes, for my trouble of having to drive up to the bank in person, she went next door and bought me this big, fat, juicy, sticky, oh-so-wonderful pastry!! Goodness, I love my bankers!

I could go on and on about them, and maybe I'll stop by and take a photo of them to print in my book if they're allowed to be photographed and mentioned by name. You have to go through Legal and be sure you're not out of compliance you know -- but let me tell you, no A.I. is as warm and fuzzy as any one of my sweet bankers - - and that goes for any one of them I've ever been associated with. You just can't beat real people with real faces, real hearts, real commitment, and true friendliness - - No, you just can't. Even during the pandemic, when we had to use the drive-through we were cracking jokes, giving air-fist-bumps through the windows, and holding up cards and notes to each other saying "LOVE YOU" or "CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU IN PERSON INSIDE!"  It was just awful not being able to stand around and chat for 20 or 30 minutes at a time, have a cup of coffee and just go over the accounts and catch up on our lives!  We survived.  They were troopers!  Thank you, Bankers. THANK YOU.

Inkened

 I don't always hang out with Satanists, in fact, I rarely do, but when I do it's just one and she's my tattoo artist. I won't give her name because she hasn't given me permission to do so; besides that, I am currently praying for her salvation, so I don't want to either embarrass her or cause someone to interfere with that work that is in progress.  I believe a good witness is an important thing when you've entered into a place absolutely known for housing evil spirits, demons, and the like. Being a Christian, it's not a sin to get a tattoo, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there are not a lot of parlors out there that give both inkened memories on your bicep and a devotional service for your soul -- just sayin'.

First, let me tell you that the first time I met my tattoo artist she was at the store and she had just finished inking a man's calf with the words "JESUS SAVES", she mentioned it in passing, and I asked her if it was difficult or hard on her to do it since she was working quite literally under a five-foot by five-foot blanket type banner in her room that had the image of the goat-man Devil himself with the words "THE DEVIL" printed under the statue.  She stated that it wasn't difficult to do professionally, but she knows when the two-spirit worlds collide in her room and her "space" because she said they seem to tear at each other pretty badly and she can feel the pull. 

She then turned to me and asked me if it was going to be OK being in that room while she worked on my tattoo, and I laughed. I told her yes, because as a Christian, I'm protected and it's not me that has to move at the name of Lucifer, but in fact the demons (and Lucifer) must flee at the name of Jesus. I was good -- and it put her at ease to know I wasn't going to lecture her about her choices. Why lecture when I can pray? I told her I'd pray for her, and she even thanked me. I thought about giving her my address so she could go feed my dogs and cats after the rapture, but I didn't want to totally offend her and end up with "666" on my arm.  Besides, I do want her to change her mind and heart and join me in that event!

I went into the store today to have her do my new tattoo, which is a Celtic Cross with a sort of loopy design to it, and there is a purple-headed thistle running through the cross, sort of sticking out to the side.  She didn't listen to me when she was designing it, and had to redo the design; which ended up taking too long, and I had to reschedule, but now she'll have the cross in her room (in a file) for a few days and maybe that'll help her understand that even the image of the cross can play a role in her (hopeful) surrender to Jesus. I hope she will accept Him, and I hope she'll remain where she is because she's incredibly talented, but yeah she can replace the wall hanging - - maybe something a bit less demonic! I'm not saying she has to put up a poster of the Resurrection or anything, but more and more Christians are going into these places to be inked up - - why not cater to your clientele? 

Anyway, I may or may not end up with the cross being on my forearm as I had first imagined it; she insisted that putting it where I wanted it made the cross appear to be upside-down, while I was saying I could lift up my arm to show it to anyone - - she would know more about upside-down crosses than I would so I decided to think about it a few more days and let the thing sit in her room for a minute to do God's work.  Maybe this weekend I'll swing by and have it put on my upper arm so that there's no argument about the orientation of the cross -- I don't want anyone seeing my tat and thinking I'm a Satanist too! Nope, that's not going to work for me.  I can wait, and make a decision. I may end up not getting it, and just leaving it in her room! Ha! Take that demon blanket thing! In your face!

I Can Make That Without Lookin'

 When you're a cook you cook, and when you're a mom you mom, so there I am most of the evenings every week, just being a mom and cooking. Laura is so sweet, she's not only my daughter, she's my roommate; so she has to eat what I cook when I cook it, and she's not allowed to complain about it. It wouldn't do her any good to complain because I don't listen to anyone if they get it in their heads to cut down my abilities to mix up something tasty in the kitchen. I don't have to brag, bragging is for amateurs, No, what I do is tell the truth, then I pull out things from the fridge and the cabinets, whip something up from the scratch ingredients (always without measuring because it pisses my friend off when I do that) and I just shove the food under the noses of anyone who hasn't ordered from a take out menu. Sometimes I'm cooking for one, sometimes I'm cooking for two or three, but I usually end up making enough for five or six just in case. You always want to be prepared for the extra kid walking through the door if one or the other of them texted their sibling to say "Mom's cooking tonight".

I mean sure, I can do something easy like pasta and meat sauce, that's one of those things you do in your sleep, but I prefer to find a good recipe online and just wing it to see what happens. You never know. I don't have an Instapot yet; thinking about buying one, but I'm not sure I want to form that habit. I rather enjoy chopping, simmering, saute', boiling, broiling, grilling, etc. I like the time it takes to be in the kitchen fussing over what I'm presenting to those that I love; call me old-fashioned, but yeah, there's a bit of truth to the fact that a mom likes to be needed and where else can she feel more needed than in the kitchen at supper time? 

I decided to look up a curry recipe online and found one that was detailed enough to try and make sense of it. The only problem is, I'm the only one in my household at the moment that will eat curry. If I want to share it I have to call Caity and Brandola over, schedule it, wait for the day to arrive and hope they don't change their minds about driving 110 miles to my house to try my new curry recipe. They kept their word and I was able to spin up a big mess of Charlie Bigham's Chicken Curry with rice and a side salad, that happened to look a great deal like a typical garden salad with spinach since I wasn't successful at finding a few of the needed ingredients to be incredibly cool.  I had to settle for damn cool, which is almost as good - - Charlie Bigham's Chicken Curry recipe is found at https://www.bighams.com/products/product/thai-red-chicken-curry-fragrant-rice/  Now, to be honest with you, it's supposed to be served with coconut rice, but my family, being Southern as the day is long, and a bit too chicken themselves to try too many good things; did not deign to allow me to really impress them. I have to live with this. 

Suffice it to say we had a great meal that could have been even better, and it will be better when I live by myself and don't feel that I have to cater to these inexperienced palates that refuse to expand their horizons - - they can't blame me; I did all I could to stir up a stir fry, mix up a mixed bag, toss up a tossed salad with various varieties of otherworldly entrancing and appetizingly pleasant foodery. They have only themselves to blame - - or in Brandon's case, he can blame others, but not me. He cannot blame me. I love Brandon. He never turns down anything I decide to make even if it sounds like something he would see in a Sci-Fi flick -- he just always nods, smiles, and agrees. I love Brandon.

Laura? Well, that's another story. She's a Taurus.  If she hasn't eaten it at least 50 times she refuses to try it, and if she hasn't seen it, smelt it, been around it, heard about it, read about it, or thought about it, she won't think of attempting it. She's the one at the other end of the table watching her sister and brother in law poke and fork up chunks of red curry and peas, waiting for one or the other of them to die before she decides to add my red curry chicken to her list of things she may try when she's older; much older. She has to let it stew a minute first - - and by a minute I mean a year or two. Laura will however clean up the rice and salad; those are safe. Sometimes I think I'll just give her away but I'm too afraid I'll miss her little redhead; and I give in, allowing her to talk me into making pasta and meat sauce -- AGAIN.

Boring kid.