Pool Antics and Aerobics

 I live in an apartment complex that I have literally lived at five separate times in my lifetime. I have been here for six years this time, which is the longest I've stayed but there's a really good reason for it. I am in a coveted two-bedroom apartment, and even though it's not one of the ones in the same building with the washer and dryer, that would be cool, it is an end unit, and if I ever leave I'll have to wait 18 years to lease here again because NO ONE ever leaves this place unless or until they die!  

     Our complex is one of those that you just sort of pass when you're driving by and you never really stop and notice it. You may remember it because there are usually 100 geese walking across the road at any given time and if you speed by we (the people who live here) will throw things at your car, chase you down, and beat the living tar out of you if you ever did hit one of our birds. I think we've had more police visits for that than anywhere else in the city, but the police typically just warn us again and tell us it's not really legal to threaten the lives of people and we should stop. We'll stop, sure, when they stop trying to run over our birds. Call us crazy, but we do love our Canada Geese here at the "Hub" as we refer to our little slice of Heaven.  

    Many of the tenants are either currently active in the military or are veterans. When I say many, they are becoming fewer and fewer in numbers; my son moved away when he married, and there have been several passings of neighbors and loved ones over the past few years. We're changing our ways some too, and not pushing nearly as many would-be trespassers into the pond - - oh, the glory days.  Our little peaceful oasis has from time to time been trodden on by passers-by that don't pass by as quickly as perhaps they should and well, the ducks and turtles meet new friends from time to time, we'll put it that way. At night our complex is well guarded by the men (mostly grown boys) who like to play Night Ninja, wear red-lensed goggles, carry firearms, and keep the peace - - again, those days are fewer and farther between than they used to be.  Most of the splashing nowadays takes place in the pool.

    Our pool sits prominently in the middle of the complex and hasn't been active in years. We didn't use it much in 2017, 2018, or 2019, and of course, with COVID looming like it did in 2020, it wasn't even opened for use. This year we saw the first day of swimming just two days ago due to a broken filter and lack of real interest by the old tenants -- old meaning we've been here a very long time. The new tenants complained enough I suppose so the maintenance men decided to fix the filter and there you go -- one nicely barely used pool that sits in the middle of the complex and invites all of us to enjoy its cool refreshing waves and yet - - we all just tend to wait until after the sun starts to melt so we don't find ourselves roasting and passing out from heat exhaustion. We should throw up a few lights and open the gates from 8 p.m. to 10:00 a.m. instead of the current hours of whenever Chris gets around to it, and whenever Chris decides it's time to close it down for the day. 

    Lately, however, (and by lately I mean the last two days) I've been doing water aerobics to substitute the power walking that I was doing before after working out in the apartment during the day so I don't die of heatstroke during the day outside - - it's a lovely way to close out an evening really, and after boxing, for 15-20 minutes it makes sense to shower quickly and then jumping into the pool for 45 minutes to run in place and look like I know what I'm doing. I really don't know what I'm doing, but I sure do have an audience. I can look around the complex (the pool is in the middle, remember) and I can see my neighbors lifting their mugs and bottles to salute me as I pretend I have a few clues on how to effectively do water aerobics. It's really a lot more like "just keep things moving Jude, and you'll be OK" - - it's a plan. I always have a plan. 

    So I looked it up, the night before last, and water aerobics burns off about 400-500 calories an hour - so yeah, 45 minutes should be around 300-400 and if I do it really vigorously, which I tend to do, I might just hit that 400-500 mark before I'm done, and all the calories I consumed for dinner will be GONE! Zap! Bam! Vamoose! Nata! (OK, stop with the onomatopoeia, they get it) I can eat, wait 15 minutes, jump in the pool, run in place like a maniac, and twist my arms around like I'm some sort of aqua gymnast, and when that becomes too tiring I can sit on the steps and pretend to be a frog. I can dog-paddle to the other side, because you burn more calories that way according to Google, and I can do massive amounts of squats in the shallow end and actually feel the burn! Doin' it.

    Tonight I decided to stand in the shallow end and bend backward to "practice" hanging upsidedown because very soon my portable aerial hammock will arrive; the one I will hang over the door frame in the hall. I will need to be limber enough to climb into it and literally do the upsidedown hanging like a bat thing, but before I can do that I have to practice the pose somehow -- the shallow end is a great place to do that; see, innovative, creative, resourceful, and effective. Some days you just have to find ways to entertain the neighbors. They are so going to miss me when I move to Scotland.  They expect it.

    Maybe when I move to Scotland I'll have a stand put out in the backyard where the greenline once stood, and I'll hang the portable aerial hammock on it. I'll twist myself into it and hang upside down, spin, turn, wrap myself up and roll out - - just to see if any of my new acquaintances will even notice. God knows I'm not ever going to hang clothes out to dry outside -- it rains in Scotland you know, it rains 149 days on average each year - - compared to the 82 days we may see precipitation in Oklahoma each year - - nope, I am NOT made out of sugar, I won't melt, but I'm not hanging my clothes out to get wet again after I just washed them.  Maybe my new neighbors will be curious enough to come over to the fence to see what the heck I'm doing. We'll see. It's a plan. You gotta have a plan.

Photo Credit: Ofrall

A Husband or a Horse? (Tough Decision)

 I'm not so cynical (most of the time anyway) that I would say that all men are pigs or that all men this or that. I know that saying "all" anything is too generic, too open, too vague, and I won't be a part of being that generalized unless I'm saying with absolute certainty that "All dogs go to Heaven" because we know that they do. Most men, most men, I can say that most men fall into one or two categories for me. There are the men who understand that a woman is going to love her horse, and there are men who don't understand that fact, and those men are usually the ones that I see standing outside my barn rather than inside the barn helping to feed the horses.  Most men, in my experience, have good natures, they have good souls, they have good intentions, and they have a good enough chance of finding someone who will be nice to them long enough to marry them, then they have to pay the price for not asking as many questions as maybe they should have; it happens. I made that mistake myself. ONCE. It won't happen again.

    At my age, I've made so many mistakes when it comes to both horses and men that I feel that I have a rather unique perspective on the question as to whether or not I should be interested in obtaining one or the other of them in the future. Currently, I am without either one. I gave my last rescue to a family with kids because I need to focus on promoting my new book, get as many copies of it sold so I can move comfortably to Scotland, where I may or may not continue a quest for the horse, but I know I won't be out in the cobbled streets of Edinburgh tracking down a man - - not going to happen. Here are a few reasons why I might find myself catching a bus to the ends of the route, then hailing a taxi to take me further out to see a pony or two. I'd pay for one, not the other.

    With horses, you never have to worry about where they slept last night. You put them in their stall, or you know the pasture gate is secure. If the fence is good, you don't have to worry about them skipping over it to another pasture to check out the greener grass. You rarely, if ever have to worry about someone else coming into your barn space to flirt with your gelding, and if she did, he wouldn't really be all that interested, he'd just want the apple in her hand. The second she surrendered it he would be back in your good graces with a winnie or nudge of his big thick skull, letting you know that yours are the only hands he wants brushing him out anyway - - she was just carrying the apple, and it was, you know, an apple.  

    With horses you know you're going to be out every penny you earn, there's no guessing or wondering about it. It is what it is. You don't and you won't expect the horse to bring home the bacon, work a steady job, keep his promises about not arguing with the boss this week, and he won't be fired and leave you holding the bag again because you know what, he never intended on assisting you with holding the bags, paying the bills, running the kids to wherever it is that they need to go to, and a horse will never, and I do mean never, ask you out of sheer insecurity, where you've been and who you've been with. He doesn't have to. He knows you're loyal to him, it's a given. C'mon, it's the horse! Who wouldn't be faithful to their horse? Even if you did want to go over to the next stall and pet another gelding or even a mare right in front of him, your horse really doesn't mind - - probably even expects it if you're honest with yourself. 

    A man makes promises. A horse never makes promises. A man breaks dates. A horse never breaks a single date. A man forgets your birthday, anniversaries, special occasions, and where he left his wallet. A horse doesn't know your birthday, doesn't care about anniversaries, so he'll never remind you about them, or expect presents on any given day as long as you keep grain coming when it's supposed to be there, and as long as you brush him off after a good stiff ride -- never leave your horse sweaty, he does care about that. That's about the only thing he'll get pissy with you about actually unless you cinch him up too tightly when you saddle -- there's that. 

    A man asks questions he shouldn't ask. He buys things he shouldn't buy. He argues with you about things he doesn't even have much knowledge about and tries to convince you that you're the one with the bigger ego or problem, and he stands there seeking an apology for something he started in the first place. That won't happen in the barn; it just won't. You can slap a horse's ass pretty hard and he'll just look at you.  You can spray him down with cold water whenever you get the mind to do so. You can throw a rope around his neck and tighten it without him freaking out on you, and the one thing I really like about being with a horse is that you can fart and he flat out never blinks. He may try to outdo you, but you won't hear a word about it. Nope. Not happening.  A horse can be a little wild, and really, that's what we like about them -- strength, power, controlled power. Nothing feels more empowering than to be with someone (OK, something) that bursts with energy and stares you down to see if you're even worthy of their time.  If a man looked at me like that, he'd see my backside as I walked away. I won't be challenged by a man -- but a horse is another story.

    Yeah, I know, you can't take a horse to dinner, and you can't dance with one either, not really. You can't cuddle or snuggle and you can't play checkers with one. You can watch football with your horse, and when you do you don't have to wonder if he's secretly hoping your quarterback breaks his leg or that the ball is picked off; horses don't follow sports that well. They eat grass, walk around slowly, and from time to time accompany you on a trail ride where the two of you can be alone and you can share your secrets. That's another thing right there; a horse will NEVER tell your secrets, and he'll never sleep with your best friend or sister - - well, I mean, he may, but it won't be likely to happen, I'll say that.

    A horse smells really good when they sweat too, by the way. Men don't always pull that off as well as a horse. Men shouldn't try to wear tight leather really, but a horse can and does, and nothing looks more natural, and nothing looks more comfortable on one. Horses may grow grey but they don't usually lose their hair, and they accept pretty much anything you say to be fact. They wear what you buy them, they eat what you feed them, they follow you, and even hope you stay a little longer. Most of the time they do. There is that occasional horse that would rather see you pull away in your car but for the most part they are loving and wanting you to know it.

    I guess what I'm saying is, you can geld a horse if he becomes too much to handle, with a man you may be out of luck in most states if you attempted to remedy the situation by castration. Just sayin' (and I'm not lying, it really is illegal in every state, I imagine.) with a horse you know what you're getting after just a few hours with him. I mean, yeah, you may want to go back for a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, or 5th ride to be sure he's the one you want to spend the rest of your cash on, but you know pretty soon if he's telling the God's honest truth about where he's been the past few years, and when he gets older you don't have to go looking for another one right away, they do live to be 35 years old. You can bank on having a good solid relationship for years to come if you start out with a good one to begin with. 

    God knew what He was doing when He made the horse, that's for sure. God made woman for man, this is true, but He never said women had to keep a man longer than he was welcome.  You can't sell a man, you can't even trade him; you just have to give him up and walk away or keep him until he dies. There are reasons to do that you know, I'm not saying there isn't. If one was worth keeping until the day he died and God brought him my way, then told me "This one is yours Jude, you're welcome" yeah, I'd keep him, but God Himself would have to make that happen because I'm not looking for one. You may find me at the auction house someday going over the geldings but you'll not see me eye-balling a man the same way I google and drool over horse flesh. There's just something about horses and girls; it's in us from the first day we draw breath, and maybe beforehand.

    God knew what He was doing when He made each one of us, so if He wants me to be with another man He will have to make that happen - - and in such a way that I would KNOW it was God doing it, and not me making another mistake - - I'd rather just saddle up and ride into the sunset with someone (something) I know I can love and be loved by, something I can trust and be trusted by, something I can be sure will always give more than what I could ever give to him -- yeah, God knew what He was doing when he made the horse. They are so perfect. 

Norman.  My BLM Mustang Photo Credit: Karen Overy

    

Bread - (A Poem)

 Bread 

 

Bread.  I remember bread. 

Gone, but not forgotten 

Wished for, rarely partaken, 

Bread. 

 

Soft. Delicate to the touch 

Smooth, forever pleasant 

Desired, but now forbidden, 

Bread. 

 

Tantalize my memory, Bread 

Linger in my dreams 

Steal my essence, tempt me 

Mine no more. Bread. 

 

Reminiscing now; baked wonders 

Golden brown-topped rolls, so nice  

Visions keep my tastebuds longing 

Bread - - has taken flight 

 

Years we were together, yes 

Pound on pound, not yielding 

Weight has challenged my delights 

Bread has left the building 

 

 

Jude Stringfellow – July 25, 2021 

Photo Credit: Betty Crocker Company

Caity Baby Baby Caity

 Well, yes, I suppose it is true that thirty-one years ago today I was feeling a bit fed up with the baby girl lingering around inside of me. I had calculated my due date as being at least 10 days before July 25 (1990), but there I was, big as a barn, rounder with that pregnancy than any other, and feeling far more apt to eat an entire vat of ice cream than I ever did with either Reuben or Laura.  Caity Baby had a way of making me do things I really didn't want to do, not really, but maybe just inside my head -- and of course, my belly.  I think I ate more Mexican food with her too; which now makes a bit more sense considering how spicy the girl is.  Mom always said she cursed me with a kid just like myself, and well, thirty-one years ago today, I gave birth to her FINALLY!

    I say "finally" because I had done the math according to the way I'd always managed to do it before. I looked on my calendar and figured out when the first day my last period was, and then counted 280 days from the day I would have most likely have ovulated. It's supposed to be that way, there's science behind this, right? Nothing is the same as it should be when Caity is involved. She has her own drummers playing the beats she insists that they play! She dances when she wants to dance, and by "when" I mean whenever she damn well feels like it - - morning, noon, or night. At least with Laura I knew there would be no dancing until after the noon hour, and you know, well into the early hours, but I was asleep by that time. Caity has no time schedule. You just freakin' never know when she'll pop up, and what she'll be doing when she does. It's sort of annoying in a very familiar way. 

    When the brat was only two I took her in tow to fulfil a wee job that Laura had managed to obtain on her own, at the age of 3. It was a modeling gig for a shoe company that had a franchise.  I had purchased a pair of their shoes the week or so before for Laura, and while she was trying them on she did a little run-way walk thingy and looked incredibly cute - - they wanted her for a live modeling performance and it paid a little, so yeah, why not?  Why not? Why not you ask? Because Caity Baby Baby Caity, or CBBC as I called her, hadn't been asked to go. Laura had been asked, but CBBC was not asked. That can't happen, and this was probably the first time we found that out to be true.  From the SECOND Laura began attracting attention from workers at the store, and then (God forbid) customers, Caity was incredibly jealous of her sister and wouldn't share Laura with anyone. It wasn't that Laura was on stage. It wasn't that the lights were focused on Laura and not Caity, the fact was that LAURA wasn't paying her due diligent attention to Caity - - and that just was not going to set well.

    Minute by minute, throughout the afternoon gig, I was literally wrangling the little one, pulling her from her sissy so Laura could get as many customers to buy the shoes and clothing from the store. I thought I was going to have to hogtie my own kid but thought even though I'm in Oklahoma, that may not be a welcomed sight for most.  As it turns out the gig only lasted about an hour, and we were free to return to the homestead, where I could divvy out ice cream to them both, and to their big brother who had patiently waited at home with their dad. Why Caity went was probably only to be with her sister, who I suppose was never REALLY supposed to look at another human in CBBC's presence.

    When I describe Caity to people I find that I pull out the firecracker analogy more often than not. I say she's like a blasting bottle rocket! You see her for a second, hear something, know there's going to be a big bang and wild surprise in just a few seconds, but when it happens, though you knew it was going to, you are struck with awe at the beauty of it, and the magnitude of it - - each flaming spark capable of searing your soul if you stand too close, and the majesty of it captures you forever. That pretty much describes my baby gir.  (I've always said "gir", not girl, because that's what her sister Laura called her.) CBBC never lets you forget - - not then, not now, that she's over and above you about to explode and when she does it will be both glorious and dangerous, so it's best to be prepared for anything.

    Today, I celebrate with her, and I love her.  I see that over the past 31 years this little sprite of a bairn has grown into the most wonderful woman and mother of two precious grands that anyone could ask for. She's married an amazing man, who if I had to be honest, I would keep if she threw him out on his ear. He'll never be homeless -- sorry CBBC, you just picked a really good one, so you might have to keep him around. I don't think Brandon will be leaving her side anytime this millennium. He knows where his heart fell - - and he knows she holds it with both hands.  Happy birthday littlest brat of mine. You were always the spark, and by spark I mean the one who actually set the fires in the house, outside the house, around the corner, up the street, in the church, and just about everywhere else you thought I never knew about -- yeah, you're my curse; remember that. I know everything! 

Now.

2008 

1992

Amethyst Sky - (a Poem)

 Amethyst Sky 

 

I lay beneath Heaven at her dusk 

Hues too vast to hold 

Lifts of pale blue, turning mauve 

Eventide sings his song 

 

Grace, for an hour, accompany me 

Teach me to be still 

Patient evening bear with me 

Let conscience guide your will 

 

Share all manner of meditation 

Finesse and poise my thought 

Ease your gentle-mannered ways 

Through my senses, giving hope 

 

Ornate vault of heaven, gloss 

Your hours of colors pass 

Amethyst blankets hold each star 

In place, in time, en masse 

 

Sleep begins her soft barrage 

Inviting me to dance 

Invasion of the sweetest sort 

Two steps and I am gone 

 

 

Jude Stringfellow – July 24, 2021 

Photo Credit: of Trees and Sky