What is YOUR Spirit Animal?

 Living in the Great State of Oklahoma, where more native tribes are represented than in any other state (I believe this to be true, it was at one point when I learned it in elementary school) you hear a great deal about spirit animals. If you're like me, and you grow up with it being around you all the time, every day, with every school year passing with at least one research assignment dedicated to the Spirit Animal, you know pretty much at an early early age what your particular spirit animal is. You don't have to wonder about it, you don't have to put much thought into it, it is what it is, and when people ask you the question "What is your Spirit Animal?" You can have a ready answer!

    Now, to be perfectly honest with you, as a kid I never did any research or self-reflection. I liked dogs so I just said a dog.  My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Tipton, was not about to let me off the hook so easily. I had to pick a breed that best suited my personality, and you guessed it, because I had a Dachshund, (his name really was Rover) I chose the bigger-than-life-itself weenie dog from Germany!  Now, after a few more years of being aware of what it really means to associate your spirit and essence with that of an animal (most people prefer to think of something wild and free rather than a domesticated hound that lounges about the house and only comes to full attention if the mailman attacks the porch with his big blue bag), I began thinking more about it - - putting just a bit more thought and ponder into it; the truth is that I may be aggressively protective like my good friend Rover, and yes, I do have a tendency to think I'm better, bigger, badder, and more worthy than I am, but the more accurate answer to the question today, having had years to consider the actual truth about my being, the answer is the American Mustang.

    The American Mustang, though a horse, an equine, is nothing like the average or day-to-day American Quarter Horse, the Paint, the Thoroughbred, the Arabian, or the European cobs or ponies. An American Mustang is in fact wild. Domestication for the American Mustang is achievable, but it will take a while, and it will involve years of patiently working with, respecting, and befriending the animal. One does not merely lasso an American Mustang and expect to contain it. One does not expect (or dare attempt) to wrangle the Mustang in small spaces without a fight.  After thinking about it thoroughly and I do think about it thoroughly, the best way to describe myself as if I were an animal, is to acknowledge that I am first a bit wild, absolutely independent, and that my level of skepticism and untrust are markedly higher, much higher, than that of the average person. Someone has to earn my trust before obtaining it unless of course I freely offer it. I only do that in the rarest of occasions, but I do it. 

    I am not one to wait around. I make things happen. I am not one to wait on you. I make things happen for myself. I don't ever ask for permission. I may not even apologize for my actions. I am not one to ask for your help. I tend to find my own way. I will however allow you to be present, and I will give you the help you need if you require it, but I may not be the friendliest beast in the process. I may remain at a distance and patiently observe you. I intentionally observe anyone I am interested in, and I all but ignore anyone I am not interested in getting to know. This is again, a very deep seeded trait of the American Mustang.  Where a Quarter Horse may walk up to you because he or she is curious, the Mustang will hang back at a safe distance and follow your every move.  It can be unnerving to some, but it is essential to me. I won't give until I know I can trust; and if I consider the person to be worth my effort and time. If that sounds arrogant let it sound arrogant, we only have the time we have. Mine is precious to me.

    Today, I found myself standing, walking, and waiting behind someone who could only be described as the South American Sloth! I only say that because she was literally wearing a t-shirt proclaiming that her spirit animal was the Sloth.  Yeah, we get that. You're slower than molasses in January, your face is fixed in a permanent "whatever" and your nails are inappropriately long; useless. As I thought about her life choices for the split second of time that I allowed myself to think about her, I realized that the American Mustang in me wanted to throw my head, stomp my foot, and push her fluffy ass out of the way. She was hanging around in the same spot on the same aisle I had left to give her time to find whatever it was she was looking for. After a few minutes of shopping and circling back to the aisle, here she was still slothfully gazing, not really moving, just standing there gawking at her choices. MOVE ALREADY! MAKE YOUR DECISION!

    I did exactly what you know I did, except I think I did say "Excuse me".  I pushed past her, took the item from the shelf that I needed and left.  She took a full three seconds to respond to me. I was literally walking up the aisle and about to round the corner when I hear her dull droned voice call out "Hey, you don't have to be in such a hurry!"  I kept walking, never glancing back, just thinking to myself how I was actually not in a hurry, I had in fact given her about three minutes to make up her mind, and I utilized those same three minutes to pick up other items I needed, and took time to walk back to that particular aisle. 

    Well, you guessed it, when I arrived at the check-out stand she was taking her sweet time to also stand in line to check out. She was digging through her purse to get her money out, and she was talking to herself under her breath about whether or not she had brought enough cash. Hello, it's 2021. Most of us don't use cash, though I am not opposed to it, it is dirty, it does take more time, and it isn't really as efficient because you often forget (as she did) how much you have on your person. With debit and credit cards you have an idea at least, and if you don't know what your balance is you can use your banking app to figure it out.  You know I made my way just ahead of her before she could step into the queue before me. Nope. I was not going to waste more time with her. I was not about to go through the whole "Oh, I guess I don't have enough money with me. I may need to take something back" and then have her go through her lot to see what she couldn't live with. NOPE. I stepped up and zipped out, thus giving her the opportunity to stare at me one more time. She shook her head. I turned to her, faced her, and I did the same thing. 

    I pointed to her shirt. I (may have rudely) stated that "...the American Mustang is my spirit animal. I hope you'll understand now why it was that we had the experience we did back on Aisle 6. I hope you have a blessed day, and I hope you find your cash."  and with that, I nodded my head, took my bags and walked away - - but not out the door. No, I waited off to the side to see if in fact, she had brought enough cash. I thought for a minute that I may actually step in and help her if she had not. That was my thought process until she literally (probably by slothful means) dumped the contents of her very large and overtly unnecessarily heavy purse, onto the floor revealing that she had actually taken a few items from Aisle 6 that she had no intention of paying for. Wow.  Just....wow! I left the store. It is my belief that ANYONE who considers the sloth to be their spirit animal is both boring and uninteresting; prove me wrong.

    The experience made me think about what my children would say if I asked them what their spirit animals are. They're all adults now, they've had time to think about it more clearly and to come up with redeemable answers worthy of discussion.  Laura said her spirit animal is the Red Panda. She appreciates their awkwardness, they're adorable, and they are quirky at best.  Caity said the Grey Fox, and I can only imagine it's because they are quick on their feet, witty and clever enough to evade nearly everyone and everything every time.  Reuben hadn't really given it much thought, he said he would have to think about it. It could be the Honey Badger because as we all know "Honey Badger don't care!"  Honey Badger will F*ck you up without sweating and without backing down. I can see that. Well, at least I know I did my best at raising three amazing creatures - - I have to say that when it comes to being a mother my spirit animal would have to be something absolutely involved and protective to the point of nuclear destruction should someone try to harm a hair on any of my children. Yeah, over time things change; but I will and have always been independent, fierce, and formidable. 

Photo Credit:  Me!

THAT Mom

 Yes, yes, it is true, I am THAT Mom. I am the one who baked the cookies for the kids before they came home from school if I wasn't working. I am THAT Mom who baked them as soon as I walked in the door if I was working. My dad saw to it that the kids stayed supplied with ice cream, I was (and am) the cookie Mom. I am also THAT Mom who made sure everyone realized dinner was at 6:00 O'clock, and not five after. I am THAT Cook still.  If you're going to eat at my house, if you're going to eat what I cook, you'll eat dinner at 6:00 O'clock.  Lunch is generally around the noon hour, but it could be flexible considering we were mostly at work or school.  On the weekends we had horses and football, so yeah, lunch could be around noon and be makeshift or planned - - dinner is at six.

    Pinterest has made menu planning so easy, in fact, I have been doing a bit more digging and diving into other people's Pinterest ideas lately instead of just looking at the recipes. I've been making plans, menus, shopping for specific items, and even exploring new things - - God help us. If you live with me, if you come over to my house, if you are there when the hour strikes six, you will eat what is set before you. You aren't allowed to say no, and you're not allowed to complain either. It is what it is, deal with it, eat my food, and say thank you. It's really quite simple. I'm a simple girl you know. Never one for a fuss; not really, fuss just seems to follow me and beat me up now and again, but I hold my own pretty well.

    Today we have the ever-so-favorite Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies that I used to make when I was a kid and thought about entering something into the State Fair to see if I could win a prize. I never did it, but I always went to the Oklahoma State Fair Creative Arts Program which was held in the Kitchens and Living Center. In the center, they had dozens upon dozens of entries and you could look at them and see how they were created, how they were made, and all the fancy-schmancy decorative presentations. I was always enamored with the way kids my age would find ways to not only find a family recipe that was super-secret, but they were able to make it as good as their grandma made it, and they could present it on really nice platters with silver, red, green, or gold foils. I always wondered if secretly their actually granny had made the food and just let the kids get the credit? I don't know, I always thought it could happen. I might do something like that for my babies -- if I'm being honest.

    In the food category there were always these three or four women, who you knew must be really close friends or enemies, and they competed in 18-30 categories dealing with canning, baking, cooking, and such. These ladies were masters. I googled and stared at their food products. My family thought I was nuts for spending so much time in that one particular builidng just staring at the homemade canned goods, but I knew these women had years of baking experience and I wanted some of that for myself. My mom wasn't exactly Betty Crocker if you know what I'm saying. In our house, if we ate it was because my dad got around to making us something on the weekends when he was home. During the week we were lucky to scrape up whatever was leftover from the last leftover, and/or beg Mom to put on some Hamburger Helper. 

    I'm not complaining too badly -- she was a good baker, just not that consistent with "real food". I guess that's why all that really interesting food at the State Fair really caught my attention. I didn't get a Barbie for my 11th birthday, I asked for a Betty Crocker Cookbook like the one I saw at the Bethany Library. I knew they had them for sale. I saw one at the bookstore!  A cookbook for a girl isn't all that unusual in the 1970s, so that's not that big of a story, but I actually still have the damn thing. It's been mulled over a few thousand times, but its there in the cupboard. I don't look at it as much now, and I guess it's just because Pinterest makes things so easy. I can pop it up on my phone and be done.  I don't handle the phone while I cook so the phone, unlike the book, doesn't have shortening grease and flour all over it; not yet anyway. It's early.

    Well, the game is about to start, and if you think I'm THAT Mom in the kitchen, you should know I'm THAT Mom on the couch when Oklahoma plays anyone during the fall.  If I'm not watching the game I'm listening to it. If I'm not listening to it, or on the couch, I'm at the stadium! My son may be there tonight actually, I can't expect him for dinner or to gobble down the cookies I just stacked up on the little crimson and cream Boomer Sooner plate that I use when I'm watching the boys play. You gotta get in the mood you know, you can't watch the game without cookies or beer and I prefer cookies. I mean, don't get me wrong, I do reserve the right to have a beer or two each year with Baby Boy when we watch the game from his couches, but that's not tonight -- sadly. Maybe I can be THAT Mom for my dog! She loves me.  

Boomer Sooner!

Photo Credit: Me!

"Suck it up Buttercup"

 I saw a meme this week that I fell head over heels for. In fact, I decided to make a poster of it with a really sarcastic looking teacher speaking to one of her more challenging students.  The meme said "Well, let me pour you a nice tall glass of 'get over it' and I'll even throw in a straw so you suck it up!"  I wanted to say "That!  That right there!"  says it all when it comes to dealing with the dealings of the undealt. These kids have no filters, but you step over their line and hurt their widdle feewings, you get your eyes and ears full of their nasty little teenage angsty tantrums in the form of slamming books, kicking trashcans, knocking over a desk, or just throwing up their hands and cussing you out as if cussing was both original and meaningful.  They truly are a step behind when it comes to being cool -- but you can't tell them that; they think they invented the "F" word.

    I absolutely love it when I've been confronted by a would-be who wants to be all that, and she shakes her head from side to side with her little drawn mouthy-duckface. She cocks her head to one side and calls me a bitch. What? That's all you got baby? I ususally retort with "That's Dr. Bitch, sweetheart"  That usually suffices and they either laugh or shut up, not really knowing how to respond. It's just enough time for me to regain control and move forward. Timing. It's everything. 

    Apparently today there were some kids who just couldn't or wouldn't wake up long enough to realize that the assignment on the board magically disappeared after 8 minutes. I took my eraser and erased it. You'd have thought I had stolen their last cupcake! Here came the cries, "You can't do that!", "You have to leave it on the board the whole hour" and then there was, "But I didn't write it down!"  OK...too bad. It was on the board, I asked you to write it down, I instructed you to write it down. I warned you it would be gone, and then yeah - - I erased it. I kept my word.  Find a friend, get the assignment from them, but yes it is actually still due by the end of the hour. We don't give homework at this school -- God forbid.  They have to do all the work THAT hour or pick it back up again the next day. Do any of you remember being so spoiled? Not me. I had homework from 3 or 4 of my 6 classes EVERY DAMN DAY, and get this, I was expected to do it, too. 

    Am I that mean teacher? You know it! I pride myself on being efficient, effective, and precise. I give the instruction, write it out, lecture over it, talk about it, but I don't have to hold the pencil for them and write it out for them on their paper -- again, God forbid they be expected to read, comprehend, or write in an English class!  Most of the time it only takes a few days (OK weeks) for the kids in my classes to catch on that I don't play. We have play time. We have fun too. We have games, I let them throw paper balls at each other at the end of class if we get all of the work done. It's what it is. You have to get the work done to have the fun -- sort of like needing to eat your vegetables before the ice cream; if you think about it. Now, I'm thinking about it and ice cream sounds really good.

    Yep, that's me, the mean teacher. I'm the one walking back and forth the entire hour so I can get my 12,000+ steps in each day. I'm the one demanding that you get your pencils out and stop borrowing supplies from someone, get them yourself, and if you can't afford it you write that out on a piece of paper and slip it onto my desk so I know not to scream at you again. I will supply pencils and paper for those kids who can't afford it, and what I do is have it out for everyone so I'm not singling anyone out. Do you have any idea how expensive it gets to keep 110 kids supplied? I do a lot of asking for donations both online, in the community, and I donate a great deal myself. Don't tell anyone I'm nice. They think I'm heartless and really cruel.

    One thing I do on Fridays (tomorrow) is to go to the gym before classes start and complete my "duty" which is to watch kids in the gym for 20 minutes before classes start (only on Friday).  I walk the gym floor from one edge to the other at a really fast pace trying to get as many steps in as possible and if a kid has been particularly bad that week he or she has to walk with me or have detention after school. They typically walk with me. I've got 3 or 4 every week, but by the time we start out and get started there seems to be 10-12 join in and we have to move to the other side of the gym as not to interfere with the stand-around teachers who talk and don't even bother to watch the kids in the bleachers. I laugh. I think duty can be really useless at times, but I see the point of at least trying to appear as if we're doing all we can.  If it were up to me every kid would be walking the freaking track outside and moving around. We have far too many fat, unhealthy, lazy, sloth kids hanging out in our communities these days and that's not me being hard - - that's me stating facts. Obesity in teens is absolutely on the rise.

    I remember when I went to middle school just over 45 years ago, I could count on one hand how many overweight kids we had in all three of the grades combined. There just were NOT many over weight kids. We played outside. We didn't sit around bending our thumbs and screaming at the monitors. We had actual activities and chores to do too. We just didn't have time to sit around and get big. We had a hard enough time getting our homework completed to a grade B so we could be in sports, cheer, student council or anything else that truly represented who we are. This year (at our school) there aren't enough boys interested in playing football to have a team. Are you serious? When I asked a few of the boys why they weren't playing the answers were shocking! Most of them were afraid to get hurt and many of them just thought it was boring. Wow. 

    Are we sure we needed to give up some of the "classics" and some of the standards we've been slowly giving up in order to accommodate the kids and their working parents? I mean it may be time to bring back some of the accountability, responsibility, civility, and good behavior! It may be time to bring back discipline and actual consequences for misconduct and disrespect.  A student asked me a question in the middle of my lecture today. I told her to wait until after I was finished speaking. Her little 14 year old attitude barked back "You won't shut up!"  You know she's walking with me tomorrow, and probably next Friday too.  Her two-page essay on Theodore Roosevelt will be due on Monday, and she will need 3 different references without plagiarism. If she can't muster up the discipline to do it I've got the word of her cheer coach that she won't be cheering again this semester. We need to do more. We need to bond together as teachers, as admin, as staff, and stand up for what we know is right for the correction and education of our children.

    When we, as an educational community, allow parents to step in and complain about how their student is being treated but they don't want to talk about the who, what, when, where, how, or why that same kid, my student, their child, decided not only to not work, but to throw a hissy fit when asked to take notes, or because I chose not to answer them on THEIR time table - - we have a real problem. I'm not saying parents don't have a role, oh goodness no, I'm not saying that whatsoever. I want parents to be involved. I want parents to show up. I want parents to help with assignments, but when a parent drops a kid off smelling like beer and cigarettes and then wants to lecture me about how I treat their kid, I'm not moving my feet. I'm standing my ground - - and if that means I find another job, or get asked to leave the one I have, you know I won 't complain.  I can't find anyone to change occupations with me - - good tough and effective teachers are really hard to come by; I'm a commodity.  Kids need boundaries. Kids need structure. Kids need someone (sometimes anyone) to look them in the eyes and say "I will not tolerate your behavior, it stops right now, do you understand me?"  Most times they don't like it, until they realize I'm there because I want to be. I don't need the money that badly. 

    Ask yourself: would you rather have a teacher who put up with your bullshit or one that squares off and refuses to budge, allowing you (the student) to realize you matter to that teacher ENOUGH that they (me) will take the time to correct you?  It's not rocket science. If it was I couldn't teach it. I don't do math or science, but I'm pretty damn good at English. 

Photo Credit: Core Walking

Who Will I Murder Next (in my Head of Course)

 So yeah, the last man I murdered was a singer/songwriter in Scotland who unceremoniously happened to take a header off the jaggedly rough cliffs of Arthur's Seat, a monumental hilltop in the City of Edinburgh.  Poor man, ever so clumsy, took a peek over the side to see exactly how high he was when suddenly he wasn't as high as he first thought. Nope, he thudded rather silently in terms of anyone hearing him go over. I was kind enough in my little fantasy of fantasies, (the place where I create my mayhem) and I did spare his crazy little German Cuntz guitar; why should she fall victim to my wearisome rampage? No, the guitar is innocent! She was spared. As her owner, keeper, and player-friend tumbled half prostate and half standing over the tips of the rocky crag she was allowed to lay behind and quietly wait to be found. In deed, and indeed, it was she who bespoke (if you will) that her man had been slain; albeit she spoke in silence, her very presence at the edge of the cliff was soon questioned by a few passersby until one curious sort decided to peer over the side to see what, if anything or anyone, could be found. He was found crumpled, bloodied, and broken. He was dead. God rest his fictional soul.

    When I do decide to murder it's usually for good cause. I think of a need, I create one if I can't think of one, and start the process of seeking out and searching for the perfect place to do the deed. As mentioned at least a dozen times in the past, it's not really the murder or the act of murder that intrigues me; but the successful disposal of the body. That's where true creativity comes into play.  With my sorrowful sweet singer, I left him for the buzzards to find. No real cover-up, no effort to tidy things up for me. He had to go. His will be the downfall perhaps of my pseudo-martyr, the Poe-Esque madman who really doesn't see himself as being all that mad. Perhaps a loose screw now and again, but he's typically quite neat in his mannerisms and yet the singer may very well be his undoing in this, the series I am composing for the new Nick Posh novel.  Nick (in case you don't know) has had a few murders in his past, but none of them were in cold blood really, more of an elimination process of those who needed to die.  I say "needed", that could more or less be a guideline.

    My mind would be in overdrive if I allowed it to be, but thankfully I have just enough Darrell Lea soft Australian Licorice candies to only go so far before I run out and have to take another trip to Tractor Supply to restore my stash. During the trip to the feed and tack store, I typically have to pay attention to the road so I am no longer apt to let my cognizance wander to the point of kidnapping, stalking, or simply walking up behind my prey to take their last breath on Earth. (You know, I really do hope I've made myself clear that I'm not really actually murdering people in real life, but that I tend to do so in my mind as I mull over the best times and places to get away with it if I were not a writer.) I am a writer, so the places, times, and settings for such murders need not only to be interesting, but they do need to be consistent with the surroundings of where it is that I choose to act. Can you imagine if I break the written axis and head off in the wrong direction? No, it simply won't do. I have to know where I am, what I'm doing, who is watching, what devices could be used to record the events and if I am alone. If I am able to do so, I make my mental move. Driving doesn't provide such an entry.

    Today, while teaching 8th graders at the urban school I currently teach for, I pondered if the murder of a child would be received by any of my seasoned readers; even if the child was a product of evil wickedness and self-pride. I decided against it, but thought perhaps he or she could be blamed; thus allowing my mind to vent any and all hostility it may harbor for a said child without actually eliminating him or her. Look at me, I don't even want to say if the child I'm considering is a boy or a girl; that should answer my question. Note to self: no murdering kids. It's a no-go. I'll consider a colleague instead as long as they haven't been handy in the recent past. We have such a wonderful staff where I work, I can truly only think of one - - oh wait, yes, I know who I'll filet. Oh, did I say that out loud? Wow, I'm just giving it all away, aren't I? Well, she'll be a pretty corpse. If they find her. I won't leave her in plain sight. The only reason the singer was allowed to be found was for the benefit of his fan base, they needed to stop following him; you're welcome.

    At the school, we have an interesting field ornament that no one seems to know when it was installed, but some say it may be taken out soon and replaced with either a dedication stone with the school creed or maybe a half wall to separate the buses from the cars.  Wouldn't it be gruesomely awesome to have the construction workers dig up old bones when they began the transformation? Wouldn't it be incredibly mischievous if a current teacher was found guilty of the murder of her 8th Grade Science teacher from maybe say 40 years before? These thoughts hit me in the middle of the afternoon heatwave that Oklahoma is experiencing. They tell us that today is the last day of over triple-digit temperatures; do we believe them? I am apt to believe that the construction workers would feel rather cool indeed if one or two of them were to make the grizzly discovery in the early part of the day tomorrow just after the sun has opened her eyes wide enough to see what has taken place on the field's far left side. Forty years? Was it longer? Could have been. I think I remember someone saying the Science teacher simply checked out early, and never even gave her class their final. Gone.

    Perhaps there will be more to unearth tomorrow when I visit the pitch to examine what, if anything, has been discovered. Naturally, I'll be the only one thinking what I'm thinking, but you never know what you can find when you dig up the past. I don't think the Science teacher really did anything worthy of being thrown off a cliff, but she was rather peculiar with the way she handed out less-than-stellar reports to girls who needed better grades to be on the cheer team. Just sayin'.  She was missed for about a week and then we all graduated from high school. Some became lawyers, some nurses, mechanics, bankers, and more. I think I know more than one teacher to be honest; something about returning to the scene of the crime. It's an oldie but a goodie - - not as dull as "the butler did it", but close enough. I'm telling you, it wasn't the blunt force trauma, but the eleven hours it took to dig a grave under bleachers that were aging and about to be replaced.  Bide your time. When the new earth is upheaved - - dig a little deeper. No one will really notice.  No, not for well, a little over 40 years.

STOP....I didn't really kill her. She's fine. I checked.  It's a story!!  Geez, Louise!

Photo Credit: Scholastic News

    

Teachers Deserve Your Respect, but we Would Rather Have the Salary.

 Many of you know I'm an author, a writer, and of course, a blogger. I make my living writing, so I don't actually have to be in the classroom teaching 13-14 year olds how to spell, write, read better, and what to do with dangling participles. I could, if I wanted to, just stay at home and lounge about the place, petting my dog, sleeping in with said dog, and enjoying my morning coffee with any of my retired neighbors who I've had the priviledge to live near for years upon years. I'm about to hit 60 and I'm the younger of the crowd. I like my peeps, so having coffee in the mornings with one or two of them would be a far better gig than what it is that I've agreed (and contracted) myself to do. I'm teaching again. God only knows why.

    Year after year I decide I'll give it up, never do it again, and I dust my hands free of the muck and nonsense thrown at me from that present year's crop of young ones who either decide they're just too cool for education, or they can't actually spell education and they make excuses for why they don't ever need to be able to. I should have and could have walked away any number of times, but as my son likes to remind me, I am the teacher. I have to be in the room leading. Someone has to do it, and he's not willing to trade me jobs. I would however love to see our military men and women deciding to (after they get out of the service) become teachers of young mushy brains; it really would be a good thing for both sides of that equation. 

    I wrote this blog about an hour ago and I really let go of my actual feelings, emotions, and observations! I really let it out there, almost screaming through my keyboard about how parents send their kids to school not only completely unprepared for the day, but also with that ever so present chip set firmly on their shoulders to the point that we teachers have to deal with angst, rebellion, misfortune, child abuse, neglect, and apparent famine. We deal with homelessness, suicide attempts, emotionally depressed, anxiety, hatred, bias, transgender issues, sexual misconduct, and that's before we get to education! I'm sick of it. I'm fed up and I'm damn well tired of seeing these kids dropped off without any inkling of a clue as to how to behave in public places, or how to be civil when spoken to by a person of authority. Parents, far more than the kids, are responsible for the fighting and the misconduct of the students I see on a daily basis. We can't punish children these days, but if we could I'd like to turn back the clocks about 20 years because though we had issues before 9/11, we really saw changes in the behavior and performance of students right around that time.

    The kids who were graduating in 2002 were about 18 about 19 years ago. That makes them about 37 and most of them have kids that are in middle school to high school age now. For the past two decades we teachers have had to work under mandates that are absolutely impossible to achieve. George Bush had the "No Child Left Behind" crap that meant you passed a kid even if he or she couldn't read or write. You found an excuse or reason to move them forward to the next level, and eventually not only were children left far far behind, they were shoved out the door without being able to read, write, communicate, or do basic Algebra. We allowed them to flood our junior colleges because they didn't have the grades to make the cut at the colleges, until the Obamas came along and said that what the colleges were doing was discriminating. Not allowing students into their universities with poor grades; somehow that was racist, and the doors of higher education were opened to anyone and everyone, thus lessening what a degree really means.

    After two decades of programs like Common Core, and mandates like No Child Left Behind, it is no wonder that the state of Oklahoma is usually number 47 out of 50 states in terms of ranking of academic performance.  I know I have students who can't speak or read English and I'm asked to let them do their best. I can't speak Spanish, Arabic, Chinese or any other language well enough to translate my lessons. I can, if I had the time, translate them through digital means, but again, I don't have time to do that when I'm already pressed for time to get the regular work produced, passed out, collected, graded, and put into the system.  At our district the teachers have to cover for other teachers because we can't find enough subs. We can't find subs because the pay is too low. No one will work for under $10/hour and they shouldn't be expected to put themselves into a potential dangerzone for that pay anyway. Would most of the readers do it? I can't find anyone to trade jobs with me usually. I've asked several people if they want to teach English in an urban setting for what I'm paid. No one has taken up the challenge, but let me tell you, if they wanted to they couldn't. I had to get a degree to do this job, and I had to have experience to keep it.

    Today, teachers deal with (I say abuse) treatment from administration not wanting to follow up with discipline, but only because they have way too many kids to follow up with. They just have to cut them loose at some point with a stern word because they can't even actually slap the wrists. Those days are gone. Teachers deal with treatment from other teachers who are stressed and unable to meet plans and PLC times due to subbing for other teachers. While we sub the other teachers don't usually have work set out, or enough work, and we're forced to deal with unruly students for several minutes. They have iPads, they could just get on them for Reading Plus, but you know they weren't charged, or they don't work, or they can't find them, they left them at home, it's a daily event, hour after hour. Teachers are given the treatment by students who don't show up on time, don't follow dress code, smell like pot, beer, or are just too dirty to let them into the room. We have students who don't bring supplies (94%) or they don't want to comply with basic rules. They constantly disrupt class during lecture, asking questions, and making demands. I'm being tame right now. I'm not going into much detail for obvious reasons. We teachers aren't really allowed to discuss such things on social media.

    This day, this very day, we had teenagers flooding the toilets, pulling soap dispensers off the walls, plugging up fountains, peeing in the water fountains and on the floor. We had a kid spit on the floor next to the trash can for no reason and when he was asked he said he wanted to spread COVID. This is what we deal with. We have students who can't and won't speak English, they refuse. We have kids who want to do so, but they are limited, and we do the best we can, but the state expects miracles and that is just not going to happen with 33 kids in a classroom. Sorry. You gotta get better expectations is all I can say about that.

    This week we had a fight going on in the hallways while the kids were testing. The fight was two cousins, girls, both screaming and yelling because their mutual grandma had paid for one girl to have her hair weaved and not the other girl. That's a family issue, not a school issue, but we had blood in the hallway over it, and we had another student pushed into a locker who was just walking past the two girls who were fighting. I was personally cussed out three times this week, and it's only Wednesday. When a kid cusses at us we are supposed to take them to the office. I do that, but seems I am really the only teacher doing such things. The others decided to take care of it inhouse, so there I am being THAT teacher and now I'm going to have to stop doing what I'm supposed to do in order to get along with my colleages unless I want to stand out, not be invited to meetings, not be updated, not be involved, not be included. Do you see what I'm saying? It's not the easiest of professions, is it?

    I usually take off a year, rest, travel, live abroad, stay in my wonderful world (Scotland) and just chill before I come back and face another year of overt challenges that I swear I won't face again. I face them because I know they need someone like me, someone mean enough to force education down their throats and hope they don't regurgitate it, but hope that they retain maybe 16% of it.  I have had some success of course, or I wouldn't return, but lately it's become increasingly difficult to lure me back to the whiteboards and broken technology. My idea of peace and serenity may not include showing up early, staying late, working my ass off, and not being appreciated. I may actually just let the buzzards win - - but I know me. I fight the good fight.  I may need to rethink my mantra though. I used to quote Mark Twain and say "Whatever you think can change can be if you are the change needed".  I may have to change that to "Greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world."  I need Jesus a lot more than I do Mark Twain.

    Next time you think teachers aren't doing their job with your kid(s) just remember we didn't go to school to teach your kids to respect others, to respect authority, to do their work when assigned, to do their best when asked, to bring their supplies, to stop making excuses, and to stop pissing in the water fountains. Our job is to direct, instruct, teach, and correct academics, not behavior. That's the job of the parent; and that's the problem our school systems have now.  I take a phone from a kid I get flack from the parent. Hey, here's a thought, your kid can either follow the rules or have consequences, and that goes for you too, parent. That goes for you too.  I know we say this a lot, but when I was a kid, if I were to do what these kids do, I would be backhanded across the face by my dad, my mom would then ground me, my Sunday School teacher would find out about it, and I'd be in trouble at church too. I'd have to sit next to her during service, not with my friends, and then I'd have to miss out on fun and activities for a week minimum. We didn't have phones back then, but you know mine would have been turned off if I had spit on the floor for no reason. We need to bring back accountability - - but I think the only remedy we have now is the rapture. At least I can hope for that.

Photo Credit:  Byrce  Hedstrom

"Hello, Dear"

 AAAAAGGGHHHH!!  It makes me want to scream and punch my fist right through the monitor when I see it, but I know it wouldn't help if I did, it's just their damn conditioning I guess.  Men can be so annoying!  I mean, yeah, I guess women can be annoying too, and you know, if I'm really honest with myself I bet I'm rather annoying at times to some people. (No, I'm not going to name anyone in particular) When I go to my Instagram account (It doesn't happen so much on Facebook) I am bombarded at times, maybe 3 or 4 times every week anyway, with some lonely "military man" who just happens to be of higher rank, he's either a recent widow or his wife has been gone for "awhile now" and he always seems to have a teenage daughter - - why the props? I'm not sure as to why these types seem to be lurking on IG hoping to find someone stupid enough to fall for their crap, but it's so dang obvious I just have to laugh out loud. 

    I go to the site and there it is, a red heart showing me that someone has liked my comments or they are wanting to reach out and message me.  I'd have so many more followers if I would just stop blocking men; I know, it's crazy, right?  I click on the heart to see 14 likes of my most recent posts. They like them all, every last one of them, no comments, just likes, and nothing to suggest that they would be a truly interesting person either because a lot of the things I post are controversial, you'd think they'd at least have an opinion - - but no, they just like the posts and invite me to chat. Oh, but it's the way they invite me that just sears my gears! They start out with "Hello, Beautiful" or "Hello, I was just searching the internet for a high school friend when I ran across your wonderful smile. I'd like to get to know you."  Ha! Let me stop you right there sir, let me help you out, NO...NO...you would NOT like to get to know me. Take my word for it. YOU do not want to chat with me. MOVE FORWARD.

    Of all the people, of all the women, of all the wonderful smiling faces you find on the internet, be it on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Reddit, Buzz, or anything else you may find a wonderful smile lurking about, you do not want to write to me with your "Hello, Dear" because I'll shut you down faster than a skunk can spew on you - - and you'd probably rather have found a polecat than to have asked me twice if I've already told you once to move along. I am not your girl. I will not be your girl. This woman is all but finished with men, and the only way I'd ever change my mind is if God Himself sat me down and forced my eyes open to stare at one. He hasn't done that -- so yeah, no.  Don't get me wrong, I do look. I do look at the ones I choose to look at. I will sneak a peek and I will drool, but I won't let you catch me because if you catch me it means I wanted you to see it - - and if I wanted you to see it, well, then I have changed my mind about men.  I haven't changed my mind. You won't catch me drooling; maybe just a little smirk.

    The last 20 or 30 men over the past few weeks to write to me have all started their conversations the same way, and they've all been deleted. I think I wrote back to one man to actually be polite only because I saw he was from Scotland. Yes, I will be sweeter to a Scot than another man, I will admit that, and I may actually choose to chat with a Scot if it's on the phone or through Zoom just so I can hear his voice (accent) but the second he turns the conversation toward "getting to know you" or "are you married dear?" The line will go dead.  If a man wanted to get to know me the best thing he could do is read my 38,000 posts - - pretty sure that if he took the time to do that he would realize he doesn't really want to pursue a relationship, or at least he'd damn well know my marital status is HAPPILY SINGLE and presently decidedly going to stay that way. If he still needed more information about me because he just couldn't get enough from the posts, he could read my damn book! (It's pretty cheap on Amazon through Ebook actually, I think it's like $6.99 or something). Not much of an investment really.

    No, if you, or anyone like you, decides to write to me and you start off with "Hello, Dear" just know I'll never write to you. You should start off with "Hello, I'm from Scotland, I don't want to get to know you, I just want to say 'tomorrow' over and over again until you fall in love with me."  That may actually make me giggle and I'll try you out to see if you can keep me interested long enough to drink a full cup of coffee while you rattle on about your likes and dislikes as long as you understand I may not actually comprehend a thing you say, I'm just listening to your voice. I'm not moving to Scotland to find a man, I'm moving to Scotland to find myself. While I'm there I'll be sure to hit up the Highlands so I can immerse myself into the language and just let the words of the handsome men (plural) tickle my ears. I have every intention of letting each and every one of them know I have no idea what it was that they just said, but yes, it was lovely. 

    I mean, I guess there are women out on the internet who would love to hear from these fake military men with daughters and recently deceased wives. I personally would never date someone who was a widower because I'm not about to compete with a damn ghost. If I find a man and he is still wrapped up in the woman who preceded him to Heaven, he can find her and follow her - - don't waste my time trying to compare me, trying to figure out why I don't do things like or act like that dead wife of his. I'm not being mean - - I wouldn't want a man to suffer through being with me, to be honest. I'm not the nicest belle at the ball - - I'm not even going to attend the ball, you'll find me in the barn with the horses and you'll find me in the cabin with a book by the fire, but you'll not find me in the castles at the parties wearing glass shoes - - I don't even like shoes, and I don't match my socks...DEAR!

    Nope, let me go -- move along, find another woman to pop your pretty tail feathers for. This one is no longer impressed. I think I could be. I think God could show me that one who would keep my eyes roving up and down his form, turning him around to see the backside, and maybe upside down to see if he can handle the pressure of being my guy. Not saying that upsidedown is a deal-breaker, but it is a good test, wouldn't you think? LOL...yes, I'm laughing, you don't have to send the paddy wagon out for me just yet. Come to think of it, I've never actually been with a man in the back of a car, not even when I was younger. I think I was too smart for that, which cost me a few boyfriends I'm sure. Something about me being too damn mean...or was it too damn smart? Either way, I can say I've never made it in the backseat of a car.  Now that I've admitted that it makes me want to admit some of the more interesting places I have .... no, that's another blog.

    Do yourself and me a favor boys - - don't. 

Photo Credit: My Interesting Things

The Master of My Own Universe

 OK, yes, it's true, I will give Jesus the absolute credit, position, glory, and authority, He is the actual Master (big "M") of my universe, but you know, there are times when He lets me just do my thang, which if you know me you know I'm gonna do it.  I'm from the South. Women of the South cook, and we bake. It's no big secret, just the true facts as they are, and when we get the hankerin' to cook or throw a pie together we just damn well do it. We don't need a reason, we don't need an excuse.  If we aren't cooking for dinner we're usually thinking about baking for the next day, friends, relatives, ourselves, or just because someone out there will be coming over soon and we need to have something to offer them when they do. I'm sorry if you haven't experienced this sort of understanding and comprehensive reasoning in your own life; I can only imagine how sad you are now that you realize it's an everyday occurrence with those of us from the Southern region of the United States. We bake. 

    I'm laying there on my bed with the Pore's Company LED facemask on my face. I do use it just about every day. If you don't know what one is I'll put a photo of it at the bottom of this blog so you can see it. It's literally what it's called, an LED light facemask. It goes over your entire face and neck, and you can turn the various colored lamps on to use for various reasons. I use the red light for removing and reducing wrinkles. It works. You don't have to take my word for it, look at my face! So there I am, laying there with the mask on my face. I usually set the timer on it for 40 minutes and I listen to Mercy Me, Casting Crowns, Celtic Worship, WOW, or maybe I'll hit up Pandora and randomly shuffle all of the various genres of music that I like - - just to make the time I'm laying there petting the dog seem more eventful. Today I was laying there, petting the dog and thinking how good a big fat honking piece of banana nut bread would taste.

    My friend Niki (Hi Niki) was saying just the other day on her Facebook page, that people don't really keep old bananas to make banana nut bread and that they get all gross and nasty sitting on the cabinet just attracting fruit flies. I wrote back all snarky like saying "Hell yes, I make banana nut bread", I just haven't had any bananas last that long on my cabinet since Laura or I may end up taking one to work for lunch. True story; I can't remember a time in the recent past when I had two good overripe bananas sitting on the kitchen cabinet. I almost didn't have them this time either, but I managed to beat Laura back out of my kitchen with the end of a broomstick. She was going for my nanner and I knew I was saving it for this very reason - - I just didn't know if it was gonna be today or tomorrow, it ended up being today. She was a hard sell. I had to pick up the bananas and physically move them to my closet out of her sight. She hasn't forgiven me yet, we'll see how she fares after she eats the bread.

    I tell people all the time that if you want something you have to make it happen. You have to take the world by the balls and just chuck it in the direction you need it to go! In this case, I had to go to the store, buy the nanners, beat my daughter back a few times, hide said nanners, find them again, and bake the bread. I knew this was a few-day process. You can also speed up the process if you buy riper bananas and then you don't have to be so violent with your kid -- she could probably figure it out on her own when she sees that you brought home old produce! I do the same with avocadoes with my son, but he's no longer living with me - - I can't tell you how many times we had to eat stiff avocadoes rather than creamy smooth fruit because he can't possibly wait another day! At least with Laura, I have a fighting chance at a chance of fighting. With Reuben I just walk away - - he has the upper hand.

    Be the master of your universe people. You want banana bread, you make it. You want to write a poem that will knock the socks off the reading world, you do it. You want to walk five miles to get the banana bread you just ate off your hips, you put on your shoes and head out that door! Don't let people stop you from being you. Don't let people get you down, because if you give them the chance they will try. You stand up for your right to eat the goodness you mix together. You bang your head on that wall, beat your fists into the table, cry out that war scream, and let the freaking world know just who's boss in this damn house!! (I mean, your neighbors may not understand, but do it anyway) Be the one who takes full control of each and every situation that happens in or around your kitchen! It is YOUR KITCHEN. Well, that's what I tell people anyway. They may not like it, but they do respect it - - I'm not above flipping tables and pulling out bullwhips if I need to. Eggs may fly, broomsticks may be twisted in the air. The roost will be claimed. I am Southern Momma! Hear me ROAR!

    OK, that being said I got up from the bed, made the bread, and shared it with my little one. She was happy. I was happy. I wrote the blog, and now you're smiling. Goals. 

Christians Are the WORST

 OMG...OMG....can I just start off asking for an "Amen"?  Do you not, as a Christian, as a born-again believer, just want to reach through the ether sometimes and slap the living daylights out of other Christians from time to time? You can't tell me I'm alone in this, you can't tell me I'm the only one who just stands over here (or there) and just shakes my damn head over something that some other born-again, Bible-believing, God-fearing, good-to-the-soul Christian has said or done to another. I think I need a taller soapbox, today friends, I need a step ladder, maybe even a cherry picker because I need to reach some big honking side-to-the-head ears way over in Scotland today! There's a guy there that needs his spiritual ass whooped and I'm just the woman to do it today! Do NOT piss off a woman.  Do not piss off a Scorpio woman (and yes, believe it or not, I can be a Scorpio and a believer. God made the stars. Man worships them, I don't) God set the stars in their place, and the story is told from the beginning of VIRGO the birth of Christ, to the constellation of LEO which is the Lion of Judah.  Hey, guess who SCORPIO is!  That's right, it represents the mean, nasty, son-of-a-bitch Satan, and from time to time, I relate.

    JUST because someone was born under the sign of Scorpio doesn't make them Satanish, any more than being born in early September makes you Christ-like.  We all know we have both good and bad in our hearts, so please don't go all churchy on me when you have your own sins to deal with. Let's not have to talk about specks and beams today. I'm ranting, it's my blog. I can rant. If you want to get online and start your own rant you feel free to do that. If you did something that you know is both ungodly and unacceptable to the Christian standards and you're afraid I'm going to blog about it and let the world in on your fopaux then you have something to worry about because that is EXACTLY my plan today! I'm calling you out right here and right now, and no I won't use your name, YOU and JESUS know it, I know it, and it's probably best that the rest of the world doesn't know it because JESUS doesn't deserve to be associated with someone who's literally going to tell another Christian to "SAVE YOURSELF TIME and energy" and witness to someone who GOD HIMSELF has shared with YOU to do it.     Without digressing too much here is the background to the background so you'll somewhat have an idea of what is going on; I wouldn't want to be accused of one-siding it and slanting this story in my favor. No, I want to lay it out there exactly as it is so this man can get his spirit pricked and maybe he won't do that again, and if he does it again, maybe he won't do it to a woman with a big mouth and keyboard! 

    I am a blogger. I follow a YouTuber.  The YouTuber is not a Christian, but through our conversations and rapport building, I have reached a point where I can ask him a few things. He's from Scotland, and I'm in the USA, so it's not like I can pop in on the guy and have that conversation about the Roman Road or his need for soul salvation, right? OK, next best, I sent him a note saying something like, "Hey, you know, you're an awesome YouTuber and I've seen and noticed that so many people who follow you also follow my "friend" (Ha! We won't use that word again to describe you now, will we? I'll use something like "idiot" or "fool".) who is also in your area, and he's a singer and worship leader who many of your followers follow. He's really cool, talented, and uplifting, and since he's there in your backyard, and your videos are all about that area and things you can see and do in Scotland, how about you doing a vlog or video with him, and your viewers and his viewers can talk about both of you, and get more views for both of you!!?" What a deal?  (Good plan, right?)

    It would have been and should have been an excellent plan, the YouTuber was all over it. He was like "Yeah, hey, that's a wonderful idea, maybe in the future because things are really suppressed right now."  I suggested maybe a Zoom.  OK, yeah, it's a good thing to do, people may want to see two really fun bearded handsome men speaking in Scottish accents about Edinburgh and surrounding fun things to do. They can walk around Princes Street, go to the Castles, see the old and new towns, they can go to cafes, hear great street music, and yeah, they can run into this great Christian artist who is really involved in the local charities serving the area through homelessness awareness, suicide awareness, and he's got a story, he's got a history, maybe it will touch their heart and you'll want to give him a listen either when they show up to that fine city, or just because - - sure sounds like a great idea right? Oh, and it's a great idea on the flip side too, because the MAN OF GOD, good soul, Christian, Jesus-Following great guy will have the unique opportunity to speak to the YouTuber about Jesus, how HE FOUND JESUS and how Jesus found him.  It could lead to another glory-filled salvation story; one that would earn the CHRISTIAN man a brand new crown in fact!!  We like crowns in Heaven, don't we? We'll have more to present to Jesus -- it really is a WIN-WIN and a marvelous plan. God gave me the plan. I can't take credit for it. I have gone as far as I can go in the matter -- I was the seed planter. 

    Here's where the slapping comes into play.  I write the singer/songwriter to let him know I have spoken with the YouTuber and suggested Zoom.  I suggest to him that it would be a wonderful opportunity to bring the word to the unsaved and give God the glory; right? Wrong. He writes back to say (and this is where I had to laugh. He used his own email address to send the letter) he was the manager of the artist (again, he sent the email from his own email address) and he said as the manager of this (so very important) artist, that he would be answering all future correspondences. Remind me please not to ever be so awesome, great, fantabulous, famous, or otherwise unavailable to those who pray for me, buy my material, keep me lifted in Spirit, and so forth.  No, he wrote to me to basically say don't write to me. He wrote to me to ask if I had not in fact stated about 5 or 6 months ago that wouldn't be writing to him (the artist) so why am I writing now? About 5-6 months ago I tried to promote the man, and again about a year ago I tried to promote the man's work but was shut down. First, it was something about being signed on under contract with a music company so he couldn't do it, then it was he thought (or his wife thought) that because I was persistent about writing to promote him that I MUST (must) be in love with him, or want something else from him. YES, you moron, I do want something from you, I want you to sit up and pay attention! God has a plan for you, and you're just passing it by and allowing it to pass by!! Stop with all the paranoid BS and move into the LIGHT.

    I answered the "manager" with a statement saying basically, "Sure, I can stop writing to, commenting, or corresponding, but I thought he'd like the opportunity to witness and maybe share God's grace and will with the unsaved."  Then I said goodbye. AND HE WROTE ME BACK.  (I say he, it could be his wife, I wouldn't put it past her to do that, and him not have a clue about any of it because it seems she keeps him in the dark most of the time anyway. Did I say that out loud? I guess I did.) He writes me back to say that I wrote back. WHAT?  Yep, he wrote me back to say I thought you weren't going to write back?  Yeah, I wrote back to answer the questions you asked and to say TOOTLES! There's NO WAY I'm going to let that pile of poop just sit there unanswered on my feed so yeah, I wrote back to say "Geez, I thought my last correspondence was, in fact, my last correspondence" as if to say "You don't get the last word here, I do." (Told you I could be snarky.)

     NO...HE WROTE BACK!  This is where I had to laugh. I was on the floor at this point. He called me manipulative and told me that I could save myself time and energy and witness to the YouTuber myself. Oh...OK...yeah...let me just do that...oh wait....I did!!  I am the SEED PLANTER on this one. YOU can be the harvester if you just get off your holier-than-thou ass long enough to do God's work! (I don't know why I bother, except when I tried to stop praying for him twice God reminded me that HE gave the order to pray for the idiot so I have no choice. I guess I'll just keep on praying - - but NOT writing to him again.) Not a problem.

    I decided to take the ball and run with it. I'm not a soccer player, I don't kick it to the other side. I grab it by .... well, by the ball(s) and I run. I decided to run straight up the middle with it too. I'm nothing if not forceful. I'm one of those really bitchy bitches who don't really cotton to those who can't read the neon signs screaming at them to pick up the next play. If I have to pass myself the ball, run with it, cross the line, and spike it I will - - and do it in your FACE.  I wrote to the YouTuber to let him know the singer was absolutely on board with the whole Zoom thing!  Try and get out of that one, Sir. Let God know when you've accepted the assignment so He'll know when to send you the words. We wouldn't want you CHOKING ON THEM or writing an email through your MANAGER to decline the offer - - you do that and I'll hit that closet so hard with prayers for your unholy ass so fast it will make your hymnal fall off the piano!  Don't you DARE sing about God's story, your story, Blessed Assurances, and how JESUS IS YOURS if you aren't going to share Him with someone given to you on a freaking silver platter? 

    I would say don't make me come to Scotland to do the work myself, because Baby, I'll not only do it, I'll call in the elders of your church and we'll all have a sit down come to Jesus... I have NO issue(s) going to my God with this over-the-top attitude that I have about things. He made me. He knows exactly who I am and how loud I can get. He knows exactly how far I will go to make sure I do what He's told me to do - - you'll notice I didn't give your name, not once, and I won't. YOU KNOW it. Jesus knows it, and that's the best news there is. YOUR NAME is written in the Book of Life, now get out there and try your "damn-dest" to have that other guy's name added to the same book BEFORE He returns. We don't have much time.

    That is all. I hope the rest of you have a blessed weekend, but I pray this CHRISTIAN fellow gets his arse in a sling so tight he could make diamonds from the pressure!

Photo Credit: Redbubble

Naked Bearded Man -- Time to Bare it All.

 Oh, the joy and the rapture of my imagination! If I could be anywhere at any time it would be inside my head. There, I have full autonomy. There, I am free to think, feel, do, and act as I please. Inside my beautiful brain, I have the freedoms I claim without any restrictions; full and complete abandonment. The problem(s) only begin to appear when I am either forced to return to reality or when I realize that I am most likely not going to be able to remain in my playground infinitely. Sadly, this is true, and I must either abruptly leave or say my adu to the one man who has kept me sane for more than 30 years; Naked Bearded Man.  

    Naked Bearded Man has never really been given a name. He's mine, and I'm his, we really don't use first names when we're together, he's just him and I'm just me. I don't know the exact moment he first showed up, but I can tell you this, I was a married woman. Oh, the shame in that statement! To admit openly and publicly, and of course, before God, that I would have rather be making love to fantasy than to be with the man I agreed to marry - - and yet, that is exactly when my mind took over and to be honest if it wasn't for Naked Bearded Man, I would have been married quite a bit less time than I was, and I was actually only betrothed for what, 9 years? I forget the math. We were married in July of 1988 and divorced the first time (yes, I was that stupid) in 1995. I think Naked Bearded Man showed up around 1989 - - so technically I guess my daughter Caity is his daughter when you think about it. LOL

    You can say what you want to say, you can point your fingers and blame me all you wish. You will never be able to condemn me further or more than I have condemned me. I was the worse wife ever, in that I did not love my husband. I don't even for the life of me realize why I agreed to marry him. I think I was depressed, still in love with Reuben's father, and just wanted to be held. That makes more sense than to ever say or think that I could have had feelings for the man. He wasn't rich, he wasn't even working. He wasn't old enough to be a husband and that again is MY FAULT, I don't blame another soul. I take and accept full responsibility for all of it. The 2nd time I married him was just purely emotional. I had been a survivor of the Oklahoma City Bombing which happened literally 6 days after our divorce; I was in a bad place. My ex was a rescuer of sorts, he was there at the courthouse and was helping pull people to safety, he thought he saw someone who may have been me. We were both in a bad place -- we remarried. Dumbest thing ever. Nothing changed.

    If it wasn't for my imagination and my mystery fantasy man who I have always dubbed "Naked Bearded Man" as more of a description rather than a name, I would have been lost in a world of loss. I would have been tossed emotionally and unstable from the events that took place, from the way my life was going, and from the evil that was lurking around every corner because my husband was not a Christian man. He has since become a Christian, more power to him, good on him, all of that, but the years we were together were nothing short of disastrous. I needed and therefore I conjured my good and faithful mate, NBM.  I have never kept him a secret. I have never denied his existence. If anyone, and I do mean anyone had asked me who I was deeply in love with, who my body was surrendered to, who I would go to the edge of the universe for it would be Naked Bearded Man, or in other words, myself.

    Recently, and by recently I mean this week, a woman in Scotland has decided to lie and tell false stories about my character because for whatever reason SHE feels that I am in love with her husband. I laugh of course. I don't know him. I laugh of course, because there's just simply no way he or any other man for that matter, could ever be as genuinely unique, caring, giving, sharing, intimately romantic, enthusiastic, or as attentive as NBM. Your husband dear is your husband. DEAL WITH HIM. I am allowed to look, I am allowed to talk. I am allowed to befriend anyone and everyone I choose, and here's a thought sweetheart, if your husband decides to communicate with me, and tell you that he's communicating with me, that's on you for not being the wife you may need to be. I am not following him. (well, wait, I do follow his social media, but I am not following him as he is not mine) I am not submitting to him. I am not saying anything inappropriate to him because I don't do that. I have the deepest sympathy for him, not you. He needs a better wife, and although it probably won't be me, it really shouldn't be you if you can't follow him the way GOD intends for a woman to follow her husband. (Remember, I already told you I was the worst wife ever...this is how I know things).

    Naked Bearded Man is my man dear woman. He has for the past three decades shown me the love and care that I expect and he does so EVERY DAMN DAY with a smile and a wee showing of his teeth. He is Scottish, I'll give you that, and he is about six feet tall, he has a belly on him, and he does play guitar, so yeah, there may be some similarities, but NBM is NAKED. Look at your man sweety, is he NAKED? If he's naked and he's with me, then yeah, you may have something to think about, but he's not. I assume when he's naked he's with you. I assume when he's naked he's smiling. I know my guy is. I can't stop looking at him. He thrills me to the core. When was the last time (most women) you could say that about your sweety?  Remember the words "Cherish" and "Obey" or did you have those words removed from the vows all those years ago? Maybe you thought those words had a shelf life.  I denny ken! But, I do cherish NBM, and let me tell you, obeying him is not a problem. Ever.

    You know people, the best thing about being married or otherwise connected and attached to a fantasy is that he is always with me. I don't remember a single day that he has taken off and gone on a separate vacation alone or with friends. If he ever does leave he should take his kilt. He has a kilt. He's often seen folding it, hanging it up, pushing it to the side, taking it off, or just holding it in his hand and twirling it around rather playfully - - he can be a tease.  The best thing about being with him is that NO ONE ELSE can say he's with them. He's mine, and that's all there is to it. I wish I could find a really good likeness of him online so I could post it, but he is just too unique. He's average really, not that handsome. He's not some romantic novel beasty whose chest is riveted, nor his abs standing out like puffed hard pillows. He's an average guy - - at this point he could be considered a bit overweight. I think he and I need to get out more often, but then again he'd have to get dressed wouldn't he? I can do that. I can ask him to put his clothes on, which may introduce an entirely different dynamic to our relationship! LOL...you can't see me falling off my chair right now, in fact, it's rather difficult to type from where I'm sitting on the floor.

    I guess I'll close by saying that I'm just too into myself to worry if someone is thinking I'm thinking or saying something I would never think or say. I don't have time, nor will I take the time, to defend myself when someone who is less confident about herself and her personal relationship with her husband that she has to lure him into thinking I said or did something I wouldn't -- keep him, he's yours, you're the one who agreed to love and support -- I'm good. I will however, as he desires, continue to be his friend and confidant. At least I'm not posting what he's told me about you. Oops...I almost went there. I think I need to turn off the lights and meditate for a minute. I think I hear someone whistling for me. Oh, yeah, by the way, another really cool thing about Naked Bearded Man, and it's always been this way, because he's a Highlander, he speaks Scots Gaelic. I am actually learning the language solely to be able to understand our pillow talk.  Some things just sound better in a Scottish accent, don't you think so?

    Good night. Sweet dreams. 

Here's something close to what he may look like, except...you know, naked.

Photo Credit:  KO Festival of Performance (I have no idea what this man's name is) This guy. Damn. I may need to find him in real life. Just sayin'

Feast of Trumpets Much?

 There are some people, myself included, who are waiting and watching for the rapture of the Church to take place literally any minute. There is nothing, not one thing, on God's prophetic time clock, that must happen before the rapture takes place. It is a real event. It hasn't happened yet. The signs are everywhere, and everything has lined up. In fact, there are others, myself used to be one, who believe that the rapture can only take place on the actual day of the Feast of Trumpets which is also called Rosh Hashanah. The day that no one knows is another name for it, and that is another reason why Christians often think that the event will take place ON the day of the Feast of Trumpets since it is a day that no man knows when it will actually take place. This year the Feast of Trumpets is on September 6-7.

    Rosh Hashanah is the only Jewish festival that takes place over a period of two days, as it is not exactly known when the day begins since it begins with the first sighting of the sliver of the moon that appears after the new moon -- however, some (others) say that the particular moon that must be followed is the first new moon after the solstice, so that would be closer to October rather than September, and really, we just can't know. Only God knows, and that's another thing we can be sure of; God does in fact know when HE is going to release Jesus to come back for His bride, who is us, the Church. So, we wait. We wait, but we don't have to wait so patiently. I am one of those who always complain about the timing because I'm so ready to be gone already. When it doesn't happen during the Feast of Trumpets year after year, you can always count on me complaining and bellyaching to God saying I really wanted to go this time!! 

    The rapture in and of itself can only happen one time, but we did have many examples of a pre-tribulation or pre-wrath "taking" of believers in the Bible.  We saw it with Noah and the Ark, we saw it with Enoch before that. We saw it with Lot, with Daniel, and we saw it with others. God shows His mercy to us over and over and gives us "like" events to show us that He will bring His people out of harm's way at the right time - - His time. Even though the boys, Shadrach, Meshack, and Abednego (totally could have misspelled these names)  had to go through the fiery furnace which was, by the way, heated 7x hotter than it usually was (7 was a very important number, and still is. It is the number of completion) God was with them. The King saw that. Israel is the picture there, while Daniel represents the Christians, and he was taken before that event. 

    Story after story in the Bible of rapture-type events, or saving events that take place before the wrath of God is delivered. Enoch walked with God and was no more. We will walk with God and be taken. I think it's interesting that we'll meet Jesus first in the sky and then we will all be taken to Heaven to be with Him in Glory. The dead in Christ being raptured before the living in Christ, and we meet in the air first, not in Heaven. Immediately after that we are in Heaven, but it's really cool that we may actually get to see the stars, the novas, the planets, other galaxies, whatever is between here and there -- and we'll do it in our new bodies; that's just so cool to think about and when I think about it and then think that some people don't want the rapture to come I just can't imagine their ignorance. PERFECT bodies people!!

    I say it all the time to people who will listen, there isn't a single issue, not one single problem that you or I could have on this Earth that could not be settled immediately and permanently by the rapture. Literally, after that nano-second of time, there will be ZERO problems that we face ever again. Not one. We won't owe money, we won't have sickness, there will be no vaccination or face masking up in Glory. There will be no need for a doctor, a police officer, a courtroom, a fire department. There will be lots and lots of music, food, fun, gatherings, dancing, celebrations, valleys, mountains, hills, waters, colors, smells, and brilliant everything, but there will be nothing that will be harmful, sad, agonizing, paralyzing, upsetting, or remotely distressing. NO ANXIETY, no PTSD, no debt to be repaid. There will only be love, and plenty to go around. 

    When people say the rapture isn't in the Bible I laugh. Sure it is.  It's called the gathering, the great gathering, and other things, and in the Greek original text it is called Harpazo; to snatch away. In the Latin Bible it is "rapturo" I think, and if they want to get really nasty with you, tell them that the word "Trinity" isn't in the Bible either. Eat that and chew it twice. People are just so ignorant; wanting to rain on our rapture parade -- they need Jesus, and they need Him really really fast, because baby, we're going home soon - - and very soon.  I can't wait to do gymnastics again - - and I'm looking forward to finding my little boyfriend that I had before we were humans; when we were free to play and free to explore.  I'm absolutely sure he'll be there; and we can pick up where we left off, with him being BLUE and me being GOLD and we explored the real rainbow, popping in and out of its colors for fun. He'll be there, all grown up and manly, bearded and smiling like he hasn't seen me in forever -- and I will not let go of him for a very long time.

    Please Jesus, let this year be the year, and let it happen on Rosh Hashanah (and no, I won't complain if you do it before that either) I really don't want to wait anymore. I miss you.

Photo Credit: CBN Israel