My Personal Phobia (Entamaphobia)

OK, so you knew there had to be a name for it, right? The name for what I have is "Entamaphobia", which is, according to www.fearof.net this: "Entamaphobia or the fear of doors is a debilitating phobia often associated with Agoraphobia and Claustrophobia. The word Entamaphobia is derived from a combination of Greek words 'Eisodos and portos' for entrance or entryway and 'phobos' which is the Greek God of fear."  Except, I don't have a fear of the door itself, but what may or may not be hiding behind it.  It's not EVERY door that freaks me out either, no, just those little short doors that you see in houses sometimes. I think people feel that they need or want access to an area behind the stairs or in the eaves where it's too short for a person to walk into but they could bend over and get something out of a storage area; maybe Christmas decorations, blankets, or something else. I don't know, but the little doors just do something to my psyche.  They start the Myelin sheaths of my wee brain to burst into flames with incredible fury.  

   

     Since it's Halloween I figured a creepy little story would be in order. My Granny had a gorilla living in her closet, and he didn't freak me out. I mean, I never actually saw him, but she said he was there, and he would eat us if we went into said closet, so of course, not one of us cousins ever ventured into it. I'm not saying that I didn't peek because I did. He may have been out for the afternoon on the day I decided to test Granny, I don't know, but I'm still here, and he has probably passed on since gorillas don't live to be too terribly much older than however long it's been since I've tested the rumor.  Gramma said it, I believed it, and that settled it.  Gramma also told me that Santa was real and if I ever said he wasn't she would never bake another cookie. You know I still believe! (Ain't much better in this world than warm loving for the kitchen.) 
 

    So small doors and me are a no-go. I look at houses I think I want to buy and if they have a tiny door in the hall or up near an eave, I find an excuse to move on to the next house. I don't bother opening up the door to see if houses insulation, books, maybe pickled olives, I just walk out the front door with the realtor lagging behind me still checking off boxes on her clipboard and telling me how nice the kitchen suite is. She's never been one to worry or bother herself with petty phobia. She makes suggestions like "We can take the damn door off Jude; no one is coming out of the eave to kill you when you're sleeping!" How would she know? She's never ONCE slept in my house when tiny people make their way through their tiny portals. She has no standing to make those claims. I've seen The Borrowers. I know it's possible. 
 

    I'm not saying that having a genuine phobia is wrong; but what I have is certainly not logical and it's not feasible if I'm thinking of getting a two-story house someday. If I do find one I like and there happens to be an elf-hole I'll likely just do what April suggested, and take the damn door off of it - - maybe box it in and create a little shelf to hold something cute that I'm not oddly taken back by and I can call it mine. Maybe I'll even leave the door there and post a little welcome sign on it, but when someone does open the door, they only see a BRICK WALL where I sealed up the creature(s) and I've gone all Cask of Amontillado on the would-be murderers! You just don't know me if you think I won't do that. I can use a trowel.  
 

    We all have our oddities and our quirks, don't we? Some of us have sound pertinent phobias and/or aversions. Some of us create needless anxiety for ourselves with misunderstood tiny entrance ways that purposely have no malice but are actually designed to assist. Be that as it may, the doors are weird, they creep me out, and no, I don't have to explain myself. It's my brain that has the problem, not me!  I personally, don't mind the doors but I can't convince the intellectual folds of my head's fleshy tenant that there is nothing harmful or dubious about these tiny hatches. They are simply there to taunt me. I know this to be fact.  
 

    Think of what gets under your skin and ask yourself what you could, would, or should do about it -- I know I do. I try every now and then to find one so I can face it and tell it I'm not afraid of it, but then I laugh at the very thought of having done so. I mean really, it's not going to answer me, it's not going to reach out and pat me on the back and say "That's OK, you don't scare me either".  Or is it? 

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Some Lucky Guy

 I was at the dentist's this morning, and that's not a place people typically strike up new friendships, but I did exactly that.  There was a really sweet older man in the waiting room and he was going to have his upper teeth removed to give him both a better healthy body as well as a prettier smile.  He was scared because he hadn't been under the gas or had any numbing meds for several years. He admitted he hadn't been to the dentist in over 15 years.  He was genuinely pretty nervous about the whole thing.  I asked him if I could sit with him and we could just talk about what it was that scared him; maybe I could help. I thought maybe we could either pray together or just talk it out together and he'd feel better.  I asked if he was a married man because he had his thin gold band on his left hand, but you could tell it hadn't come off that finger in several decades.  

    He answered he was in fact a married man. His sweet wife had departed and had decided to move into a new mansion up in Glory without him.  He said they had agreed just before she left, that she would clean the place really good for him so he'd have a nice home to be welcomed in when the day came that he also decided to leave this world.  She would be with him today, he added, but she's pretty busy.  Yes, I suppose she is. I sat with him. He told me his name, and I told him mine.  I listened as he spoke about all the little things that his wife would do for him that made life so much easier for him to bear when he was of working age and when he was expected to bring home the bacon, as he put it. She would keep the house, she would do the shopping, she would do the mending, the ironing, the washing, the cooking, the cleaning, and she mostly on her own, he admitted, raised their two sons.  He was "Some lucky man" he said. I agreed with him.

    The dental assistant came to the door to announce that he was next to go behind the closed doors. I think the fact that they were so closed off and set apart from the waiting area was one of his main concerns. It felt cold to him.  I was a bit surprised a few minutes later when the dental assistant came back and asked me if I could be with the man while he had his procedure. I mean, I had an appointment that morning myself; I had no idea I was going to be asked to hold someone's hand.  I smiled at the assistant and told her I would be honored to do so.  She pushed my appointment back a bit, and I took a rolling stool next to my new friend.  God is so perfect, isn't He?  Not only did I meet one of the world's most luckiest men ever to walk the face of the Earth, but I was given a chance to serve him just like his own precious wife would have done had she not been so busy up in Heaven today.

    After about an hour, because it takes a minute to get someone settled, numbed up, and then given the instructions on how to relax and breathe through the procedure; the deed was done.  Since my dentist is the type that does the same day denture procedure my new buddy walked out of the office with his new upper plate in place and again, instructions on what to do when he goes home.  HOME! OMG...I didn't think about that; who would watch over him there? Suddenly, I found myself in both wife mode as well as mother mode! I wanted to smother the man in genuine care and make sure his every breath was counted and placed in order. I wanted to fluff his pillows, mash his potatoes a bit more, and show him how to brush so it wouldn't hurt.  "Relax, Jude"  came the voice of my dentist, "He'll be fine, he goes to my church and lives at the assisted center. He'll have 24/7 care, and I've already called the driver to come give him a ride home in about 30 minutes when he's had time to recover a bit, and I think he wanted to say good bye to you as well.  Do you mind?"  Do I mind? I was again, honored that he would be so kind.  

    Just before I walked out into the waiting room to see my toothy-grinned friend, I said a prayer for him to be sure he would be OK and not have any trouble when he got back to the center.  He held my hands and he kissed my cheek.  He said he had a few grandkids but not one of them could take the time to come to the dentist to be with him. He supposed that kids these days are just too busy and they work or have too much on their plates to do more than what they do.  I told him I had a phone and he could call it and reach me. When he goes back in for the lower plate I hope he'll put in that call. Just to be sure he's taken care of, I asked the dentist to call me too - - you know, just in case.  If he's been the luckiest man this long there's no reason to end his winning streak.  

    We said good bye, and it was nice to meet you, and all that.  Just one more thing he said, before he let me get on my way.  He said if I ever do decide to marry again he hopes that man knows what all he's getting in the package.  I asked him what he meant by that.  He said "Oh, most women these days just let a man do for himself. They don't realize how scared and vulnerable we can be.  Men are supposed to be big and strong, brave you know. Women are the one things we can't do without. Men need to know that."  Wow.  Then he added "There will be another lucky man if he can keep up with you!"  I thanked him and I thought maybe there may be, but God will have to put His seal of approval on him first -- still, I felt a little smile beaming down on us from one of the luckiest ladies to ever walk the face of the Earth.

Photo Credit: Picfair

Food Porn. (I do it)

 I know I must have been about 11 when my dad started allowing me in the kitchen to cook with him. I had been cooking or assisting in the church kitchen at least two years when Daddy finally realized that his littlest kid was absolutely familiar with a potato peeler, and she wasn't going to cut her thumbs off with it. He let me peel the potatoes, he let me add the fillers to the meatballs, but other than that I was banned from hanging out around the stove. He felt that it was too dangerous because of my long hair. Oh, wait, here's a thought - - put the hair up and cook!  We didn't think that way I guess.  I was happy just to be in the kitchen with my Daddy, standing on top of a chair to be able to reach the back of the sink. 

    When I would go to the local library I would devour the recipe books. I would sit down in the little hall between the TWEEN books and the more mature books and I'd flip through the slick colored pages of the most recent and even the older recipe books, not just the cook books, no, I wanted PICTURES. I like the way the green vegetables popped out on the page, and I loved how they always had a checkered little cloth somewhere in the photo too; makes it feel more like your own home! Everyone had little checkered cloths I suppose. We didn't, but you know, everyone else, those who had money and could afford things like that. They had them. They had the better spoons too, and the platters, and the matching dinnerware. Heck, anyone and everyone other than our family had matching cups and tumblers. We were...well, eclectic I suppose. I never knew we were poor.

    When I was in my teens I subscribed to a mail in type club where you'd pay X amount of money each month, maybe under Five Dollars, and they'd send you cards with recipes and pictures of the finished products on the cards! Oh my gosh, can you imagine? You never really knew what they were going to send you. It was a mystery!  You had to collect them all, and I think there were 6 in a pack, and they had 10 or 12 categories like :Breakfast, Lunch, Snack, Dinners, 30-minute meals, Desserts, Vegetables, and so forth. If you paid for two or three packs when you first got started they threw in a really cool index box with index cards to separate your recipes and keep them all organized. Wow! I was hooked! I remember asking for extra jobs around the neighborhood so I could do that! I babysat, washed cars, took out trash for people, you name it. I wanted the money.  Another way we kids picked up a little extra cash back in those days was to go dumpster diving for bottles. I don't know if you're old enough to remember, but we actually got FIVE CENTS per bottle when we took them to the grocery store and proved to the manager that we were the ones bringing the bottles in! Yes, yes, it's true. We did.

    I collected my money. I talked my mom into giving me a check and I paid her the money I had. She deposited the money. I had to wait for it to be posted, but she wrote out that beautiful check, and we mailed it off with my paper subscription application.  I used my real name, address, and telephone number and everything - - believe it or not, after over 286 years since that day, I still remember my address, and my telephone number. I guess I still remember my name too, but it didn't seem all that nifty to mention that so I didn't. I know exactly who I am. I just have no clue how I got this old or this far from that day. 

    Years passed, I baked. More years passed. I cooked and I continued to cook for myself, my family, the church, my friends, anyone and everyone who would dare to sit at my table was fed. That practice hasn't ended. The things that have changed about my cooking would be the way I get my recipes maybe. I still use the old (and I do mean OLD) metal pans and pots because there's just too many years of love in them not to use them. I may someday use some of that grease and gunk remover stuff to see if underneath all that love I could find stainless steel again. It could happen. I'll blog about it if I do. I don't know that I would ever disrespect my pans to remove the love, but I may do it out of curiosity.  I have my Granny's big fat crock mixing bowl that barely fits inside the cabinet. It's a honker, let me tell you, but she had a brood to cook for. I don't know exactly how I ended up with it, I may have just snuck it out the door one day - - seems likely. It's been too long ago. She went to see Jesus in 1993. 

    Today, I go to Pinterest for my food decisions. I look up a thing or two, I pretend I know what I'm doing and I get all the ingredients I think I'll need to fake my way through the process of making something that remotely resembles or could be mistaken for what I saw online. I'm not saying I'm a gourmet, OK, I'm just saying I do OK. I've earned the right to brag a little, so I do.  Today, (again with the word "Today", you'd think an English professor could fix that...) Today, I made an Italian Cream Cake with a French vanilla mix, extra eggs, butter, cream cheese, coconut, pecans, and cranberries. Let me tell you - - yes.  It came out exactly the way I wanted it to, and my daughter raved!! That's all I need really, just a rave or two. One rave. OK, yeah, one rave and I'm good.  After the cake I decided dinner needed to be just as tantalizing, so I went back to Pinterest and found Alfredo meatballs, creamy parmesan mushrooms, hickory bacon wrapped asparagus and for grins and giggles I added cumin, garlic, minced onions and basil to the meatballs; because I can.  I'll post a pic on IG.

    Anyway, that's my deal now. I'm happy to oblige just about anyone I love if they call me up and ask for something special. It could happen. I mean, I'll need a minute to go to the store, get the stuff and make it, but you can just rest easy and know I'll take care of you - - if I love you. Please don't write to me and ask me to cook for you; no, don't do that. If I don't know you today, this day, right now, and I don't love you like the Sunshine that I would wrangle for anyone I hold dear, please don't expect me to hoist a finger to drum up something savory for you, but I do appreciate you thinking of me. I do. I post what I cook on Instagram and things I'm going to cook. I have a whole week's worth of ideas waiting on me but I'm still over there searching for something new and juicy.  Love the juicy.  You gotta love juicy. It's ... you know, really good....it's juicy.  Dripping and saturated with goodness. Unless I burn it. Then it's gonna be called something Cajun! (Smiles)

    Ohhhh, did you see that? No, you don't see it because you're not here looking at my 2nd monitor. I've got cheese and vegetable hors d' oeuvres with amazing cute tiny stars cut out of different cheeses to be all sparkly and colorful. They've ribboned a thinly sliced cucumber and stuck a toothpick through it to resemble a tree and stuck the star...OMG...on the top! It's gonna happen folks. Christmas is coming, and Ima gonna Pinterest the fool out of this holiday season...yep.  Damn...I just saw little reindeer toasts with pretzels for antlers....and half a cherry for a nose. Stop! I can't do this. (She clings to the hazelnut spread and marshmallows for more inspiration.)  WHAT? Monster burgers? WHAT?

 

Photo Credit: Me

And So it Begins! (Harder and Longer Workouts)

 My personal trainer has got it into his head that I need to work out more, and by working out more I mean more than I already do. Mind you, I am a fit woman! (OK, the word "fit" could be mistaken for "relatively in shape")  I drag my butt to the YMCA three times a week and I do the expected tortures for about 18-21 minutes straight. The trainer by the way is really amazingly handsome, and I could stare at him all day long.  In fact, there were days when he was an even younger man that I made it a point to stare at him all day long. I even watched him sleep! That's how creepy this mom is....yeah, I'm that mom! One night, and this has nothing to do with the story I'm telling you, but shows you how I have no interest in keeping on track, I was diapering my child and literally taped his arms inside his diaper. I woke up the next morning to my son thrashing around his crib like a baby seal. So sad!  OK, back to the torture thing - - wait, could this be payback? Let me think about that?

    I used to go to the YMCA three times a week and do about 18-21 hard minutes of workout between the ab cruncher/back extension machine, the arms push, the leg/ankle pump, the leg press, the pull to the chest weights, and then I'd finish off with 6-8 minutes of squats and ring stretches for resistance.  Well, now I'm going in and spending about 31-34 minutes on the same things but adding 3-4 minutes of rope hauling, an over the head pull thing with 30-40 pounds and another EXTRA 20 pounds on all of the machines except the arm push thing, I only have to do 10 more pounds on it because some things do have their limits. If I thought I was going home after all that I was wrong. The treadmill was prepped and ready for me. I set it at 3.7 speed and at an incline so I could struggle a little -- I did 9 minutes today and I'm expected to get that up to 15 soon.  If I die at least I'll look good.

    Today, I'm over at the leg/ankle thing and this really sweet older man stands next to the machine. I thought he was waiting for me to finish with it so he could get on it, but he was just wanting to watch me. He said he watches me all the time because it seems I'm either praying or talking to myself. I had to laugh. I'm actually singing.  I have my ears full of Nickelback, Daughtry, Santana, Foreigner, Kansas, Journey, and sometimes for grins and giggles I switch to Celtic Worship...good for a cool down. There's a beat for every machine really  -- why not let the treadmill be the walk to Jesus?  

    It may not seem like 30-34 minutes of constant moving and hustle is hard enough, or effective enough to make a difference in your life, but it does. The secret is not hours and hours of steady as you go, but to get the heart rate up for several minutes a day and to use resistance when you can. When I'm on the ab machine I tighten the core and hips. When I'm on the row machine I do the same - - I forgot to mention earlier that I do a row now and again if someone is on the ab machine. I can do just about as much damage on it as I can the other. Squats are hard on you no matter where you are or what you're doing. You can buy the DB Method machine, it's a great work out, but I am using the rings at the gym and angling my body pretty much the same way as I would on the DB. I can do the same hand motion, or with the rings I can turn my wrists over and pull myself with my arms, but again, all the while you want to tighten your bum, core, and thighs. You need the resistance. 

    The ropes! OMG....the ROPES.  I will celebrate the day I can pass 3 minutes. I lag and pull and cuss myself through the 2nd minute just trying to get to the 3rd. It is so hard. I mean, if I had smaller ropes I could do more than three but it is what it is. The ropes they have at the YMCA are thick! They are the real deal, and they are hard as heck trying to lift, twist, and throw.  I think I've started a trend, more people are going to them now. I hope to be able to make them a popular choice for the patrons, most people just walk right past them.  One sweet man asked me today why I only do them for such a short time. He's watched me a few times. I told him I go as long as I can, but they're pretty hard to manage after the 2nd full minute.  He was a younger man than myself, and he tried them for a while. After a full minute or so he glanced over at me and laughed -- we both understood.  He stopped.

    Soon and very soon I'll have the body I should have had 30 years ago.  Soon and very soon I'll have the money I need to have the surgery to remove the skin I have left over from not having the body I should have had 30 years ago.  I'm not ashamed of admitting that I'll go under the knife to be gorgeous. Nope, quite the opposite. I'll even let the doctors know I'll blog about them so they'll be apt to do a great job.  I want the mirror to agree with my head, and that's going to take a bit of planning on my part and on the part of the surgeon.  Maybe this spring I'll reveal the new and improved Jude.  Let's see. I've lost about 54 pounds since August 2020; I have about 22 more to go. I don't mind the number on the scale as long as the number on the jean sizes go down.  I will likely have another surgery to perk the boobs up too. I'm by no means wanting to augment those babies, they need to take a hike. I have longed for a "Barely B" for years, instead I'm rocking a "Copious C" and let me tell you, I thought all this sweating and heaving around would force them to reduce themselves. Instead they've taken a stand and just get harder not smaller. Dang it.

    Maybe some day I'll have the body I thought I should have growing up, but no one told me growing up would include all those years of child rearing, working crazy hours, touring with a two legged dog, and scraping the bottom of the barrel for a penny to pay the cable guy!  It's my turn now. My kids are grown, my bills are paid, my sites are set, and before Jesus comes back (or not, I may have to just let my perfected body be it) I want to do things MY WAY this time - - and be happy to say good morning and good evening to myself. I have always loved my brain, but now it's time to love my body (and my face) too.  I haven't even told you guys about the laser thing I'm doing for my face....OMG, maybe next blog. I want to see how it works first.

    

Photo Credit: Fettle Fitness

    

Jude's Almost Daily Blog Book 2 (UPDATE)

 I think there will likely be several blogs in the next few weeks that would be considered an update to the progress I am making on my second blog book.  The book really doesn't have the word "Book" in its title. I don't know why I keep adding it to the things I write or update.  The actual title is "Jude's Almost Daily Blog  Vol. 2"  but I think on the actual book it will just have the number "2" in blue and a bit bigger than the other font in the title. That's a decision I made a while back, and I'll stick to my guns with it. I think the "2" will be slightly turned as well.  

    The book has been completed as far as the writing of it is concerned. I am 100% positive I will go through it at least a dozen more times to align things, fix punctuation, misspellings, wrong word placement, grammar, and the like. I am also 100% certain that I will go back through it another dozen ore more times to place photos and descriptions of those photos in little parenthesis marks. I need about 100 photos and I think I have about 60-70 that I know I'll be using, so I may need to run out to the woods, the airport, and other places to take photos to add to the pages to either make a point or just have a nice photo to look at when the reader is reading. I love photos and assume others do as well. The first book is printed in color and that makes it a bit more expensive to print, but it's worth it. I so much like color better than black and white until the black and white is creative and offered to achieve a dramatic effect.

    Just yesterday I wrote a blog about having finished the manuscript and I mentioned that I had not yet chosen a person or persons to dedicate the book to, but today I have.  I have decided to dedicate the Book 2 to the Bethany Christian Trust in Scotland. I would say Edinburgh, Scotland, but they have their headquarters in Leith, and several other facilities around the area. I hope to see them expand in the future, and therefore I will say "Scotland" in the book so as to give them the same hope of expanding! My hope is that for every book purchased a person may consider giving a donation to the Trust as well. I would love to see that happen, and will likely add something about that in the beginning of the book, and I may add it to the end as an afterthought.   BCT really deserves so much credit and assistance. Their general mission is to end homelessness in Scotland. You can't get a better cause really. I mean, there are so many things that can be done to help prevent homelessness, but once it's there it needs to be addressed head-on!

    The book has over 94,000 words, will be about the same size, or 330 pages, and will have about or just at 100 photos.  It will be produced by the same publishing company, and I'll be sure and use my same marketing manager Koshia Silver of Edmond, Oklahoma. She is just the best. We're working on a way to promote the first book now through reviews on Amazon before we go through another campaign and hopefully, with the new attention on the first book, I can drive enough sales to promote it and the 2nd book right along with it. I think the new book should be out in late February or early March. After I submit it in November I'll have more time to "murder people" for the next series. I'm writing a good long series of murder novels next and probably at the same time working toward completing the children's book series for Faith the Dog. They should not take as much time, as they are literally written for children and have many less words and more pictures that I won't be drawing! You don't want to see my rendition of the dog...I can't draw stick people! I really suck.

    God knew exactly what He was doing when He assured me that things would work out for good for those who love and are called to His purpose. I'm off work, not worrying about paying my bills, I'm writing, I'm relaxing, I'm studying to become a stock broker so I can earn money on the side and move to Scotland. I may have to do a third Blog Book called "Jude's Almost Daily Blog 3, the Scottish Edition" and just make the blogs about what all happens in the Highlands, the Lowlands, around the Borders and in those secret scary places known only to the locals.  Maybe I can get in on a hand-fasting, a worship session or two, a few Highland games, fishing, cooking, eating, guising, and who knows what else - - maybe do a Gaelic blog that you'd have to use a translator to read! Gu Mhath! 

    Well, the important thing is, I'm writing. I'm happy, and my fingers are clicking away. Nothing except maybe a pen in my hand could make my face smile so much - - OK, OK, Naked Bearded Man can make me giggle too -- he's waiting on me to finish so I can listen to him blather on about his day around the house; he's quite useful really.  (She smiles because she's silly like that) 

Photo Credit:  Bethany Christian Trust

LINK TO DONATE:  www.bethanychristiantrust.com

A Truly Good Baptist!

 Let me just start out by saying that the Bible is so very very true. It's full of so many things that just can't be disputed and one of those things is this: "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."  That beautifully powerful and truthful verse is found in Proverbs 22:6. King Solomon spoke those words, and as you may or may not know or remember, King Solomon was the wisest of them all. He said it because it is truly true. My mom used to worry about my brother and his ways because he was not following the training and the Christian guidelines that she and Daddy would have preferred for him. He (my brother) was prone to doing things outside of the way we had been raised, and suffice it to say, some of his antics turned around on him and bit him in the butt! He'll be the first one to admit that fact.  Well, today, that child of my mother's is quite old...old enough that dirt needs to show its respect, mind you.  My brother, that old man, has returned to Christ and has for several years lived the way our parents would not only be proud of, but would be anxious to show the world as well.

    Being seen as "good" Baptists was always important to my parents.  I can remember my Methodist friends saying things like "Your parents are really strict, huh?"  Well, yeah, they were, and it was for the best. Many of my would be friends couldn't cut the muster with Daddy, they would be asked to go home rather than being invited to dinner. He wasn't cheap, and it wasn't that he didn't want to share his food with them, but he told me once he didn't think they understood what family meant, and our praying at the table may not set well with their parents. He didn't want the neighbors up in arms or talking trash I guess. Momma was a bit more kind-hearted. She had all the kids in the neighborhood eating her cookies, drinking the actual Kool-Aid because that's what we had, we drank Kool-Aid.  She was quite popular with her floury apron and a plate full of oatmeal butterscotch cookies on a Saturday afternoon, and it didn't matter what the weather was like, you could count on going to Becky's and being fed....just not staying for supper.

    Being a good Baptist meant that the girls were taught how to cook for a mess of people, say maybe 80 to 100 people at a time.  We were given instructions very early on, and I remember being about nine years old and being asked into the kitchen at Windsor Hills Baptist Church in Oklahoma City, by one of the older more veteran Baptist cooking women. I thought I was on fire! I was being asked into the kitchen! Are you SERIOUS? That must have really gotten up under the skin of about 20 girls near or around my age. To think, me, Jude, little Jude, being asked to help in the KITCHEN on a Wednesday evening. What on Earth or in Heaven had to happen for that to happen? I was allowed, even expected to butter the tops of the dinner rolls and you know I did my utmost. You know I took extreme (bragging) pride in that assignment. I was IN THE KITCHEN....and I stayed there for the next 127 years; doing what we do, because we do it. We're good Baptist women!

    Well, about the time my son was graduating from high school and moving on into the world of the military, I left the church family to take my dog Faith around the world. After a few years of traveling and moving about with her, I just never returned to the kitchens of the local Baptist church, but I always remember to pray for the members, the various congregations, and the pastors of every group gathering to meet to pray and worship Jesus.  I never actually joined the Metropolitan Baptist Church, I think my official membership (on the books) would be in Broken Arrow from about 1994.  I have been attending Calvary Chapel Kaneohe online, and I attend The Superior Word online. The Superior Word is out of Sarasota, Florida, and let me tell you, my good pastor Charlie Garrett would absolutely appreciate my well over a century of Baptist cookin' and the fact that because I was Baptist for so long I know the trivial and minute details of every Sunday School story ever told! I win at Bible Trivia, you know that's a fact!  If you're going to play in teams, make sure you bring a Baptist with you! He or she will be your Ringer when you need to know who married what king, how many babies they had, where the last supper was supposed to take place, and so forth. We did drills for FUN!

    Today, for no reason whatsoever, I decided to make a big ol' batch of oatmeal butterscotch cookies, and though I don't have neighbor kids to share them with I will take them to a few of my elderly neighbors so they can enjoy them. If any of my friends come by later I'm fairly certain there will be more than a few left over. The batch made 6 dozen. I'm up to my eye balls in two-inch round cookies. Did you know we Baptists have a means of perfecting the two-inch round cookie? It's just a thing I guess, but once you've done it a gazillion times for a gazillion people, you pretty much get it down to a science.  I never measure when I cook either, and for the most part, that's probably because in the kitchen of the church they may have had 1 measuring cup but about 10 cooks in the room at one time. You just deal. You figure it out. You make it happen. God bless the ladies I was raised under.

    To God be the absolute glory...and pass the biscuits! (after you wash your hands and say Grace.)

Photo Credit:  Me (those are about 1/2 of what I made today)

The Vlogger!! Shaun Alexander.

 Oh, you know, from time to time, you run into the coolest most amazing people either in person or online, and you just have to tell the world about them. I'm telling you all about Shaun Alexander, a wonderful Scottish blogger out of my favorite city of Edinburgh.  Shaun is not only a super sweet (and handsome) bearded man from my favorite spot on Earth, he's laughable, loveable, fun-loving, witty, charming, and sorry ladies, he's 100% absolutely married too!  He's married to an amazingly pretty woman from Brazil I think, and you can learn all about her, his dog, his travels, his life -- he is so open, and so willing to talk about everything. He even talks about his person struggles with psoriasis. This is a really awesome guy!

    The vloggers I have watched over the past few years have mainly been self-serving and basically showing off for the camera and trying to get their viewers to be a little jealous or envious really, but Shaun doesn't do that. I mean YES, he does travel, go places, see things, share events with us, and he just happens to live the life that so many people would dream of, but he's made good choices in life to be able to do this.  He doesn't have to share his world with us. We are so blessed and silly-happy that he does though. I'm telling you, I can't wait each and every day to see if he's posted another fun video from chasing birds on Portobello Beach, to swimming in the cool clean waters of Croatia! He's living the life!

    You can catch Shaun's vlog on Instagram at www.instagram.com/shaunvlog or you can see him on YouTube at www.youtube.com/shaunvlog.  He's on Facebook too. Check him out, listen, learn, laugh, and live. He'll be happy to chat with you if he has time, but he's just so busy being free and fun these days. At least you can always be sure that he's trying to reach as many of his viewers as he can, but currently with over 176K followers on YouTube and more than 22K on Instagram, there is really no way for him to pin down every note or comment to be able to respond. Maybe most of your questions can be answered in the vlogs themselves!  One of my favorite longer vlogs was a recent account of how his family home, the home where his grandparents lived, was being sold and he was taking one last look around it for memory sake. He told us about the days he played on the swings and in the yard with animals and family. He reminisced about the good days and the times that seemed eternal. It was really sweet. I hated that his family was going through the changes they were, but it is something we all face now and again.

    You'll find Shaun to be so interesting as he brings you latest and up to date information about Scotland, particularly areas around and surrounding the capital city of Edinburgh. He takes you on day trips to castles, beaches, fun places, and you get to see the real events going on around him. He keeps you up to date on the shows being filmed in Scotland, primarily Outlander, and you'll find out tidbits about the cast, crew, filming, and locations that perhaps you didn't realize. It's so much fun. I am not usually one to get into "unboxing" or the opening of gifts and secret sendings from people all around the world, but everyone love Shaun so much, and they send him really interesting things to open.  He had a really fun opening event with his sister, where they opened foods and candies from people mostly in the United States. I guess I don't think of other people not knowing what Bottle Caps are, or what Red Hots are all about.  It made me laugh.

    Well, that's about it on Shaun. Drop in on him from time to time through the videos and give him your opinions on things. He's very open, very intellectual, interested in what you have to say, and he won't say things to please people; he tells it like he sees it, and oh yes, he's Scottish, so you could just listen to him talk all day long! Be good to yourself and give Shaun a try!  Tell him I sent you!  You'll love him and want to share his links with everyone you know!

Photo Credit: Shaun Alexander (ShaunVlog)

Who Do You Trust?

 My daughter was flim-flammed the other day, and her words to me were so very typical of someone who has been burned by someone or some entity that the person trusted would never harm them. She said, "Mom, I trusted them, I really thought they had my best interest at heart, and look, they lied to me. They stole from me, they took what was mine! They said they owned it. It's MINE."  I hurt for her. I knew all too well the stabbing agony she was going through because, just like her, and probably a million others in the community closest to us, and millions more beyond that, people lie to get what they want from us. We either have to sign a contract for security, or we have to sign one for financial gain; but there comes a time in most of our adult lives that we are held to a written agreement of some sort, and yes, they are usually written to work out for the better or best of the OTHER guy, not you.

    For me it was a book deal.  For my daughter it was a music deal.  For my best friend in high school it was polarized glass! My friend was the one who came up with the general concept, and he let his dad talk him into talking about it for investment purposes with guys his dad fully trusted. Well, you don't see my buddy's name on the patent! My book deal was and is still pretty raw.  I sold the rights to one of my books to a major publisher in China who SWORE up and down that it hadn't sold anything really, therefore they didn't need to pay me more than just the pennies on the dollar type payment I received for the initial 10,000 printed agreement.  I found out about two years later that more than three more prints were produced, so that's at least 30,000 more books, and it was understood by my contacts in China that it was a lot closer to 100,000 copies; wow. I have (to this day) not been paid for more than a few copies. My daughter's music has been played in Japan over and over again without her seeing a penny in royalties and nope, there's nothing that can be done. We would literally have to hire an international attorney to even investigate.

    Why am I lamenting over all of this? Well, it just so happens that another music friend of mine is going through this with his music now.  He was hired to sing, not to think. That's what they told him anyway. He was paid to do it their way, not his way. He was given every opportunity to say no to their contractual editing and modifications they told him, except each and every time he complained they threw legalese language at him, threatened to force him to pay back his advance, and then threatened him again with whatever they thought they could get away with when he asked them to show him proof that his EP (shorter than an LP) was not doing as well as expected. People told him online how much they loved it. He could see on Spotify that it was making waves, but no money was hitting the bank! What gives, he wanted to know, and they told him to shut up and take it. Basically they told him that if he continued to ask they would drop him from their label and he would owe them for the advertising and the marketing they put into this "flop" of an EP.  (Psst....if it's a flop why are they still advertising it on their site? Why not cut bait?)  Yeah, they lied.

    Who do we trust? Who CAN we trust? Who should we trust? Those with money have a way of making money. Those with dreams have a way of dreaming about making money.  The music industry seems to be a bit more aggressive with their openness to be dishonest I think. The label my buddy is with has a history and/or a pattern of hiring a bunch of would-be artists and telling them (selling them) how great they are now, how they could be better if they just write with THEIR artists (this is a ploy to get you to give up your rights, because if they have artists who are on their payrolls writing with you, it's not really your work anymore, is it?) They tell you you're going to make it big. They pay you enough to keep you interested, or enough that you can't readily pay it back if you quit or decide it's not working out. They hire those who are not wealthy. They hire those who need their initial start up funding to make it; again, so they have their creepy little jagged hooks in you and whatever you did before that caught their attention is now theirs to exploit, sell, promote and own...did I mention they let you wear their clothes too? They'll even buy you nice things to wear so long as you understand that if you leave you have to pay for that too - - am I striking a chord? 

    If it wasn't so sad it would be laughable. I know it sounds really arrogant of me to say this, but I once told Oprah Winfrey no, I wouldn't show up and be on her show to talk about my dog since her people lied to me about promoting my new book on the show! I was supposed to go on air, not my daughter. I was supposed to discuss my new book. They called a DAY before the show was to be filmed in studio to say there had been a change, and that due to the many other guests they didn't or wouldn't have time to talk about my book - - no thank you. A promise is a promise. I let my daughters fly to Chicago with the dog, and I let Laura talk to Oprah. She's not that impressive to me if she can't keep her own people in line.  I may be a peon, but this peon has her standards. I won't be used.

    It happens! Poop happens!  People happen!  People are the worst!  You'll never see a dog or a cat (or even a pig) betray another animal the way we harm and deceive one another. You'll never experience the back-stabbing and to-the-face lies that we humans (married couples come to mind) when we say we'll love you forever, and then have affairs. We say we'll only love you, and then cheat. Well, don't get me started on human-on-human deceit. We'll be here for a very very long time. Suffice it to say, we can't trust too many people and there's a reason for it. I like to say God gave me a brain to think with and a heart to love with. Contracts don't need my heartbeat -- they need my thinking cap! Do yourself a favor and promote yourself if you want to keep your work. You may not end up rich and famous, but you'll keep your work, and you'll own what is truly yours. I don't know, maybe you want to be rich and famous, and your work doesn't really matter to you - - that's you, not me. I won't be fooled again -- and I don't think my kid will either. Nope. She's learning. 

Photo Credit:  Auhoky