Lose Yourself in God's Love.

 People often say "I was lost in her eyes" or "He took me places in my mind that I've never been to before", and we think oh how romantic. It is. It is romantic, and it is a wonderful escape, but what happens when we can't escape who we are and there is no place to hide from our own folly or mistakes. You know, Billy Joel wrote and sang about mistakes being the only thing that we can truly call our own. I don't know if he was right or not, but we can't get away from ourselves now, can we? 

    I tell myself over and over again that I can conjure an image to hide in, to delve into, and be lost for as long as it takes to bring myself out of whatever funk I may be experiencing, but if I was honest with myself (and I do try to be), I can't run away from me. Wherever I go, there I am. I keep the same company at all times, and there is no way I'm going to let me get in my way of being who I'm supposed to be; I don't and I won't define myself, or allow myself to define myself, by the boo-boos I create! Not even the big ones! My God is so much bigger than anything I can screw up, that's for sure!

    The fact that we feel that we need to hide from ourselves is sad, but sometimes we can be the worst enemy we ever had. There are times when we think things about ourselves that we would scarce say to someone who just mugged us! There are times when we feel so poorly about a part of our body, or behavior we can't stop, that we initiate the downward spiral in our spirit without needing any assistance from any outside force whatsoever. We're fully capable of being the darkest of influences on our own souls. What do we do? We do what we know we're supposed to do, and what we were commanded to do; we take it to God. We let Him have the reins (again) and we practice NOT taking them back. My sister used to say she's really good at giving God all of her problems, but she's even better at taking them back from Him. I know what she means. 

    We start by knowing our own limitations. If we think about what sort of thing(s) trigger our emotions, we can see if we can stop doing that, saying that, allowing that, or thinking that. Remember when we used to put our fingers in our ears and say "La, la, la, la, la, la" over and over again because we didn't want to hear whatever someone was trying to say? We can do that to ourselves too. Yes, we really can. I mean sure, you're going to subject yourself to a bit of ridicule possibly, but it's a small price to pay for knowing that you had a small victory by stopping yourself from harming your precious psyche!! You are worth it, damn it! 

    Someone I know may need to hear this; you know who you are. You've come so far and you've really created so much for yourself over the past year. You have been through not only the wringer but the entire laundry cycle a few times. You've been literally hung out to dry and it rains where you are! You've suffered, and you've been tormented; often, yes, by yourself, but you have met and achieved so many personal bests that there is NO WAY anyone (including yourself) wouldn't be over the top proud of you. YOU ROCK, friend. YOU freakin' rock!  I just wanted to say that.

    So, in closing. There is no closing.  You and God have what I have with God. We have the best ever, and there is no reason not to just TRUST AND OBEY because you know what, there really is no other way. No...it's just simple facts. When you start to self-hate, stop.  When you start to self-overthink, stop.  When you start to self-doubt, just stop.  Close your eyes and see yourself riding side by side on that wagon and hand those reins over to the One who loves you enough to die for you. It will be OK. Just breathe. There is nothing wrong (and everything right) with taking a wee break and going straight into meditation for a few minutes to release the thoughts; to give them away. Breathe.

Photo Credit: ExaminedExistence.com

Promises God Makes.

 Promises. The very word is interesting, isn't it? We hear someone say "I promise" and we either immediately trust that person, or we immediately don't. Our choice of whether or not to trust another person when they make a promise to us is based on the past, and if there have been promises made that were either not kept, or promises that were made that were broken. There is a difference, but the result is the same. A broken or forgotten promise is an indicator of deceit. We can't simply get over it. We can't force ourselves to fully trust that person again; even if we wanted to! Fact.

    People suck. That's just another fact of life. We can pretend that so and so is so wonderful and that he or she would always have our back, they were there in times of trouble, and they have been there when times were good. We assume, because we know, love, and have experiences with people, (certain people) that things are going to work out just fine. Then, when the horrible happens, and the person you thought you were in love with, thought they were in love with you, decides to purposely hurt you with a broken promise, well, you are left both feeling like an idiot, and you're mad because you may have literally invested years into that relationship. The true colors of a person don't always show right away. Sometimes it takes stress, the stress of keeping their word, to bring out the truth of who they really are. It hurts.

    Do you know who does not suck? Do you know who does not lie? Do you know who you can always, and I do mean ALWAYS, count on? You know the answer. It's in the title of the blog! God.  God will never, can never, has never, and will never lie. He offers us not only confidence in His word, but also in the promises He has made over the years. He made promises to Moses, Noah, Jacob, Abraham, and others. He made you and I promises too.  The thing is, there's never ever been a single (not once) time when God has said He would do something and then didn't do it. That means if He says you're going to be punished for something, you will in fact be punished. If He says you will be blessed, you will be blessed. If there is a condition on that promise, it may be up to YOU to fulfill the promise under the terms. What do I mean? Let me explain.

    God says in Psalms 37:4, through the Psalmist, that if you (a human) will delight yourself in Him, in His doing, you will be given your heart's desire by God. Is He just going to place those desires in front of you? No. You have a condition to meet. Meet it.  He won't falter on His end.  In Mark 11:4 through the writer, the promise is more clearly written that if you pray through the will of Christ for something, God will give it. That doesn't mean we just use the words "In Jesus' name" and things will happen, because any fool can pray for a $$$$ and use those words to "seal the deal", but that's not the promise nor is it the essence of the scripture. IF YOU pray through the will of Christ, and what you are asking for is in HIS will, you will receive it. That is a promise. One more, through the Gospel of Matthew in 6:33 the writer says "But first seek the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness and all these things shall be added to you."  Again, you have a condition. Again, you have an assignment to meet, but if you do it, He will keep His word. Do it. It's worth it.

    Singers sing about these promises. They put music to their words. They stand in front of an audience and they belt out in impassioned fervor how they truly believe that the words are both powerful and meaningful -- let them stand by their own words when they are alone. Let the singer pray and sing to God when he is in his prayer closet and feeling broken. Let the singer know that the God of his salvation is also the same God of His word and will fill the heart again, bring joy again, erase anxiety, destroy depression, and mend souls if the singer will, as we all must do, delight ourselves in Jesus. Find the way. Find Jesus. He found you. He's the same today as He was that day. He's going to be the same tomorrow. That's another promise.

    For me, I pray over Psalms 37:4 and the following verse as if it was my true and one hope. It may be.  I know without a doubt, that if He lied about that verse, He could have lied about others. I KNOW that if and when I delight in doing what Jesus has asked me to do, (which in my case is to pray for a specific person) and I then do it,(He will) Jesus will give me my heart's desire. NO ONE, NO ONE AT ALL will have the power or authority to change it. No one, no one at all, will have the power or the authority to make my desires change. No one, no one at all, will be able to stop my God from fulfilling His promise. It will happen. I may have to wait, and hey, I'm OK with that. Eternity is a very long time, and I will be there for the duration. God's word will not fail. This is the Rock I choose to use. 

    When I pray, I pray with a rock in my hand because there is another verse in the Bible that literally says if I forget to praise His name the rocks themselves will call out to Him. I never want to hear that. I never want a rock to speak in my presence if they are calling upon God because that means I did not do what I knew I was to do. I will keep that silent friend of mine in the clutch of my palm and I will thank God for its sealed voice. I will pray, and I will praise Him. I will lift up my voice. I will ask God to guide, heal, protect and give wisdom to the one I am to pray for. I will not fail in this work because the desires of my heart are literally on the line. It may seem a bit selfish of me, but it is what it is. I know my God to be Holy, and He will do what He said He will do.  So I do what I am asked.

    A man, a simple man, cannot pinkie promise without either having daughters or if he has a twin sister he is given the right to engage in such an oath. If anyone breaks a pinkie promise they are forever cast out of the trust and love of the one they broke the promise to. There is no forgiveness, not really.  If we, being just raggedy humans, can make such oaths, how much more will God's promise be worth? We can't even imagine the difference. Earth is one small stone in the scheme of things, and look what we have with it! God is too mysterious to know, but we can be assured that His promise is genuine and it is not going to be compromised ever. If He said He would walk with you in tough times, you are not alone.

    From time to time we leave the public view. We pull away from social media. We hide, and we don't want anyone out there to know what is going on in our lives. We're embarrassed. We're hurt. We're confused. We're tired.  God knows this. Even in your pulling away please remember to remember His words; let them counsel and lead you. You are loved. You are prayed for. You are cared about. You are wounded, and I understand, but you are lifted. I promise.

Photo Credit: Bibliatodo.com

    

Unless it's Stirling!

 I am so so so torn. I love, and I do mean LOVE Fife. I just love the area, the name, the history, the people, the bridges, the Firth of Forth, and I love saying words like "Inverkeithing" and "Dunfermline" you know. It makes me happy. I would and I could live happily forever and ever in the Kingdom of Fife if it wasn't for one thing; Stirling.

    I am so so so torn!! I love Stirling as well. It's an incredibly historical area in the history of the Celts, the Picts, the everyone who ever walked on the ground that is Scotland. Stirling has Robert the Bruce, William Wallace, Rob Roy, and Holy Rude! It has so much history, love, hate, war, marriage, witches, trials, churches, and yes, really cool dead people. You just can't get more cool than Stirling really when it comes to really cool dead people, and what makes them really cool, is their gravestones. I wouldn't know who they were if I could see the gravestones and read their names and a little about their lives. It's just so fantastic. You have to go.

    Stirling is among the Top 10 safest areas to live in the country of Scotland as well. It is typically mentioned rather fast when you rattle off the names. There are some areas mind you, over by the university, that may or may not be as safe, but over by the monuments, and a bit west and south are some of the most well-kept and mysterious woods and forestlands I've seen. It's just too gorgeous for words. I'm not really a water person as much as I am a woodland person. Give me a moor any day, someone else can sail the seas. I'm not all that picky either as long as the moor is in the land of the wild thistles; I'm good.

    I've seen them both firsthand, even if I didn't get an opportunity to stay in either overnight. I want to. Fife offers family, community, history, good shopping, dining, and affordable prices. Stirling offers all that and a bit more actually. The trains run to both Edinburgh and Glasgow and the time it takes to get to Edinburgh (and of course Glasgow because of geographical location) is 10 minutes faster than Fife. The buses are a bit cheaper as well.  The housing seems to be a wee bit better in Stirling. I don't know why that is, but it does seem to pan out to be true.  I'm routinely looking on Rightmove and find that the "Two-Up Two-Down" terraced homes in Stirling run maybe 5% less than they do in Dunfermline. It is what it is, but if I can save $5000-8000 on a home and get the same thing with more history, I think I may edge my way to the west.

    A "Two-Up Two-Down" house is a terraced or row house that has two main rooms upstairs and two main rooms downstairs. The bathroom or shower room will be in one or the other. I won't live in a house without a tub and I won't live in a house without a toilet on the same floor as my bed. I don't want to find myself falling down a flight of stairs in the middle of the night when I need to pee. Nope. Not this girl. If I have to add a toilet in my closet upstairs that's the plan. I will not be without a toilet at 3:13 a.m.  Also, if I do have two butts in the house (ever) I will need two toilets. There's really nothing worse than needing to go when you can't because someone else is on the throne.  That's right. Spoiled American!! Two butts, two toilets. There's no sense in discussing it. It is what it is.

    Stirling has something else that Edinburgh nor Fife have, and really, it's a good thing that there aren't many of these things hanging about, but they have a monument to the area and space, the actual place, where people were beheaded. It's literally called "The Beheading Stone".  It's a mostly flat rock on top of another rock bed, and it has been caged so that no one can take it. It is undoubtedly listed as a precious historical landmark, and it is therefore protected. It's not as if I will visit the stone often, but I will in fact see it again from time to time. I go to pray actually. I feel a need to go, and even a pull to go. Too many innocent folks were subjected to cruel and harsh treatment and I feel them. I pray for their survivors and for the communities now to learn from and understand their ways of the past were harmful even if they were in the frame of mind that what they were doing was the right thing to do. It was just too barbaric. 

    Several battles were fought, lost, and won in the area(s) surrounding Stirling, and the great university there is another good reason to call Stirling my home. I can possibly lecture and if I can't do that, I know I can study there. I will go. I will be a part of that awesomeness. There is no doubt. Even if I lived in Fife I would travel 15-20 miles to make that happen.  Scotland is by far (far) smaller than a lot of people realize. Two entire Scotlands will fit in Oklahoma. I have no problem traveling all over my home state in my car, so taking the bus or train in and around Scotland will be an easy task. I would even consider owning a car in Stirling or in Fife, but I won't drive it into the E.C.C., or Edinburgh City Centre. I would no doubt simply take a bus or train while visiting, and call it safe for myself and everyone else on the road!

    All in all, side by side, "all things equal", I think I will have to lean towards Stirling if the opportunity arises. I asked my good friends David and James Stewart (brothers) about my choice because they are far more familiar with the areas than I am. David suggested I join a few Facebook groups and ask questions of folks who live in the two areas. Great idea. James agreed with David that Stirling has more history, and he added it was a bit busier with things to do. He's right. I can keep myself busy no doubt.  I am just really happy to know that if I wanted to, I could buy a car and drive up from Stirling and over to the east to Dunfermline and all around the back areas without having to dip into the City Centre and chance of being THAT American who can't remember the rules of the road. I'll learn. It will happen. 

    Stirling has a castle too! Yep. Some say it's more interesting than Edinburgh's castle because it's more about families who lived there and therefore more personal than Edinburgh Castle, as it is not really military. Many great stories surround both. Too very very interesting, and I must find more to read and know about each. Sigh...it's a tough choice, it really is. I think I'll have to spend time in each to make my final decision, but I think from a monetary and historical angle I'm really going to lean toward Stirling and just say "Firth of Forth" every chance I get.  It makes me happy. (C'mon, buying ballpoint pens makes me happy, OK. It's not that hard to make this girl happy.) 

    A two-up two-down terrace home. (Note: no screens on the windows!)

Photo Credit: Rightmove.co.uk

Fife it is!!

 I go back and forth on this subject. One day I'll be so mad at some of, (few) people I "meet" on social media who hail from Scotland, and who are (for the most part, on these forums) rude and nasty, feeling that they are the only ones who have any real knowledge on a subject if it deals with Scotland because THEY were born there. I get so upset about them, and the ignorant way they express themselves, and I tell myself I'll never live in Scotland. Then I remember how many gloriously wonderful people I've met both in person and online (on other forums) who are citizens of my adopted country of Scotland, and I say to myself "Stop being such a dweeb, you know you're going to end up in the tartaned Land of Heather, shut up about it, and stop complaining."  Yes, I do get onto myself from time to time. I need it. I recognize that I need it, and I take care of it. Then I take another breath.

    For me, the only city I have ever wanted to be a resident of has been Edinburgh, but I have to be both realistic and pragmatic about the decision because it will not only involve me possibly renting a home, but it could involve a purchase of a home.  When it comes to money, I think I'm more "Scottish" than the Scots I know; I'm really very frugal and some would even say cheap.  I won't pay more for a home or flat than I know is necessary, and that is not going to be the case inside the walls of Edinburgh, Scotland. NOPE.  You can bet your bottom dollar or pound, that the houses and flats in and surrounding the E.C.C., or Edinburgh City Centre, are not only expensive, but they are also stupidly priced. They are priced for supply and demand of course, but I don't need to be a part of that party. 

    If I go south of Edinburgh I find that the transportation isn't quite as good as it is going east or west. The bus system is amazing there, far better than what we can expect in the U.S., that's for sure. Somehow the southern routes don't meet the same standard of awesome they do going from say Stirling to Edinburgh (which is west of E.C.C.) or going out east, say to Dunbar, Musselburgh, or even Dalkeith. The issue with east, or East Lothian, is it too is rather expensive for what you can get for a much better price out west or in my case, my preferred choice, of going north to the Kingdom of Fife.  Besides, who wouldn't want to say they lived in the Kingdom? It's a treat for my lips just seeing the words on the screen in front of my face! 

    The Kingdom of Fife, or really, just "Fife" is the council (area) just north of the city of Edinburgh, it is separated by a beautiful body of water known as the Firth of Forth. Now, say that again.  "The Kingdom of Fife is just above the Firth of Forth", Yes, I like saying that. I know, it's silly; but then again, so am I. If I'm going to be a nutcase and rattle off funny-sounding words just because I can, I want to do it in a city called Inverkeithing or Dunfermline, both of which are in Fife, which is yes, above the Firth of Forth.  By the way, if you do decide to go to Fife, which means you'll have to cross the Firth of Forth, you can do so using one of three really extraordinary bridges; or you can travel north from Stirling on land and then double back to the east about 15 miles, but why do that? Take a bridge!

    Fife is (I think) the third-largest council in Scotland. I'll have to check that fact. You'd think I would have checked that fun fact before typing this blog, but no, it's later in the evening and I really haven't any inclination of being responsible. I just want to talk and my fingers are happy to make me happy.  Imagine how crazy I could sound if I were a wine drinker! I'm not. You get all this crazy rattling at no extra charge and without being charged up as well! Imagine! Can you imagine being me, just sitting around the house in my jammies, typing in the dark with only the illumination of the monitor to guide me? Why am I even doing that? Again, not drinking, just sitting in the dark thinking about Fife. That's who you're listening to at this moment people. That's who you are paying a little attention to. Let that sink in for a minute.

    So, Fife, as I was saying, is a really good-sized council. It has about 350,000 people scattered in and around it. There are 5.5M people in the country altogether and about half as many people then, living in Fife than living in Edinburgh (and surrounding areas). Fife is both history-rich and accessible by train, bus, commuting (if you dare do that) and by ferry, but I'm not into ferrying so I'm thinking bus and/or train. I could walk, but that's probably not going to happen either. I mean, I might actually take a trek over the right bridge and end up in South Queensferry, and that would be a hike; I could get a coffee at a nice little local shop on the prom and just walk back - - or take a bus.  Fife is pronounced "F-eye-ph" in case you were wondering. It rhymes with LIFE, not LIFF or LEAF.

    Though there are among many gorgeously wonderful and quaint (scenic) areas and/or cities and townships in Fife, I'm going to end up most probably, in either Inverkeithing, Rosyth, or Dunfermline.  Dunfermline is larger and more populated as well as more situated for shopping, dining, entertainment, and social activities. Inverkeithing doesn't even have a large enough grocery store to keep me happy -- if you know you know. I'm rather into grocery shopping. I love my Aldi and yes, they do have Aldi (and her sister Lidl) in Scotland. Be still my tongue and belly. I am in LOVE with Aldi. There, in Scotland, Aldi doesn't have or carry the same reputation it does here. It's rather low on their grocery totem pole; but with me, it's number one.  Then again, I've not really shopped at Salsibury, Morrison, or any Asdas. I have been to Tesco, and Tesco Express, and I have been to Iceland. Still, I'm an Aldi fan. I did cheat on Aldi twice, and I went both inside and around Lidl, just to see what it was all about. If Aldi ever left me, I could handle being a Lidl fan.

    I've also decided, because I am that way, to probably get a two-bedroom flat rather than a terraced or semi-detached home. Flats are what we call apartments, but you can buy them in Scotland. We don't have that option in Oklahoma. When we buy a flat here we call it a condo. A flat may or may not come with a communal garden, most do, but they don't always. There are some flats that even have private gardens. That may be nice too. I think the flat would give me a sense of security, but I'm not entirely sure of that either. I'd need to be in a really nice area so I'm not ending up with neighbors I couldn't write home about without my son getting on the next plane to come and scoop me up to bring me back to the U.S. I halfway expect him to try that no matter where I end up. He's OK with me visiting, but when I put down a downpayment on a mortgage he may end up making his own plans to retrieve me. We'll see.

    Dunfermline is fun to say, as is Inverkeithing. Rosyth is OK, but not nearly as much to grab a hold of.  Inverkeithing has a better view of the Firth of Forth, but Dunfermline has more old churches with really cool dead people. I don't know if you know much about my love for dead people, but I do have one. I love old cemeteries and in Scotland, you're going to find a few -- a lot.  I love old churches, old buildings, old roads, old closes, old bridges, old anything. Walls are cool. I love walls, but give me an old cemetery and a nice sunny day and I'll walk it, read every stone, think about the lives of the people under the ground, and I end up praying for the remaining families and those who once loved them. I make up stories about them. I choose to believe every last one of them is in Heaven, even though I know that's not possible. I tell myself that I will go to a church again, to attend in person if I move to Scotland, but only if the church is really old, looks like a gothic building, and has really cool dead people outside. I can get that in Fife.

    It may take me a year or so. I have to plan the escape carefully. I have to earn enough to put down on the house/flat. I have to earn enough to live off of my savings for a year so I can get the correct creative visa and stay at least one year without working, so I can write the next murder book in the series I'm working on now. I'll still trade of course, but I won't be "working" per se. I'll be home writing, and trading for myself, not for others. I'll either extend the visa or get an entirely different one that allows me to stay. It's not entirely unheard of for a person to get an investment visa. One just has to plan with a bigger dream and pipeline, that's all. It happens. Goals.  It will happen. How do I know it will happen? I'm the one setting the goals. That's how I know.

    Firth of Forth.  

Photo Credit: Wikipedia

    

Dinner With The MOST Handsome Man EVER to Walk the Earth.

 Everyone has their opinions on the matter of what is and what is not attractive. I'm not talking about whether or not the man is attractive. That's another matter altogether. When I say I had dinner with the most handsome man EVER to walk the face of the Earth, I mean in general, he's unmatched when it comes to how very gorgeous he is. His smile, his eyes, the way he nods at me or lifts his chin to say something to me. He gives me silent messages with a glance. He can even give me directives from time to time if I'm paying attention as I should. It's just that when he's in my sight I can only think of one thing; just how PRECIOUS he is, and how I thank God every day for my Baby Boy Reuben.  I could look at him all day.

    I say I could look at him all day because I could, but there's no way I could listen to him all day. Nope. The man is an asshat! He'll tell you straight up that I'm telling you the truth. Yep. He's one of the biggest asshats I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He's not, however, the biggest asshat I've ever given birth to; that would be his little baby sister Caity. LOVE YOU CAITY BABY!!! (She'll never see that, none of my kids read my blogs.)  Reuben, for all his wonderfulness and glorious charm, can really be a bit self-centered at times. I was happy to have dinner with him but found it difficult to really open up and discuss anything that really mattered to me.  It's OK with me that he wanted to talk about his personal achievements on the occasion of taking me out for my birthday, but that's solely because I'm his mom and he knows I have to listen to him rattle on about them.

    It's sort of like when I set the Christmas tree up and find the ornaments the three kids have made over the years; even though they aren't the most "attractive" decorations, they are the best ones! They are the most genuinely loving and carefully thoughtful ornaments and they are the ones I cherish. I don't think the tree really shines because of them, no, that would be a lie, but I won't set the thing up without them. I'm the MOM! We do that. Don't we? So there he is, eating the best BBQ I think I've had in a very long time (The place is called Bedlam, and it's off 50th and Lincoln Blvd., in Oklahoma City, if you're thinking of going).  He was cordial, he tried to listen to me peel off a few thoughts and/or facts about my experiences at work or home before he took over the conversation and let me in on all of the really cool things happening to, with, and for himself. OK...tell me more.

    At one point I noticed that he had stopped talking and I wondered for about half a second if he was going to take a drink of tea or if he was just catching his breath before going on to Phase 2.  It was Phase 2.  I was then entertained with his stories about military life which included complaints, goals set and met, his new privates, their lack of achievements, and finally what he's planning to spring on said privates at the next drill, which should be in a week or so. Fun times. It's not that I don't love, love, love, hearing about his every move with his subordinate soldiers, but I would prefer to hear more about his personal actual life; you know, son stuff. If I have to be subjected to having a one-way conversation, it should at least be about the man I love more than any other man; shouldn't it be?

    OK...now we're talking. He started in on his newest hobby, which for some is not "attractive" at all. He's now a bonafide hunter. He went out with his buddies (since this is hunting season in Oklahoma) and he hunted, waited for, shot, and killed, (then he had to find where it ran off to) his first deer.  He has been shooting numerous times, even if you don't count the years he spent in foreign countries at the bequest of our fine United States Army and Oklahoma National Guard.  Reuben has been in the military since September 21, 2006.  Even saying that I realize it's been 16 years! Wow! He doesn't have any issues using a rifle, but he hadn't shot a deer before. This was his first time.

    I am personally not going to shoot at deer, rabbits, ducks, or anything that moves unless it's a human and they're trying to attack me. I'm really not into the sport of hunting. Reuben is one of the good guys when it comes to that; he will use every inch of that animal one way or the other. He even offered me part of the kill to which I was also cordial; thanking him, but declining. No, he can share that with his baby sister if he wants to. I assume she hasn't shot one for herself this year, but she actually does hunt. Her dad took her a few times. If you ask me, and no one does, Bambi deserves to run around. If we have too many Bambis maybe we could look into a spay/neuter thing for the animals to keep their numbers down, but no one ever asks me. I'm not the best to ask in that situation. I think with my heart. 

    After dinner, which was early in the evening or later afternoon, the man decided (because he does that) to kidnap me and take me shopping with him. I don't mind. I never mind, except his driving scares the hell out of me and I find myself becoming closer and closer to Jesus throughout the entire event.  He speeds, he dashes, he weaves, he cusses, he maneuvers, and he outdrives anyone and literally everyone on the freeway, sideroads, residential roads, and even the parking lots. When we stop, when we finally stop, I'm able to breathe normally again, and I'm able to whisper "Amen" before I have to prepare myself to do it again for the trip home.

    Finding all he needed at the Cabella's (Think Bass Pro Shop) and other hunting and/or camping stores in the area, we were heading back home when he decided (as he often does) to take me with him while he checks out something else he's wanted to check out for a while. I don't even know what it was. We drove past a few things, circled around, and drove back by the same area(s) a couple of times. He slowed down, he sped up, he was done, and we went home. Recon!!  At least he was fully and completely satisfied with whatever it was and though I'll never know what it was, I did see a new set of terraced houses being built in an area of town I had never seen before because it was once covered in dense thick woods!  That was cool. 

    Reuben, or "Baby Boy" as I call him, is truly an awesome and powerful force of nature. He's willing and able to assist.  He's more than happy to explain things. Talk about "Mansplaining", I get that in abundance when I'm with my son, whether or not I really feel the need to know about a subject he's trying to explain to me. Moms for the most part sort of stare blankly and listen, I'm no exception. It's like he forgets I'm both educated and worldly; it doesn't matter, I'm the mom, therefore I need things explained. 

    I'll take it....from him!  I won't take that sort of abuse from anyone else. No. I thought about that later in the evening after I came home. If a man other than my son had been as rude, forward, intrusive, and/or curt with me, if he tried to explain things to me using simplified language and even hand gestures, if he tried to drive my happy butt from Point A to Points B, C, D, E, and F in the overly aggressive manner that my son did - - wow. That man would get a swift kick to the nuts before we even left the restaurant. Just sayin'.

    It's a good thing my son is so handsome. That's all I have to say about it. Can you imagine if he were ugly? No....neither can I. It's as if God knew. God knew I needed this one. He saved the best for me.  I get to kiss him on the cheek and send him back to his wife; she deserves him.  Love my boy. I really do. I wouldn't trade him for anyone and I wouldn't take another one just like him. Nope. One Reu is enough for me! (Thank you, Jesus!) 

GREAT food.

    Truly handsome man.

I am SOOOOOO not Techy!! (and I Can Prove it)

 If you know me at all, and some of you do, you'll know that I type well enough. I can spin a good tale, but I am the worst when it comes to making things work in terms of tech. I just don't have that gene. I have the creative gene in spades. I can whip out a poem in minutes if you want me to, and as long as I have pen and paper I can show it. Having said that, if you want me to connect something with a cord or wire to something else that deals with or eventually causes something entirely different to do whatever it's supposed to do because it's supposed to do it -- you're out of luck. That's not my forte. 

    Let me explain this week's trauma drama when it came to technology and I having another row.  My computer, the one I'm sitting at this very moment, decided (all on its own, mind you) not to send a signal to my monitor. I swear, my monitor didn't do a damn thing to the computer. There was no reason for this disruption. It was as if the CPU had heard me talking about replacing it and it just threw a hissy fit. I know my smartphone can hear and see everything I say; maybe even what I'm thinking, but the CPU should not be in the same class of intelligence. The CPU is an HP Elitedesk, and I think I got it about four years ago. Because I don't ever really spend a great deal of money on anything electronic, I wasn't too surprised that after four years it decided to stop working.

    My monitor, which is a Dell, told me in no uncertain terms that it was not receiving a signal, and that it was going into power saver mode. I get that. Everything needs to sleep now and again. I did what all people who are like me do in these situations; I found a kid to fix the problem. The problem with that plan is, my kid is 33 now. She's no longer protected by the tech fairies and she couldn't find a simple solution.  She unplugged everything, she plugged it back in, we turned everything off, and restarted it. There was no signal. There was seemingly no change. OK, I have six monitors. I'm a trader. I have tech at my disposal, I just don't know how to fix it or make it do things.

    When the second monitor did the same thing, and it wasn't a Dell, I decided to bring in the big guns. By the big guns, this time, I mean I took the computer to work with me to have the highly skilled and professional electronic know-it-alls take a crack at it. I didn't want you to think that I shot a hole through the CPU in a sort of "Bubba Shot the Jukebox" sort of way. No, I called Jon and Tom at work, and they were more than willing to assist this particular damsel in her connectivity sort of distress. They are in fact, experts.  

    You know what happened.  Everyone knows what happened. The same silly thing that always happens when this sort of thing happens.  You take your car to the mechanic and it no longer makes THAT sound. You take the computer to the I.T. gurus and it not only fires up, it runs faster than it has in months. Thanks, guys, that was great! What did you do?  Their answer? They plugged it in and turned it on.  No! No! I won't accept that. I didn't accept that. We unplugged everything. We replugged everything. We turned everything on and then off again. We did that! It has to be something else. Well, it was something else.

    I took the CPU back home, and I found that old and ancient kid that I store in the other room for emergencies such as this. She was reluctant to assist after hearing that they were able to fire the thing up without any issues. Neither of us could put a fingertip on whatever the issue could be. We dedicated an entire three more minutes to the matter. First, we unscrambled the twisted and spaghettied wires, and sorted those out to make them resemble something useable. Then we used our brains to be sure we were putting the right plugs into the right places, but these plugs HAD been in the right places because my computer and monitor were friends for a long time.  Then Laura, the kid I'd stuffed away, told me that she had an idea. This could be good, this could be bad, but whatever; neither of us had anything to lose.

    Laura took a swab and cleaned off the connectors. Oh....well, OK. There's that. You know, like when your battery and the cable get gross in the car? Yeah, that. So, after she cleaned the various points of connectivity for every cord and/or wire possible, she shoved the connections with a bit of force to be sure they were secure. We crossed our fingers, prayed, and we turned on the CPU. (I will say that Laura also noticed that I had the CPU upside down, but if that was the problem it could have and should have shut off ages ago. It's been upside down apparently for a minute)  BAM!  Connection!! What? Yep! That's so me.  That's my life. Dusty and needing a good cleaning from time to time, but still willing to shine when treated properly.  I'd say I'm so embarrassed but I'm not. I'm happy.

    There was about six days between the time the problem started and we got it fixed, so I wasn't blogging. I wasn't searching the internet unless I was using my phone. I wasn't in my room wiling away the hours in hardcore study for Series 66, and I wasn't researching things for the murder book; again, if I wasn't using my phone. It did give me lots of time to sit with the dog and just read my Kindle. Oh, the Kindle!! I love that thing. My birthday came and went, and my son took me to dinner. I'll tell you about that in another blog. I had a great week. There may be something to just unplugging yourself from the world every now and again. Try it sometime.  It felt really good! 

    I know what you're thinking....six monitors? Yes. It really cuts down on the toggling. Call me crazy, but it is a conversation starter.

Photo Credit: Investorsunderground.com  (Mine looks like this only a bit messy)

    

Tomboy! That's Me.

 Today, if a little girl told her mom she wanted to run with the boys, play in the creek, climb trees and go hunting (huntin') her own mother may call a counselor and ask if her daughter is a candidate for a gender transformation surgery.  Parents today think of sexual roles as being so severely drawn that kids can't be kids anymore. They can't explore their likes or dislikes without there being a real crisis!  Stop already! People, please, just know that you're gonna be fine. Kids are just normal if and when they step out of the box that maybe a stranger-than-should-be society has placed them into. Let a kid dance to his or her own drummer now and again. Thank God, I'm old! I didn't have to worry about anyone calling me names or thinking I was weird because I could swallow a tadpole or swing out into the lake and drop off the rope upside down!

    Well, I did get called names, but the names I was called were "Tomboy" or "Smartypants".  The latter was shouted out to me at various times because not completely unlike Heromine Granger, I seemed to make an annoyance of myself when I knew the answers. I always knew the answers. Why did I always know the answers to whatever the teacher was asking? Hell, that's easy, I read the required assignment when I was told to. I was called a Tomboy because by the time I was four I could climb any tree, hop a fence, rein in a horse, chase down a goat, and if I needed to, yeah, I could swallow a tadpole that I caught myself right out of the creek that ran next to the school. Why would I do that? Because most of the boys were too chicken to do it, but I could! They were still faster than me, and they could hit the ball further, but I didn't mind going over the fence that had the big ol' sign on it warning everyone that it was Federal property, and no one was allowed to "Trespass"; whatever that meant. We didn't really care much about such things.

    In school, I wanted to play the saxophone, not the stupid flute. I ended up with the flute, but I wasn't happy about it.  I wanted to play baseball but they wouldn't let a girl on the team. I played on the church team though. I wanted to run track and I did. I also lifted weights, swam, and jumped about 100 fences to get from the high school to my house without having to take the streets when I missed the bus. I didn't really like riding the bus anyway. If I walked home I could keep in shape, play with dogs I didn't really know and meet folks who were staring at me from their living room windows...."There she is again!"  Little wave.

    When I was four I used to climb over my friend's fence because his backyard abutted the main street I needed to go up to get to the library. I lived at 2212 N. Mueller, and the Bethany Library was at 3501 N. Mueller. All I had to do was hop over the Willis' back fence, and go straight up Mueller, and that is exactly what I did. Rain, sleet, snow, heat, it didn't matter. I wanted to "read".  I was four. I wasn't really reading, but I thought I was. On the way to the library, I'd have to pass a cop that always placed himself at 30th street and Mueller. The police station was next to the library, and still is in the city of Bethany, Oklahoma.  The cop would wave at me, and he'd call the library to let them know I was coming. They'd usually end up calling my mom sometimes even before I arrived! It was such a great little system. I never knew how she knew to pick me up a couple of hours later so I didn't have to walk back after dark. Smart woman, that one!

    My uncle had horses. I rode my uncle's horses. I didn't bother saddling them. I just climbed up and held on.  There were more horses behind the church too. I left church services and rode those horses. The owners weren't necessarily churchgoers I guess. Somehow mom always found out where I was and there she was at the fenceline just waiting on me; sometimes without a smile on her face.  My friend's dad went huntin' and he taught me how to shoot a gun before my daddy did. My daddy was actually rather surprised that I already knew how; mom wasn't thrilled about that either. She didn't really smile all that much when it was just me and her; she was usually dragging me home from somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. At least she understood that I was normal for a Tomboy type and she didn't have my head examined. She did however get a switch after me now and again. 

    My Grandma on my daddy's side was a GIRLY GIRLY GIRL. Oh my goodness, you never saw such a sight as my gloriously made-up, coiffured, and lipsticked young Granny. She was only 15 when she had my daddy, so when we kids came along she wasn't more than 35-40; far too young to call herself a Granny. She wanted us to call her Olivia. That wasn't going to happen. My mom would have shot blood out of her eyes and mine if I had done that. My mom's mom was 43 when she had my mom, so by the time we came along she was already older and I don't think I saw her made-up except at her funeral. I wasn't really sure who was in the coffin to be perfectly honest with you.  She was 99 when she died; my younger, girly-girl of a granny died at age 68 I think. Crazy! My Grandma Edwards, mom's mom, was a stout, hard-working, farmer type and she would have none of the mischiefs I brought to my own mom.  I think I know why my mom was so lenient with me. She was raised with a heavy hand. Dad never saw a hand when he was growing up. He was born, hit the streets, then joined the Navy. 

    Tomboys are tough. We skinned our knees, broke bones, even toppled over a few times, and ended up worse for wear, but we didn't cry about it. We couldn't really take the time to cry about anything, we had things to do. We had places to go. We had things to see, and things to create...mostly havoc. I was raised in the city part of the city of Bethany, not the rural section, but you know I didn't hang out under the street lights long. I headed off to the outer skirts with the livestock, with the wildlife, and where the creek met the river. I may ride my bike five or six miles in one direction when I got old enough to reach the pedals. I wanted the boy's bike, but mom put her foot down on that one. Mine had flowers on the seat. She was determined to make me her little pumpkin...Well, OK, but I took to hanging upside down so often I had to wear shorts under my dress. 

    To be honest with you, I don't think I wore shoes unless I was going to school or church. I didn't wear them to the store. I didn't wear them to eat at a restaurant. You didn't have to back then. I know I didn't wear them when I drove my car. Mom finally told me once that if I wore another hole in my socks I had to buy them myself. OK. Socks are cheap. Oh wait, did you think I ran around town barefoot? No!! I'm not a hillbilly!! LOL...more of a Tomboy or maybe, OK yeah, a bit of a redneck. I still don't wear shoes unless I'm working or going out in public. They make you do that now.  When I come home the shoes come off. I've bought a great many pairs of socks in my life. I don't really care if I match them or not. Mostly not.

    I think I grew up OK. That may be up for debate, but I think I'm good. I don't have an identity crisis. I don't think I'm a man trapped in a woman's body.  I don't even want to be a man. I just like outshining them now and again because I can. I still can't lift as much as one, I can't outrun one. I can't hit the ball further, and no, I can't out-drink one because (a) I don't drink alcohol, and (b) I'd end up peeing myself if I tried. I'm still pretty much a smartypants though...I still read everything I'm told to, and just for the heck of it, I read so much more than I'm told to. Yep...Little Miss Know it All; well, not all, but you know...stuff.

  

Photo Credit: ebay.com

So Many Differences Between the US and the UK.

 I watch a great many bloggers and vloggers online who are mostly from the UK. Many of them have a standard schtick if you will, that allows them to showcase the various differences between the areas. I can't say "countries" because the UK is a collection of countries and the USA is a collection of states. There, that in itself is a HUGE difference.  I tend to watch Scottish vloggers if I'm honest. I do watch Laurence Brown, who is from Grimsby, England. He has a channel called "Lost in the Pond" where he routinely goes over so many varied differences between the UK and the US. He's been ("bean" that's how they say been in the UK) living in the U.S. for over 14 years. Currently, he's in Chicago. His idea of the US may or may not be complete. I don't think you can know America until you've lived in the South.

    I watch Shaun Alexander, his channel is Shaun Vlog; and he's from Edinburgh, Scotland. Shaun moves around a bit. He's lived in Brazil, in London, and just outside of the City Centre of Edinburgh in a beachfront area called Portobello. It's gorgeous! You should go.  Shaun and Laurence keep me laughing over their discoveries and their experiences with America and Americans. Shaun has made it to the U.S. a few times, and his favorite hangout is Texas. Shaun gets it.  You have to be in the mix, in the trenches if you want to know who the Americans really are. You don't want to use Northerners as your prime example. Just sayin'.

    One of the new favorites is a guy called Tony Broonford. He's the Chief of Clan Broonfood and you too can join and be part of us! We're a highly sought after Clan you know. Tony takes us on YouTube journeys not only through and around Edinburgh, but all over Scotland really. His unique and fun traveling experiences have been heralded by a lot of exploring tourists who literally come to Scotland, go to Edinburgh, try to find Tony, and tell him he is the reason they decided to come to Scotland! Wow! That's really cool if you ask me. You can join any of these vloggers through Patreon. Each of their Instagrams and/or YouTube sites will have links where you can go and share your good fortune with them so they can continue to share their good lives and experiences with us! It's a win-win.

    In all honesty, I love to listen to a Scottish accent far far more than I do an English accent. I know, I'll have so many people disagree with me on this one, but it's true. I find the rustic and robust sound of a Scotsman to be sexy, while I find the prim and proper elite sounds coming from a Londoner to be rather boring.  The UK, just like the US, has so many varied accents and yes, it is geographical. You'll find hicks there just like you'll find hicks here. What I find hilarious is that when the Brits sing they tend to lose their accent altogether. I'm surprised and pleased really, when I listen to my favorite singer-songwriter Steph Macleod (also of Edinburgh), as he doesn't lose or cover his thick Scottish accent. He'll sound Scottish when he's singing and when he's talking. Yes, I prefer that.  Call me crazy!

    Today, I discovered a few more differences in etiquette really, and I thought I would share them with you.  As you may already know, Americans are blunt, and we say and pretty much do what we're going to say and pretty much do with or without the oversight approval, or permission of another. Maybe that trait is born into us, but try to remember that more than 30,000,000 of us come from Scottish ancestry, and more than 46,000,000 of us (some overlapping) come from British blood, and you guessed it - - we came from those that left Britain to start the New World. We're a bit on the rebel side to start with you know.  We just do it. Nike loves us. Maybe Nike's entire "Just do it" campaign was directed at the slower-to-act Brits. (could be)

    Americans typically enter a restaurant and wait to be seated. That doesn't happen in the UK. I've waited. I know. I've been stared at. I've been laughed at. I've even been asked to sit down because I was making a fool of myself. OK, the flip side of that is when the Brits come here and just wander into a cafe they may or may not be seen by the waitstaff. They may or may not be served. It's a trade-off.  I was also shocked to the core of my gut when I saw the tiny portions being served and the cost of the experience. I had to keep saying over and over to myself "We're not in Kansas anymore".  Some of you will get that.

    When I stayed in Scotland for a minute I stayed in Inverkeithing with a friend. Inverkeithing is in a council called "Fife", which is also a Kingdom! It is located just above the city of Edinburgh. You take a bus or a train to ride into the City Centre. You can get there in about 16-18 minutes by train, and in about 30 minutes by bus. Buses are cheaper obviously, but I prefer the train.  There were so many many things to observe from the point of view of a person who literally drives herself any and everywhere. I don't walk even half a mile in Oklahoma if I want to get from Point A to Point B. I will walk in Scotland. I'll walk an entire mile, even two if the weather is good.  I also overbuy so that I'm not stuck without passage. That would be embarrassing. 

    We don't really have passenger trains in Oklahoma. We have a train really, just one in the city and it only goes about 100 miles south, then maybe over to Ft. Worth, but it doesn't take you from too many Point As to too many Point Bs. There's not a system like there is in the UK. I am only familiar with the trains and buses in Scotland, not the rest of the UK, so my experiences are limited. I did think to myself that it would be really hard to take the dog to the vet if you only had a bus or train to rely on to get you where you needed to go. I mean, sure, there are Ubers, taxis, etc., but that's expensive. You can drive too. Sure, you can drive. LOL...I'm not doing that, but you can if you want to. I like living. (They drive on the other side of the road, and from what I saw, they don't always do that so well.)

    In Inverkeithing, and all over Scotland, and more than likely the entire UK, people pay their utilities through their council. They pay a certain amount based on the value of their home in 1991. I find that odd, really odd. What if your house wasn't built at that time? I'm sure they have that covered. You pay XX for energy usage; not by the kilowatt that you personally use in your personal home. That's just weird to me.  I've mentioned the no-screen thing before. They don't have screens on their damn windows, so if you do open the windows to allow for cooler air, you'll likely have uninvited (or did they consider the opening of the window an invitation) guests in your home. I wonder if they'll laugh too hard if I bring screens with me when I do move there on a more permanent basis. At least you'll know where I live. "Yeah, she's the American. You can tell; she has screens on her windows and she's flying her flag off the balcony." Oh, well, that's not really a flag there sir, it's a flower pot that has the American flag colors around the base....and yes, I do have one.

    My friends from the UK and from other foreign countries (Sweden, Germany, and Spain mostly) will comment on how many American flags they see when they come to the United States. We don't think about it really, we just fly them. I do have one outside my house. I counted and 18 neighbors in my complex that has 83 homes have flags flying outside their homes. That's less than I think it should be. I have an American flag decal on my car. I have clothes that have the flag of course, and even my oven mit has stars and stripes.  If you look in my closet you'll find six hoodies with the word "Oklahoma" or "Sooners" too - - we do that. Proud people.  Nothing wrong with that. I do think it's more prevalent in the South than it is up North, but I could be wrong. (I'm not wrong, but it has happened a time or two.)

    Today is November 18, 2022.  It's a Friday evening. In the South that means it's Friday Night Lights. Our high school teams are playing tonight, and it may be the beginning of the State playoffs.  I'm not a teacher, and I don't have any kids in high school so I don't know, but what I do know is that hundreds of thousands of parents, siblings, grandparents, and friends will fight the cold (and it is freezing) and they'll wrap up in the colors of their favorite team(s) and sit out on those stone, brick or metal bleachers for hours tonight watching and waiting for their sons and/or daughters to make a splash in the newspapers tomorrow! It's a thang. You don't see that in the UK. You don't and won't see the Brits going to college sporting events to cheer on their families. Here, it's not only expected, it is a matter of family pride and dignity. You have a kid in sports, you go!

    Some of the differences I've seen have been enormous. Some of them are quite small really, but they are there. We say "boy" and they say "lad".  We say "dog" and they say "dug" so that's just a sound thing.  In all fairness, I probably say "dawg".  I've seen the word written out as dug as well. I wasn't about to correct the person who did it. It could Scots, which is a real language, and I don't want to insult - - look at me being a Brit and not being a forceful and obnoxious American!! Woot!!  Slowly, slowly, I will acclimate. (or, as they say in the UK "acclimatize".) Weird.

Photo Credit: PetTimes.Net

 

The Series 66.

 Yes! This is me complaining. I will and I can, because this is just silly. I guess I had forgotten how much it costs an individual to sit for the FINRA Series 66 exam. DAMN!  It was $177.00 and yes, I know, I must have paid it the last time I took it.  I harp on that experience nearly once a week at least because of where I work and what I do.  I missed passing the exam in April I think it was, by ONE QUESTION!  There are 100 questions on the test, you have to pass with a 70% and I got a 69 or a 68, I can't remember. I could have missed it by two questions, but still, this is just so so so sad.  I can't and won't say that I wasted the $177 because I did not. I tested. I failed. It's that simple. I won't fail this time!

    I haven't really been studying the way I should in order to retake the exam. I will start that process again. I could do the whole Pass Perfect online course again. It's about $99 I think. I did myself a few favors when I had the course availability. I did make myself "Poor Man Flashcards" as they are called. I bought a pack of 100 index cards and I think I used them all. I could make another 100 without a problem! There is just so much to be learned. I do actually know a great deal, but the issue is that I don't know what questions I missed. They don't tell you that. Because I wasn't fantabulous in any of the areas, barely being able to say I mustered the percentages I needed to pass with an "acceptable" score in all of the categories, I did fail in two or three subareas that had I been even a tiny tiny bit more confident in my answers I am sure I would have swayed the machine! (It's taken on the computer) You're scored digitally.

    I did NOT pass. I did not win. I did not pass Go. I suppose, if I'm honest, I need to spend the time and study all the sections again and again until I can say I have more than a basic knowledge of it. I really don't want to JUST pass. I do want to know the content. It's more important to me to know what I'm doing than it is to pass the exam just for the sake of being lucky enough to choose the best random answers when I really have no clue and choose to guess rather than leave a question blank. I won't leave a question blank. I will take a stab at it! I have four choices, and I have a 25% chance of making it! I just really want to KNOW the answer(s) that's all. Call me crazy. I want the guts, the innards. I want to be able to recite the correct response rather than guess it. 

    If you go to Quizlet.com and you type in Series 66 you'll come across a few sets of flashcards that you can read, study, memorize, and/or just go through.  The really funny and quirky thing about Quizlet, and I have no idea why this is the way that it is; almost every flashcard has incredibly poor spelling. It's as if they didn't care if they got it right, they had 13 seconds to type the question and only 7 seconds to type the answers for each card. I really have no idea why they're all misspelled, but it is hilarious when you see the word "conbumor" and your brain knows it's really supposed to read "consumer".  I found the word "idivual" and realized they wanted me to see "individual".  Makes me laugh. It's free. Free is free. You can't expect more, and lamenting over it will not produce results. You just go with it.

    For me, Series 66 is a logical step in my career path as a trader. I'm learning the ropes now; I'm saving for the time I'll need to be unpaid while I wait for commissions to roll in from the sales I make. I'll actually be more of a salesperson than I will be a trader. Our company deals in selling bonds. I don't need the FINRA licensures to sell and trade on the FOREX for myself. I do, however, need the Series 7 and at least another exam for the company sales force. That's regulated due to the fact that I'll be selling and advising. I'm taking OTHER people's money, not just my own.  You can't imagine how very very strict the Securities Exchange Commission and of course, FINRA regulate things like that. It's impenetrable.  It's the Fort Knox of the industry, and no one is getting by without the golden pass. No one. That's why so many A-listed celebrities are in hot water right now with their advice and strong suggestions for the general public's purchasing of BitCoin and other FTX products. You don't do that, folks!

    I remember I saw a couple of these celebrities during the Super Bowl commercials hawking BitCoin and the first thing I thought was "I know she's not licensed! I bet he's not either."  I was right. You can't just sign up and go. You have to sit the exams!! YOU, not someone else, YOU have to sit the exams. It's so freaking regulated. MONEY will not buy them the licenses. They didn't have the licenses. This was the issue; their defense was that they were told to do it by their agents. WHATEVER!!! No, that's not an excuse. It will likely be a nothing burger, as they'll probably just be fined, but rules are rules, laws are laws, and even the elite don't get a pass on the exchange of currency sales and/or advising others to buy it. NOPE.

    One more point before I go.  When I do pass Series 66, I'll have another exam to take before I am actually licensed. It's called Series 7.  I will have to really study for that one as well, and maybe by February, I'll be ready for it. I hope so. I'll not want to trade or go full commission until the summer of 2023. I will need time to stash some cash in the bank for a minute so I can rest without worry and deal without feeling I'm being dealt. I won't put myself into a situation where I'll be chasing the numbers. Nope. That is no way to maintain a professional attitude. You can't worry when you advise. If they see you sweat they won't have a reason to trust you, well, me.  I have a plan, and the plan has a backup, so no worries there. It will happen.  Soon and very soon, I could be working from home in Scotland and selling American bonds overseas. It could be a reality. 

    My boss asked me last week why I wasn't taking Series 7 first, as that's the normal thing to do.  I told him that I was smart like that. He smiled but didn't understand. I explained, "If I take Series 7 I am worth more, but if I take Series 66 first, I'll be priceless. Someone will sponsor me to take Series 7; they'd be stupid not to."  He smiled again and said "You're right. Let's do this."  The plan is working -- baby steps. 

Photo Credit: Momentrix.com

Major First World Issues.

 Talk about being spoiled. Let me tell you, I am the Queen of it. I'm not rude, and I don't huff and puff like a little brat if things don't go my way. I'm actually more likely to just make a face, and curl up the side of my lip at the culprit; whatever is causing me to be inconvenienced. I will usually walk away, scratch whatever plan or scheme I was working on at the time, and regroup.  My tantrum days are long gone. I will, however, let people know they inconvenienced me. I figure they need to be held responsible if that is at all possible. Today, the issue was not one where I could really lay any blame, so I just sighed....three times.

    I work at an amazing office. Let's get that out of the way first. I mean, these people are way above and beyond excellent, and I am just all too happy to let each and every one of them know this when I see them throughout the day. Yes, we have some gosh-darn work warriors at the company I work for and with.  That being said, not one of the men (and there are plenty) knows how to make a pot of coffee, fill up a coffee filter so it can be used to make coffee, nor do any of them know how to look for, find, or resupply any of the sweeteners, creamers, or flavors for said coffee. Nope. Not one. So, in order for this grave and immensely debilitating problem to actually remedy itself, I decided to hold an impromptu staff training session!  At first, no one wanted to attend. When I asked the Human Resource Manager's assistance in the matter, I suddenly had 11 volunteers!  Good job men!

    The coffee issue may seem small, but it's not. We have over 50 people in the office, and we have two pots of coffee brewing at a time. We also have a Keurig, so that's the reason I only had 11 volunteers to attend my little Do-It-Yourself class this morning. Many of the employees, including myself, use Keurig.  Trust me when I say that the clean up after yourself portion of my little speech was both animated and I had visuals. I even asked for a volunteer to assist me; I'm telling you, these people are awesome!!  I had no trouble assuring the others who chose not to attend that the 12 knowledgeable people in the building who now know how to brew, will do so, but if we catch anyone of these others who did not attend the meeting, finishing off the last cup, there will be another session!

    Another First World issue we addressed today because it actually came up during the first session of our coffee-making lesson, was the fact that both of our (HUGE) refrigerators and the independent water dispenser standing next to the refrigerators, were not dispensing water.  The refrigerators weren't dispensing ice for that matter either.  Our ice maker, (yes, we have a separate one) was on the mend from a power outage we experienced, so the backup plan was to use the two fridges and the very handy-dandy and always-accessible water cooler. Now what? We literally had no automated filtered water to make the coffee. We were going to have to resort to using TAP WATER!!!  Are you serious?

    It was decided that the Keurig, which is connected to the same mechanism that sends water to the two refrigerators, may not be dispensing water either? We were lucky, it was actually working, but it was incredibly slow and here we stood, all masters of our own personal crafts, but not one of us knew a dang thing about plumbing. You really don't want me messing with the plumbing. I can tell you that. We used props and talked in hypotheticals. We couldn't really make the coffee, and that was in fact a big big First World issue for a bunch of Market traders and their support staff.   This is a company that will spend $$$ to house any of us in the three-star hotel next to our office if the weather is going to be too bad and there's a chance we won't make it back to the office. The Market does not care who you are, the Market does not stop or wait for anyone. We know this. We need our coffee.

    Just about the time I was wrapping up the DIY demonstration on all things percolating, the boss stepped in to let us know that while we were being educated she was making calls to repair people, and within a few minutes, we had water! Money talks. That's the bottom line to this story folks, money talks.  Some of us, myself included, took our Keuriged coffee mugs into the breakroom and watched as the plumber explained what our issues and problems were. I know I listened. If this happens again I want to at least explain it to the next plumber. I can't really say I learned a great deal, but I did take notes. I can read the notes back to the next plumber if I need to. I trade money for money, and I help others (support) when they sell bonds. I'm not into tubes, lines, faucets, panels, and drains. The plumber did ask me if we were having problems with our ballcocks, but hey, I don't have any of those either. I smiled.

    So, apparently, I did learn something today. A ballcock is a device that helps the water flow evenly and stop when it needs to. They're usually on toilets, and that's where they found the plumber. He had been called up from another floor where he had been working on a lavatory issue. Our building is about 40 years old, so it does have its contentions. We made it through the entire morning thinking about our coffee, our water, our ice, and yes, our ballcocks. I couldn't resist asking the ladies in my office if any of them had any personal experience(s) with a ballcock. This sent the one man (a younger man) in our office, right through the roof with laughter. He was the only one of us who knew what it was, and he even told us that he had two! I guess now that I know what it is, I can admit to having two myself. Not lying when I tell you I have ballcocks made of brass!

Who knew?

Photo Credit: delta.com

Murder in Edinburgh! (Well, not Yet, I'm Working on it.)

 I am about to murder someone in my book(s) and he will be gloriously found, while a detective who has been called upon to investigate is cautious to both not betray his own involvement in past events, and do his best to unearth the clues leading to the conviction of the murderer (or will it be a murderess?)

    My books will be in a loose chronological order, there will be some flashing back, there will be some overlap, and there will be some future telling. I'm in the middle of the mix now, and diving (delving) into as much of it as I can without doing too much damage to the living soul of the manuscript. I tend to let the dead tell me more than they could have when they were living. It's not the murder, and it never has been for me, it's the cover-up and the disposal of the body(ies) that make my books more interesting; at least for me.

    Currently, I am the only one reading my book(s) because I've not published anything dealing with the murder books at this time. I've written several, but I don't like what I've done with most of them; that's the trouble with writers. We can't stop the ink once it gets a good flow to it. I reckon it may be that way for a few painters as well. I dare say there have been a few who should have called it quits but just couldn't release their brush! I fully comprehend the concept. I'm going through the pale now, fleshing out words and transforming my vocabulary at the same time. I am using the handy-dandy Thesaurus to create a new connotation here and there, if not to change the entire meaning now and again. My thing is, I really like double meanings, so if I can bolt a word rather than slay one, I will do that. I want the thing to rivet, not destroy. I want the concept and the premise to damage, not obliterate. 

    Right now, I'm reading a more contemporary novel involving murder in Edinburgh, Scotland, which is where my murder (well, the murder I'm writing) takes place. I am using words, thoughts, concepts, ideas, and innuendo, as well as closely relating many of my passages to meet and even marry those of other authors. This method will both reiterate that the styles and context agree and that they have been widely accepted. No need to reinvent the wheel, but you know I'll never cross or toss a line. I'll never plagiarise. I'd sooner bleed my last. 

    For instance, my detective will not be caught dead in a proper coffee house drinking a smooth yet bitter cappuccino, but he will visit the public houses for what he refers to as a "Cup of Joe"; I wonder how many readers know the reason why it's called Joe? I'll explain in my book, as it has been often explained in others. That's the sort of thing I do. I reiterate but never take.  Here's a nugget; did you know that the cappuccino was invented around the 1700-1720 timeframe? Interesting. I'd love to study a bit about how they got the milk to froth; steam of course, but I'm interested still in finding out more. My readers will know. I'll find out and let them know. For now, they'll have to Google it I suppose. I know I will.

    One of my murders will take place in a close on the Royal Mile. I haven't decided which one yet. One of the murders happens in broad daylight, right in front of the worldly world to see; and no one takes notice. Our fine friend Nick Posh will indeed (and in deed) have his work cut out for him as he detects, sleuths, and otherwise investigates the seedy beginnings of the end of a few. There will be a few. That's another clue - - why stop at two? (OK, I'll stop now.)  I'm also writing a poem that will be introduced in the book as well. I'm not sure if the poet dies or if she'll disguise her mannerisms through quill and stain, enough to beg the apologies of others who may have believed her to be less innocent as her hand and mind.

    Today, I read of pyrates on the North Atlantic. I read of mystics who fled to the moors before they could be caught, tried, and executed for who and what they were. I read of cannibals, of hungry peasants without enough to eat, and of wild animals roaming the Highlands for centuries. I am breaking down and building up the moments that drain and cascade into my writings. I dream and mend my mind over and over again of the thoughts it has; not wanting to blame Edinburgh or hold her responsible for her crude and cruel past. I am her admirer, but I am also her judge and jury. I will never execute my darling city, but I will expose her. I will not allow her to keep her secrets hidden if they are damned within her soul. She must be saved.

    My books (this series) take place between 1920-1935, but in order to accurately understand the men and women of that time I must start about 1000 years beforehand; to create the language, the culture, the barriers, and the breeding. This has been and will be the most amazing journey.  I don't have an "Elephant Cafe" from which to claim that I have penned the first words of my novels. I may have to find some really cool place to write a few notes into a notebook so I can claim it and someday they'll hang a plaque to remember the day!  J.K. Rowling could have just as easily been holed up in her apartment when she wrote the first words of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone".  We'll never know the truth; that's not that important anyway, is it? The story of the beginnings of such a great series taking place in Edinburgh's Elephant Cafe is far more intriguing, wouldn't you agree? I'll find a hole in the wall. I'll make it happen. It'll happen.

    

    Photo Credit:  Getyourguide.co.uk  (Witch and Ghost tours)