I Decided to be Positive Instead.

 I was literally here, at my desk, about to write a scathing blog about the treatment I received at (and from) the people at the Half Price Books store near my house when it dawned on me that I am in control of my emotions. I don't have to be mean; I don't have to be rude. I don't have to complain. I don't have to lower myself to the standards of those people who get really pissy and then go off half-cocked on the internet, thus making a complete spectacle of themselves. I can just be informative, tell my side, and push through. Are you ready?

    My friend Jeannie came over yesterday, and we cleaned out so much clutter from my room and from my master bathroom that I felt as if my spirits were lifted over a dozen times higher than usual. That's saying something because I'm usually pretty happy!  I found myself carrying on the same activities today as she and I had been obliged to carry out, and I decided to clean out the bookshelves in my hallway and my living room.  I'm an author; I read. I collected way (way) too many books along the way. I gave about 200 of them away last year, and this year, today, I found another 43 that didn't need to be sitting around my house.

    I took the books to Half Price Books. I thought I could sell them to the store, get a store credit, maybe pick out a few LPs, and finish the chore. That didn't happen. My daughter helped me take the books into the store, and we walked around while the manager and/or assistant in the returns and resell section went over my books. You trust these people not to take a book or two, keep them or try to shaft you. That's not what happened.  I was called back to the counter, and I was offered an amount of money for the 43 books I had to sell.  Actually, that's not a true statement. I was offered an amount of money for about 25 books, and the rest they had decided they couldn't use, but they would take them as a donation if I didn't want to take them back with me.  The amount of money that was offered for books totaling more than $400 was $3.26.  I am NOT kidding you. It was insulting. EVEN if you offer .50 per book it's $21.50.

    I decided to take all of the books back and donate them to Goodwill. There they can be sold for $2-5, and they can be enjoyed by folks who otherwise couldn't have afforded the prices that Half Price Books would have slapped onto the used books; some were Harry Potter books, others were professional training manuals such as how to get your SPHR and how to trade on the stock market. The trading book was a Dummies series and still sells on Amazon used for about $14.00, so yeah, the caliber of books I brought in was not bad. I had about six murder mystery types from people like John Grisham; don't tell me $3.26 is a fair assessment for 43 books. Six were recipe books, and four of them were in the pile they said they couldn't find a buyer for. No worries, I'll give them to the Goodwill. Someone will want them. 

    I decided to go through one of the recipe books again before I gave it to Goodwill because it was one with pictures! I love pictures. This was a simple recipe for kids and/or young people who haven't had much experience in the kitchen. Something caught my eye, and I decided to memorize the recipe and mimic it tomorrow morning! Here we go.  I'm going to make cinnamon cream cheese rolls! You take flat white bread and cut off the ends. You roll the bread FLAT, and spread butter, and cream cheese in the middle.  You dip the whole thing in butter, or you can brush it on, but you roll it in cinnamon sugar and bake it for 10 minutes at 350 degrees. DONE. What fun. Don't tell me people in their right minds wouldn't want to know that. You want to know that! I know you do. You're welcome.

    I'm not saying I think you should boycott your local Half Price Books store; nothing like that, but you can talk to the manager and let them know that they need to work on that policy of reselling. To tell a customer we won't pay you for these books, but we'll put them out on the shelves to sell them, and keep 100% of the profit if you want to donate them, is silly.  Well, it's a bad practice if you ask me. I won't go back into that store now. I won't. I'll go somewhere else, anywhere, really. I have a Kindle, so I don't buy books anymore that I have to hold. I can get my cards and my LPs at other shops. I have NO reason to darken their door again. If I did want to hold a book in my hands again, I might sneak in and buy the Waverley novel set that I saw. But no, I have the entire collection on my Kindle.  I'm good.

    Can't wait for tomorrow to get here now. 

Photo Credit: Pinterest

The Year was 1979.

 Some years, some months, some days stick with you. I was honored, I was blessed, and I know it. The year was 1979, and before  November of that year, I was 17. I have to say it, 17 may be the best year ever. It was the year I knew I knew what love was, and it was the year I knew it would slip away too.  I lived through it. I had a really, really good job, too; I worked for Concerts West. I was what we would call a "Go-For" today; someone who goes here goes there, does what they're told to do, and gets whatever done that needs to be done. I made food, ran for food, rejected food, drove people, drove equipment, drove myself crazy, and dated a few rock stars along the way.  Why not? I was 17!

    The thing is, I was still a virgin until I was 22, and actually, if I had to be really super honest about it, I didn't have to be. I chose to be. I knew then, as I know now, that celebrities can be some of the most insecure, rude, nasty, over-exposed, and under-behaved idiots to ever walk the face of the Earth. I wasn't really all that impressed with their tight pants or what they put in them to make people think they had more than what they had. Yeah, working in the background, you do see a few things. I had to laugh...and I did.

    Before I divorced in 1997, I had a collection of LPs (albums) that ranked right up there with all those people you wish you knew because they had all the songs, all the vinyl, and here I was with about 3,000 individual LPs, but no money in my pocket. I got that way later with horses, but yeah, I was just as stupid, I guess, thinking that music was the way to go. I thought Concerts West would lead me into a career in music production, actually, and it did in one way or the other. I still have a few connections (Hi Michael Givens!!) I worked a lot of concerts, more than 500 I know, and that was from 1979 to 1984, so in about five years I went to more than 500, so that's about 1 every three days, if you think about it. I mean, it was closer to 16-22 in a row, day and night after day and night. When you work for the unit or the promoter, you're not really going home at regular hours.

    I had my own private phone! Let me say that again, in 1979, before cell phones, I had my own landline. My mom actually answered it for me, so it seemed as if I had a secretary. I'm not kidding you. That was my schtick! I had people. She took messages, and I called people back. I took gigs I wanted to take, flew where I wanted to fly, drove where I could, and I had a freaking blast. Most of my jobs I got because I wasn't a drinker, I wasn't using drugs, I never stole from anyone, and no, I wouldn't sleep with the band or the roadies. I got called a lot!! They trusted me. That's not to say they didn't make fun of me; no, they absolutely made fun of me. I was branded with the name "Christian."   OK, if that's the worst you do, yeah, pay me to drive three long hairs to the drugstore so they can refill their Rx. I'm good. (That was before we could pick it up for them.)  Once, I was paid to call in an Rx for a drummer, and no, I won't say his name. I did it, too, I shouldn't have, but I did.

    Today, because I can, I popped open the new vintage-inspired Victrola and slapped on a few of the really good oldies. Funny, when I bought them originally, they weren't oldies....but yeah, Billy Joel's "52nd Street", the Bee Gees, "Children of the World," Van Halen's "1984" (which was recorded in 1983).  I'm living it. I'm loving it. I'm sitting here trying to ignore my daughter telling me to turn it down. Go away, Laura. Go away. I'm 17....well, ish. I may have to pull out the entire collection of artists I was privileged to work, help, assist, hang with, or just shake my head at, which were many. Before you ask, I wasn't with Van Halen when Sammy came on board. That was after I left the unit. A girl has to earn a living, and toward the end, it was all about drug running, "favors" and such. Nope. Not me. I don't regret the time I spent, but I do think I could have used better judgment in a few cases. I could have charged SO MUCH MORE than I did. 

    I will say this; by the middle of 1981, I was living most of the year at a mansion in Beverly Hills called Gray Hall at 1100 Carolyn Way, and that's where, in 1982, I met the famous and often misunderstood, certainly underappreciated Sir Michael Givens. Check him out at www.michaelgivens.com  filmmaker, artist, and an all-around great man. We worked on a film called "Love Scene," a Raleigh production. By today's standards, it was quite tame, but then...hot! I was standing around minding my own business (working) when the director decided he needed another warm female body in the party scene. Enter Jude Leigh. I was too embarrassed to use my real name. What if my mom found out?  LOL 

    It doesn't happen often, but sometimes I just have to slip away into the mental stages of my earlier years, before kids, before college, before bills, before I had a freakin' care. I mean, c'mon, I would buy a VW Bug from the paper, have my friend Kenny work it over, and drive it to Los Angeles in the evening hours, mostly as we all know a VW's radiator can blow in the desert heat!! (If you know, you know) I just preferred driving at night back then. I did this 11 separate times. As long as the thing ran, had great tires, had a great 8-track player, and the floor wasn't falling out from under me, I made it to L.A. in about 20 hours, resting either in Albuquerque at my uncle's or in Gallup with a friend. I'd buy the car for $500, have it worked over for another $400, but sell the damn thing for $3000 once I was ready to go home! No, I'm not kidding. I would put an ad in the paper, and it would be sold either that day or the next. (11 times!!)

    Damn.  I miss the young me sometimes. I graduated high school in 1979 (on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's birthday, May 22) At least I know I can escape now and again with this time-sound machine.  (all I need are those really cool ice cream pop cycles that look like they come in a toilet paper roll, and you push them up...orange, remember?)

Photo Credit:  www.bringatrailer.com

My Road Leads to Edinburgh (It took a minute, but I got there)

 My ancestors were Scottish. I know this. They were also English, and I try to ignore that fact. When I did the DNA thing, the one I chose first (My Heritage) used information from way back, something like the 800 A.D., so if I used it, I am 33% Scandinavian. Let's use our history lessons to discover what happened to these particular Norsemen. They came down to what would become Britton. It was Bernicia before that, I believe. Who knows, maybe I'm actually related to Ida. That's another blog; I doubt I am.  There was a greater need inside my soul to find out if I truly was more Scottish than I was English. I know that sounds incredibly boring, petty, and useless, but it's my journey, right? 

    I can at least trace my father's side back to Scotland in the 17th century, and before that, yes, they were English, but...and this is where I get all argumentative; the area(s) my people were from were disputed lands! Ha! There you go. Even the English could be Scottish at that point. They are in my head. They are my heart as well. Screw the English! Sorry Bee Gees, but to be HONEST, they were born on the Isle of Man, and it's closer to Scotland than England. I will always love you. I also love a few others who profess or confess to being English, but only a few. 

    My line, on Dad's side, here we go.

I was born in Oklahoma in 1961.  My dad is Reuben Wayne Stringfellow

Reuben Wayne Stringfellow was born in Arkansas in 1932

Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow born in Arkansas in 1909

Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow, Sr. was born in Arkansas in 1847

William Robert Stringfellow was born in Virginia in 1815

John Reuben Stringfellow was born in Virginia in 1780

Richard Reuben Stringfellow was born in Virginia in 1760

William Richard Stringfellow, born in Virginia in 1729

William Richard Stringfellow, Sr., born in Virginia in 1687

James Richard Stringfellow, born in Virginia 1662

James Stringfellow born in EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND in 1640

Sir. Robert Stringfellow, born in disputed lands Scotland, 1615

William James Stringfellow, born in Yorkshire, 1590

Reuben Thomas Stringfellow, born in Yorkshire, 1567

That's as far back as the records go, but there is another James Reuben Stringfellow in 1271 who appears as a witness to a land dispute in Yorkshire, so he's MAYBE another one of us. We can't be sure, but hey, he's a Stringfellow, and he has the name Reuben in there, so it's a real possibility. I do have to add that my son was born in 1986, and his name is Reuben Andrew Stringfellow. I was not married to his dad, but his father's name is RICHARD! Ha! Just thought that was hilarious. 

    My people moved to the new world in 1660 when Charles II took the throne and was not that pleased with the loyalties that my people had. I'm not sure I'm that pleased with their loyalties either, in that Robert was knighted, which means he was faithful to the Crown. He was given a Coat of Arms, which is cool and all, but yeah, it doesn't make me happy.  At least he was smart enough, as was his father, to marry a full Scottish woman. My Stringfellows were mixed with the Armstrongs and then the Campbells. (I am rather surprised that the people who bore and raised Sir Robert Stringfellow were married to Armstrongs. If you know your history, that's about as defiant as you can get -- Rebels!! I love it. Shove it England, although at the time Robert was being raised, James I (a Scot) was King. So, there's that. I freaking love history.

    My mother's line leads straight to England. Dad really should have been a bit more careful! He was smitten, and I get it; she's adorable, but it really didn't do my DNA any good, now, did it? My mom is an Edwards, then a Free, then a Hague, and up the line to the damn freaking Windsor family, but they weren't the same as the later Windsors, thank God. If I had to admit I was related to them, I would barf. I realize that sounds mean and nasty since, after all, the Queen was, in fact, a bit Scot, but I suppose I have a bit of Jacobite in me when I think about it, despite my Campbellness. REBEL!!

    So that's it. The next DNA test, Ancestory.com called it.  I'm 48% Scottish, 47% English, 4% Italian, and 1% Iberian. You just have to love that Iberian who seduced someone I don't know. They were like, YES...this is my chance to go to America!! The Ancestry test only went to about the 11th century, not the 9th, and it makes a huge difference historically.  I mean, we can all say that we are related to Noah. Think about that for a minute! Yes, you can take it too far.  My sister goes only back to the 17th century, not wanting to become too bogged down with details. I'm pushing that envelope because I know that the Scots were pushing it in the 17th century to regain the lands and plans the English took from them. You can only do so much with sticks and stones. We did have the whole paint-yourself-blue-and-swing-naked-from-the-tree thing. That was cool.  I can see myself doing that in another life and time. 

    OK, so that's about it, that's all I wanted to say. I can PROVE I'm Scottish. I know the Scots like to say if you're not born there, you aren't Scottish. I understand that, but it's not true. If you're not born there, you aren't BRITISH, but you are Scottish if that's in your blood. For anyone who argues or disagrees, remember, I'm first an American, and I will claim that, but that's where I was born. There is no such thing as "American" blood. Not even the Natives will say that; they are from various tribes. SADLY, and I mean this, I am not a single percent Native. That sucks, especially since I live and was born in Oklahoma, the Native capital of the WORLD.  Oh well, I'm good. I'm OK. I have my little list; I know the truth. Thank you, Sir Robert, for moving to America, but damn, couldn't you have left a few kids there who could have kept the line going? People need to think about their descendants!

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com 

A Burden Like No Other!

 Many of you read my blog, "My Bad, Mistakes Were Made." (here is a link: https://judestringfellow.blogspot.com/2023/04/my-bad-mistakes-were-made.html )  wherein I lamented about the sad, sad fact that I had not only made mistakes in my book "Of Kilted Pleasure," but that there were 12 mistakes, and most of them were committed by ME!! I was the culprit. I was the problem. I didn't re-read the text another 100 times, as I had read it before I had submitted it, but about four or five of the mistakes were actually made by the publisher. STILL, and nevertheless, I made a bunch of stupid boo-boos that needed to be fixed.  I am writing today to tell you just how I will fix those issues. This is not going to be a lot of fun.

    When you send off a manuscript, you send it off without being saved as a PDF. Everyone knows this. I did this. I was 100% sure that everything was fine when it was not. After sending off the Word document, I then saved my document as a PDF so I wouldn't make the mistake of erasing something, and in doing so, I sealed my fate! I couldn't (and can't) open it up again to make the corrections. I fired the publisher after they published the book with the mistakes because, as I said, some of them were NOT my mistakes; they couldn't have been. There's no way I'm going to randomly put in a "w" here or there, and in one instance, there were two random "ww," and they were in italics! C'mon, sorry, I didn't do that. I think there was an issue, and they refused to correct it. That doesn't change the fact that I had (a) fired them and (b) couldn't get my Word document sent back to me. I couldn't.

    The only way to make the corrections at this point was to pull the book from publication and literally retype it word for word. I can't copy it and paste it into another Word document, as the ONLY copy I have is, in fact, the PDF. I did actually save it 1000 times along the way, but I deleted all of those copies so I would only have the one PDF file. Then it hit me!! I did make another copy! I had, in fact, sent copies to friends to read, too, so I could essentially go back to those emails and find it and copy it onto a flash drive! All is not lost! I copied it on March 2, 2023, just days before sending it to Xlibris to be published. Between March 2, 2023, when I had copied it, and March 14, 2023, when I had sent it off to Xlbiris, I had made a few changes. Now, all I need to do is pull up the PDF, situate it side by side with the one I have copied to the flash drive, go through it PAGE BY FREAKING PAGE, and make the needed corrections. I can do this.

    One thing I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE is that I can use my Find/Replace to make the changes I needed to with everything EXCEPT the random "w"s because they aren't on my flash drive since I didn't make those mistakes. There were three or four other things like that, mistakes the publisher made that would not be on my flash drive, but (and this is soooooo big) I found all the Cromwell issues and corrected them FIRST. I did that tonight. I went into the document, did a search for Cromwell, changed his name for the Duke of Cumberland, and/or used the words "Royal Army" when I said "Cromwell's Army"...you get the picture. I fixed the biggest literary plunder of my entire career. I feel really good about that.

    I made tiny changes to three issues that I didn't have to change but thought it would make more sense if I did. The reader may never know, but I did it because I knew it was there on the page, screaming at me. Thankfully, no one else will ever hear that, just me. Tomorrow and the next day, I will go through the PDF and read it page by page, making the corrections and adding the additions to the flash drive saved copy; then it will be saved again, NOT IN PDF, so I can have it if I need it. I didn't tell you the other weird thing! I had changed computers between having sent it off and having it redone. My new WORD program won't open the old documents fully, and I was completely freaked out about that, but I'm good now. I'm good. Nothing that a bit of chocolate and a lot of coffee won't fix. 

    After I make all the necessary changes, I'll pull the book from being published and resubmit it on the same day, thus leaving a very small window to when the book is not available. Any books sold right now and up to that day are going to be collector's items, you know. Well, maybe not, but I have about 20 myself, so I'll be sure and use them for fire starters or something worthy.  I did have a really sweet surprise today; a woman I know in Australia bought my book, and she said she read it in a few settings. She said it was well written, and though she saw a few mistakes, it didn't take anything away from her experience. She didn't know her Scottish history well enough to know that Oliver Cromwell had died many, many years before Culloden, so he couldn't have led that charge. That was good news. She pointed out to me that she would like to see a sequel to see how Ewan and Aria make out down the road  -- no worries there. I'm working on it in my head. I have about two more books to write before I can write that one. 

    I really do need to be rich so I can just write. I need that in my life. Thank you for your patience with me. I appreciate it. I really do.

Photo Credit: ME

Galashiels, The New Plan.

 Where I damn well love Edinburgh, and in fact, it is my favorite city, there is no way I would want to live there on a permanent day-to-day basis. First of all, if I did, the poor man I pray for would be torn between pulling his beard out or diving off of Arthur's Seat, and I really don't want him feeling stressed; nope, only blessed. I think it's best, for his sake if nothing else, that I make my plans to reside about an hour's distance by train, to the city of Galashiels, in the Scottish Borders. I'll tell you why. 

    Galashiels, like Avon, Indiana, is really an amazing little place that is both affordable and beautiful in its own right.  Galashiels is not very big, but it's the same size as Avon, maybe a bit smaller, but it has all the shops I'd need, and it's smack dab in the middle of the moors, streams, dwellings, estates, and historical places that I would have so much fun visiting.  There's even a museum of sorts for a $7,000,000, 143-panel tapestry of the history of Scotland, which of course, I would have to see.  If I had to go to Edinburgh (she says with a giggle), which I would be going, it's only about 54-60 minutes by train, as mentioned, and the train is a great way to travel! I would simply love it. I wouldn't need a car, but I may rent one after learning to drive in the UK. I wouldn't drive the said car to Edinburgh or Glasgow, but I would drive around the moors and backways. I would do that. I would visit the sheep and coo.

    Galashiels' prices are amazing compared to Edinburgh and, really, compared to a lot of places.  The same two-bedroom and one-bath apartment I could buy for (I have to use USD since I don't have a symbol for the British Pound on my keyboard) $90,000 would cost me 3x that in Edinburgh. No, thank you. Yes, I would be closer to the castle, but I can see it on my trips once or twice a month.  Yes, I would be closer to the Royal Mile, the Surgeon's Hall, etc., but again, I can visit those. They aren't going anywhere. $11.00 train ride (times two, as I would be returning) would be worth the price of not driving myself, not paying for insurance, and not paying for a car payment if I chose to not get a car and not pay for gasoline or maintenance. Why in the hell do I have a car? I'm really thinking this through now, aren't I? 

    I would most likely (very likely) live in a flat downtown and rent for $650 a month for a two-bedroom, one-bath flat. Not kidding. It's unfurnished, but it has the "whites" or the appliances, and it has a bathtub. I'm not going to rent anything that doesn't have an actual tub. That's just silly talk right there. The same apartment in Edinburgh would be $1100+, and it would not necessarily have a bathtub as they have closets for bathrooms, and sometimes, no, I am not kidding, the sink and toilet are in one closet while the shower is in another. In Galashiels, I would have a regular flat, no crazy tourist noises, no crazy nightlife noises, and I could lease a horse. Yes, I could lease a freakin' horse! But, I would have to find someone who wouldn't mind me riding said horse western style. That may be harder than I think. I may have to buy my own horse now that I put my brain to it. 

    Galashiels has been a burgh since 1599 and has a "Braw Lads' Gathering" with riders on horseback running through town, and they're not all boys now. There are quite a lot of horse enthusiasts there. I like that. Sir Walter Scott built his enormous estate just outside of Galashiels; it's too amazing. There's one university there, the Heriot-Watt University, a school for textiles and design. I could ask if they need a general ed professor, one who visits and teaches Philosophy, Logic, Humanities, Composition, and/or Romance Novel writing. I could do that. The thing is, I'm going to be a claims adjuster, work really hard throughout the summer and early autumn, then take off and rent in Galashiels this coming year or early next, and when I do, I'll have the withal to figure out if I want to stay or just have extended visits.

    I can write, I can trade, I can lecture. I don't have to be paid. I can volunteer as long as I'm, again, not being paid, and I can research my books. I can stay up to six months without needing a visa, and with the claims adjuster gig, I can find sponsorships. I could stay! I don't know if I want to yet, but I could; the thing is, I could IF I wanted to. I think what I'll do is take it one pass at a time. I'll go, I'll hang out, maybe stay 5-6 months this time, and see what I think I could handle. I passed on Fife because I really think I want the moors over the sea. I know that sounds incredibly silly to some, but I'm a land lover, a woodsy kind of girl - - I like castles, trees, creeks, and streams over larger bodies of water. I like the architecture of the Scottish Borders over what I've seen in Fife. (Don't get me wrong, I love the Kingdom!)

    This is my plan. It's something I can hang onto and dream about. I could wake up, walk the town, get my coffee, get my steps in, research, talk to people, and hang with the horses and the dogs. You really can't get better - - unless you take the train to Edinburgh and stare at musicians in the park; not all of them, just you know...interesting men with guitars and stories to tell through their music.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com 

Let's Talk About Change. (Career Change)

 I'm in the middle of studying for my State Farm adjuster's certification, but I thought I would take a break from all the reading and videos to write a few words about the real change and the reality of that change. This is something YOU can do if you want to, that is, if you're healthy enough and all that. I wouldn't want to be accused of saying EVERYONE can do it. It's a good gig, and you can get it, but it does take umpf, and it does take networking, study, and the willingness on your part to put yourself out there.

        OK, so recently, I have been added to over 10 separate IA firms, which are Independent Adjuster firms. They are the people who go out when there's a large event such as a hurricane, tornado, fire, or flood.  Most of the adjusters who come out to the properties are IAs or Independent Adjusters. Then, there are people like me, who are both independent and working from home in our jammies. We are desk adjusters. We can be staff (working for a company) or independent. Currently, I am registered as a W2 for a company, so technically, I'm employed, but I won't be paid until I am sent out, so I'm continuing my search for a company that will hire me and use me (first train me) to work basic hours throughout the week until there is a major weather event. I can choose to go on the deployment or not. As a staffer, I may be compelled to go, but I can always quit and either find another company that won't force me, or I can quit and make so much more as an independent. 

    The thing about this job is I have so much more control than I would in any other field. I'm not saying you should tell the employer to take a hike or anything like that, but you have choices. If you really don't want to work 6 or 7 days a week for 10 or 12-hour shifts, then you say no, and if they insist, you have options. The good news is, even during the deployment of the weather event, as an independent, you can choose to take whatever or how many claims you want to work and be paid on a fee schedule. The higher the claim, the more you are paid. The average claim pays about $450, and you split that 70/30 or 60/40 with the IA firm.  So a $500 claim would net you $350 or $300, but you do at least two of those a day, and usually more after you get your tech down.  So, on a conservative basis, you make $600-1000 a day.  If you're a staffer, you make $48 an hour, 40 hours, and time and a half over 40 hours.  You do the math. (At 7x12=84, that's 40 at $48=1920, and then the overtime is 44 hours x 60 = $2640. Are you serious?) There is tax, and it is real, but as an IA, you are 1099 and should already know that.

    OK, so yeah, working that many hours for more than a few weeks would be insane, and it would burn anyone out, so as an IA, you can pull away from it, and go back in when and if they allow you through either the same company or the next. Remember, the companies all have their own contracts, their own splits, and you need to be flexible. That's why you register with 10 rosters. You can go back and forth and be cordial, polite, loving, kind, and good, and every one of them will want you back for your expertise. Keep it together at the front; know that whatever stress you're under will pass.  Remember,  you don't have to take a deployment. You can do daily work too if you want. You don't have to push your own envelope to the max. You can just sit at home, work daily auto collisions, storms, freezing, wind, and hail; you can call the shots.

    Quick overview.  You want to get started; what do you do? (a) go to www.iapath.com and let Chris Stanley walk you through it. Go to YouTube and watch AdjusterTV (Matthew Allen) and let him and his guests help you. Go to YouTube and watch CNC (Catastrophe & National Claims) videos. They have connections with State Farm, and you can get your certifications through them if you are hired, or you can go through AdjusterPro.com or Alacritysolutions.com.  There are really so many ways. Just write down all the rosters you're on so you don't get confused when someone out of the blue calls you and wants to send you to another state.

    Before you actually go out, you'll need your state's adjuster's license. If your state doesn't require it, get the Florida license. You have to have one. You'll need several in the future, but the companies will help you get that, and some have discounts with AdjusterPro when it comes to paying for said licenses. Think which states have catastrophe events: Florida, the Carolinas, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas, but Hurricane Sandy hit much higher up the coast. Then there are tornadoes. There are fires. There are blizzards, freezing things, and snow-weight-breaking things in the eastern states. You'll likely stay pretty busy and be paid well.

    One question I get asked is, what about benefits? Let me ask you. If you're making that kind of money, do you think you can afford your own benefits? I think you can. I want to be W2 and on the desk for at least a year, but if I'm being hired by who I think I'm being hired by (and will find out soon), I will likely stay on staff, work the gigs given to me, and be happy with the day to day work. If I get a deployment and have to work 12 hours a day for weeks on end, I think I would do that to save money, but not do it full time all the time. I like the choices, and I like the freedom. I really, really like the coffee, and my wardrobe.  I may have to go on Amazon and find me some more pretty PJs. 

  

 Photo Credit: Amazon.com

    

Happy Birthday Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!

     You know you've arrived when kids dress up as one of your best and beloved characters and when people say things like, "No shit, Sherlock," when they are berating one of their closest friends.   There is an entire Wikipedia page devoted to my favorite author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and you can find it here at this link: Arthur Conan Doyle - Wikipedia He was an amazing man. 

    Now, just to be fair, I need to tell you a bit about the man before I go off and tell you that today is his birthday and tell you that he was born (of course) in my favorite city of all time, Edinburgh, Scotland.  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was NOT always a writer. Most people have no idea whatsoever that he was first educated at the University of Edinburgh School of Medicine and that he is really so so so much closer to the character of Dr. John Watson than he would ever have been considered as resembling the character of Sherlock Holmes. Why people (mostly those who only read one or two of his books) think that he wrote as if he himself was Sherlock is flat beyond me. First of all, Sherlock is tall, thin, gangly, and has a peckish nose. He was clean-shaven and smoked chronically.  Not so much with Dr. John Watson. Besides, the narrator is the one who really steals the thunder if you ask me.

    Doyle was born with another middle name, that of Ignatius. What? Yes, it's true. I didn't know that until recently, just like I didn't know until recently that Sherlock Holmes has a brother! He does! For more about him, you'll need to read the books. Today is NOT Sherlock's birthday; it's Arthur's birthday.  His mother, Mary Foley, was an Irish Catholic, and his father, Charles Doyle, was English, but he, too, was Irish or had mostly Irish descendants. Today, if Arthur Conan Doyle were to take a popular DNA test, he would not show up as being Scottish at all! That's incredible to think, really, considering he is one of the most recognized Scotsmen ever. 

    Before he was an author, he was a successful doctor. Born in 1859, he was just 17 years old when he attended University. After nearly five years, he graduated and worked as a practicing assistant to licensed doctors, what we would call a P.A. today. He also studied botany, thinking he may want to go into the field of the apothecary to blend and make medicines for healing.  While he was studying, he wrote short tales, and one or two were published in Blackwood's Magazine, creating a stir among some of his colleagues and professors. I can only imagine!  In 1879, he published a serious medical article in the British Medical Journal titled "Gelsemium as a Poison."  It was considered so well written and studied that police wondered if he may have given a suggestion to would-be killers!

    In 1880 before he graduated, he was considered a doctor in training, and he was the ship doctor of a whaling ship called the Hope of Peterhead. Yeah, not the best name, really. I think I could think of something else. He later became a ship's surgeon on a ship called the SS Mayumba on its way to the West African coast. This guy got around! He had so many wild and exciting adventures; it's no wonder he was able to pen (literally with ink) the books he did, the stories he told, and the many, many shorts that people rarely even know about. You say his name, and people instantly think of Sherlock. That's fair, but Peyton Manning played for the Denver Broncos as well as the Indianapolis Colts.  Doyle had many, many sides.

    The house where Doyle was born has been demolished and is now part of a street right in the middle of the Royal Mile area or close to it in central Edinburgh. It's actually an area called Edinburgh City Centre. There is a pub nearby bearing his name, and there is a plaque so people can at least know where he was first introduced to the world. I wonder if people realized that the man was quite stocky and was considered a bigger man. He wasn't fat, but he was hefty. He played goalkeeper, rugby, and cricket, and he loved to bowl. Bowling in Scotland isn't the same as it is in the U.S., but he excelled at it; would we expect anything less?

    He met, fell for, and married a woman named Louisa Hawkins. She was the mother of two of his children; when she died of tuberculosis in 1906, he had been nursing her for quite a long time. It was during her last year of life that Doyle met Jean Leckie and subsequently fell in love with her. He maintained a plutonic relationship throughout the last year of his wife's life, but soon afterward, he and Jean were married. This upset friends and family, but they felt it best to be together and not to live apart in a "game-like relationship," as one family member coined it. Jean and Arthur had three children together, and not one of these five children had any offspring! This is incredibly sad for the world when you think bout it. There are no direct descendants of the man.

    Well, it is with great esteem and honor in my heart that I say (and sing) Happy Birthday to the man, the writer, the doctor, and the legend who is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Today, he would have been 164 years old -- but he died in 1930 at the age of 71.  His life and death are discussed in my new book "Murder Book," and I can't wait to write that/those chapters. I am really looking forward to it. I believe tribute is deserved.  I can't tell you how happy I was to have graduated on this day in 1979 from high school. As President of the Literary Club, the date did not escape me.

    Photo Credit: Wikipedia

Claims Adjuster it is! Let's Go!

 There's something to be said about being off work and having a plan to either work or write another book. I'm in the middle somewhere, where I know I need to work, but writing another book is fun and challenging. I don't know that I can give it my full attention now, but there will be a time soon when I can give it more of my time, just not today.  I'll explain.

    I've been licensed as an insurance agent for way too many years to count. I got my first license in 1983, so yeah, I'm really old. I have been around claims for that long, and I've worked them in that I've assisted people in filing them. I've filed a few of my own. I've been the paralegal on several cases, and I know the "ropes," as it were, but I have never been an actual adjuster. I've written estimates that came in from a contractor. I've gone over estimates to be sure that policy coverages are accurate. I just never put myself in the actual position before. Now, I want to do that year-round.

    Hurricane season is from August to November; that's a time when claims adjusters are needed, and they are paid well, I might add. Granted, they are sometimes working upward of 60-70 hours a week, but at $32/hour plus time and a half for any overtime, you're talking pretty good pay.  It's not about the money, but about the assignment, about helping everyone, about being a part of a team, about being needed and useful, and yeah, it pays well, so that's an added benefit. 

    I wanted to be a Claims Adjuster for years but didn't really take the time necessary to find out how to do it. This is my chance! This is my time! I'm doing exactly that. I was on the fence, after being released from an assignment, whether I wanted to try to get back into Securities, which I absolutely love, or if I wanted to try my hand at being a Claims Adjuster. I don't have to be a Catastrophic Claims Adjuster; there are so many other jobs out there, but it would make sense to get my feet wet (no pun intended) and get on a team where I can get my hands dirty and I can dig in fully, using whatever skills and experience I have to offer.

    Yesterday I decided to call a few, email a few, post a few things on LinkedIn, and try to reach out to as many IA's or Insurance Adjuster firms as I could. I wrote to about 12, I think. I gave them my resume, explained myself and what I had to offer. I did receive a few nods, and one of them even sent me a dashboard to sign into so that I could take their free lessons, studies, and training modules and keep track of it. When I do finish all the mods, I'll be certified, and even if they don't hire me, I'll have that/those certification(s).  It shows I have an interest and am willing to put in the effort. I also have a license in my home state. I'll need to write to other states to get those as well. I'll likely go with Texas, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, and South Carolina, and, yes, Alabama. You can't forget them.

    Hurricanes are a nasty business, but then again, so are tornadoes! In the Northern states, they have blizzards, ice, water damage, wind, and hail mostly. There are fires and water damage on the west coast all the way up from Baja to Seattle. Here in the Plains, we have tornadoes (we don't call them "twisters" no matter who wrote the movie and said we did.)  So there's work to go around. There are downtimes, of course, and with the money, I'll be making, I'm thinking I'll vacation in Edinburgh during those lull times. You know, or maybe you didn't know, there are catastrophic events in Great Britain as well; not as many, but I could lend myself out to them for a year or two. No problem. I'll volunteer.

    Let me tell you how I found the company that sent me the modules. I was watching a YouTube video about where to begin as a desk adjuster because there is a difference between a desk adjuster and a field adjuster. I knew I would want to be riding a desk and not climbing all over the war-torn buildings trying to figure things out from the ground.  The video had three employees discussing the differences, and they were really fun and informative. I wrote to all three members of the team, and one got back with me. He asked for my resume, and I sent it. He sent it to HR, and that got the ball rolling. 

    I interviewed THREE times with a company last week about becoming a desk adjuster for them, but apparently, they want someone who already has the experience; well, good luck with that!  You see, if a person has the experience, they are already working either for themselves, or they are a staff adjuster somewhere with the income, benefits, and team they love. You (employers) need to take the hint and hire people (like me) who are willing to spend time learning YOUR way of doing it.  It only makes sense. One of the people I interviewed with actually cut down the company I am now working through, and I thought to myself, "OK, that's another reason to give the company a chance. I don't believe they're bad. If they'll give me a chance, they have something going for them; insight."

    So, that's the plan. For the next several weeks, I'll be working basically 8 hours a day learning what I can do to become a good desk adjuster for not only catastrophic situations but property, auto, boats, and such. I'll continue to apply at places, but if the company that gave me the study materials is able to hire me full-time and with a W2 and benefits, they get my vote. I'm loyal to those who are loyal to me. I guess I'm old-fashioned that way, but you know what, I'm good with it.

Photo Credit: Worldatlas.com

Irn Bru!

 If you've been to Scotland, you've seen Irn Bru. You may not have realized what it was that you were looking at, but you had to have seen it. It's everywhere!!  You can call Irn Bru a soft drink, but you can also call it a replacement liquid for antifreeze and not be too far off from the truth. OK, I'll be serious for a minute and say I'm joking, I don't really want anyone to use Irn Bru as a replacement for their winterizing, but at the same time, it tastes what I think radiator fluid would actually taste like. NO, I don't have any actual experience with drinking that. No emails, please.

    When I first went to Scotland, I naturally wanted to try literally everything that was typically Scottish. All tourists do what tourists do. When someone comes to Oklahoma, they want to see the Zoo, they want to see our football teams, they want to take in a BBQ and a rodeo. It's what you do. So, there I was, in the first convenience store that I happened into, and I saw the bright orange bottle being sold in the soft drink aisle (actually, it was an end cap) and I bought a bottle. To my surprise, the convenience store wasn't like a 7-11 or Quik Trip here, it wasn't that overpriced, and you don't pay the extra 8-9% tax when you get to the register, so the price of 80P was that, 80! Not quite a quid. I don't know what they sell for now.

    I didn't pop it open and down it right there; I remember my friends saying it was better when it was cold, so I took it to the hotel and I put it in the little fridge. When I say little fridge, I mean, "Oh. My. Gosh. That's terribly small." I can't shake that part of the UK; it's just there. Tiny, tiny refrigerators. I put the Irn Bru into that box, and I let it sit for a few hours. When I came back from my first day of touring and being a typically obnoxious visitor, probably asking way too many out-of-the-question questions, I decided to settle down with my first authentic bottle of Scotland's "other" national drink. I'm not a whiskey drinker, so this was my jam...except no, it was not.

    I was SO underwhelmed by the taste of the favorite drink in my adopted land that I was upset with myself for feeling the way that I felt. I tried it a second time. I thought maybe I had just been...you know, unprepared. Nope. The second time it hit my tastebuds was not any better, and it was this time that I absolutely realized that the sugar content must be something only a toddler would do; but then again, I realized that someone thought it up, someone else agreed, and they made it. They made it, they continue to make it, and they distribute it....everywhere. 

    I was told that the Irn Bru I had in 1982 is different than the recipe they have now; this is because a man complained about it being bad for the national health of Scotland. This particular man must have some pull; he was popular enough to garner the attention of the powers that be to literally change the recipe to force the A.G. Barr company in Cumberland to dramatically decrease the sugar levels in their own patented soft drink. I don't actually like sugared drinks, and I'm from the South. I don't put sugar in my tea, which I think is actually considered a sin where I come from, but nevertheless, I'm one of the VERY VERY few who would prefer Irn Bru with less sugar. (That is if I could get past the actual taste.)

    When in Rome! PLEASE, don't let me discourage you from going to Scotland and trying the Irn Bru. You may love it. You may end up buying so many bottles and trying to get past Customs. I don't know. You may think it's the best thing EVER, but I just think it looks pretty (it's orange), and it should remain sealed and in its little bottle; they have cans too, but you can't see the liquid inside the cans. I think, if I remember my history, that the drink was developed around the same time that Coke was invented, and it may or may not have been used for medicinal purposes. I can see using it to start a campfire...or warding off evil spirits. That being said, the locals say it is the best hang-over drink and that it will bring you straight back to reality!

    For years the makers of Irn Bru tried to keep the ingredients a complete secret, but the bigger distributors (mainly the US and Canada) demanded to know the full list of ingredients before allowing it to be sold in our respective countries. I've seen it in a few stores, but I've never stopped and looked at the packaging to see if the ingredients are listed. I do remember reading on the package that the drink could have an adverse effect on children's behavior! WHAT? Yes, that's always good to know; good to share! Gotta love their honesty. If you do try it, and you don't like it, it's OK. No one will be sad about it. No one will try to convince you that you're wrong. You like what you like. If you love it, you could find a few new friends with really cool accents. Just sayin'.

Photo Credit: Walmart.com

Still Making Plans.

 If you know me, and you should by now, I'm a planner. My plans have plans. I put things I want to do on paper first, (usually), and then I write them in my journal, which, again, is paper. I may end up blogging about it. I may end up just doing it, but my plans are well formulated before I just jump off the cliff, thinking I can fly. Nope. I will not jump off any cliffs without first strapping on the latest and greatest set of mechanical wings ever to be seen on this Earth. (Even then, the cliff would have to be something like 8 feet in height so I didn't kill myself.)

    One of my plans is to move out of my apartment where my dear, sweet, kind-hearted, loving, annoying, obnoxiously loud, and stinky daughter Laura lives. Why do I say those things about her? They are all true! I love the stuffings out of all of my kids, and of all of my three kids, she's the ONLY one I could ever actually live with. It's just that I've lived with this person FAR FAR FAR too long. We're roommates; she's not mooching off of me, but still. She's gotta go, and if she's not gonna go, I'm gonna go! (LOVE YOU, SWEETIE!)

    It just seems that every freaking time I have an actual plan to move out from under her or force her to move out from under me (We both want the two-bedroom apartment that we currently live in now.), something drastic happens that changes all of our well-thought-out plans! She may lose her job, and I can't kick her out, or I may lose my job, and she can't kick me out. There may be a pandemic! I hope that never happens again, and there could be a situation where the housing market rises, and people leave the city! That's where we really are today, to be honest. 

    The housing market skyrocketed recently, and there's no way in hell I'm going to pay those prices. It's just not going to happen. I will have to stay with the woman until my last breath, but I'm not paying what they're asking. NOPE.  There seems to be a way out of it, though -- and I'm learning more about that loophole every single day. I am about to accept a position where I will work from home, and when that happens, I'll be able to work from home ANYWHERE.  I worked from home during my last stint (3 months), but I had to go into the office from time to time. The position I'm hoping to get, and will blog about later, is 100% remote. It's so remote my team, if I get that team, has six people, and we all live in different states. (Wisconsin, Florida, New Jersey, Texas, California, and me, Oklahoma) Crazy!

    OK, so the thing is, I'll likely stay in Oklahoma, but I don't have to. I may end up moving to another state, but probably not. If I did, I would lose both my best friends and my family, so why not move to Scotland at that point? Right? (Because it's an American company, and I'm not sponsored to live in Scotland, but if I also taught at a university as a visiting professor, I could do that! See...plans!)

    If I did move out, rather than forcing the red-headed spawn to leave, I would probably move to a rural area with a good-sized center of town with shops, restaurants, churches, and grocery stores. There has to be at least one Walmart, Dollar General, or Family Dollar; that's a must. There must be a Braum's. If you live in this area, you understand me. There doesn't have to be a Sonic, but it would be nice to have one. I will not live without Braum's unless I'm in Scotland. That could possibly be harder to live with than missing my kids and best friends. If you live in this area of the country, you'll understand.

    So, I live in Oklahoma City right now. Right in the middle of the capital city, and as I was telling my daughter, I don't really do anything here because I've already done it 1000 times. I don't go anywhere other than where I go, and that is limited to shopping for food, pretending I own a place while walking the aisles of Home Depot, and I often go to the mall with my son, but only with my son because I can't get the red-head to do squat! My little one lives 115 miles away, we Facetime, and she's coming by today to drop off kids for me to babysit. LOVE IT.  I wish I could do that more often, actually. 

    I live in the city and would have to move somewhere about 30-40 miles out of the city in order to get better prices on a house the very same size, shape, age, and condition as I would expect to buy here, but it is literally 50-60% cheaper when you go to the outskirts. You can't argue with the numbers. It's STUPID to pay $150k for a house that you can get for $75K if it's the same size, shape, age, and condition about 30 miles out. You can't pick your neighbors wherever you go, but you can check the crime rates and pretty much get about the same type of safety and protection for the half-price house as well.

    I know what you're thinking - - if you're not from around here anyway, you're thinking what kind of a house would sell for $150K let alone $75K? Well, in Oklahoma, you can get a decent brick 2 bed/1 bath home with an attached or detached garage; it's also likely to have 16 huge trees or stumps. You'll find that most of the real estate in our neck of the woods is a lot (a LOT) cheaper than in the rest of the United States. Even down in Texas, the same $150K won't get you that. It may get you a two-horse barn.  This is another reason to stay in the Sooner State. I'm not a materialistic or needy person. I'm much more like a cave dog. I just need something small and cozy. I do cozy really well. 

    The benefits of moving out of town are: it's so much quieter. SO SO SO much less traffic, less drama, less irritating people, and less everything negatively associated with being in a big city.  The downfalls? It's quiet, nothing happens, and there's no one really to argue and fuss with. BUT...you can have more dogs!! Oh yes, you can have six or seven dogs, and NO ONE complains. I won't do that. I'll have two....well, maybe three, but I won't be that woman who has ten, I promise. I have to be sure there's a vet and a hospital close enough too. 

    Some of the areas I'm thinking about are Kingfisher, El Reno, Noble, Shawnee, Choctaw, and/or Chandler. They all have a Braum's, are near a hospital, they have access to a highway which can take me to a good line of stores and shopping, and they are far enough out that I can pay less and have the same amount. I like that. They all have a bunch of churches too, but I think I'll stick with my online preacher. I like him a great deal, and whenever you walk into church without a husband these days, you're either talked about or hit on...neither of which seems appealing to me. 

    So that's my plan. I'm making plans. I think I'll start now so that in six months, when it's ready to make it happen, I can call my good buddy Jeff Straka and have him find me a good house to live in for the rest of this life anyway. I don't think he's really in charge of the one I will have after this life. I just don't see that happening. I happen to think that may be what Dad is doing right now; fixing up my place in Heaven so that when I do get there, it will already be full of love. Sigh...

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

Link to Movoto (Real Estate site) see for yourself: https://www.movoto.com/

I Don't Do Tours.

 I've been thinking about going back to Scotland again, and again, and again, but the thing I never do, and what I won't do, no matter if it is in Scotland or Rhode Island, is to go on a paid tour (or free) to be told about a place. Nope. That's why God made books, plaques, and other clues that could lead you to and from whatever you're looking at. I should say whatever I'm looking at because, apparently, others (lots of others) really enjoy their tours.  I just can't see myself sitting on a bus being told about this or that, nor can I see myself in a group of people following some costumed character whose acting skills are highly annoying to me so that I can learn about something. I'll either explore it on my own, or I'll research it and take a friend so I don't fall head-first down a shaft.

    True stories ahead. This may or may not surprise you. I have to wait to see if the statutes of limitations have run out in England and/or Scotland before I give up too many clues and such, but at least I can extend the dates to match whatever statutes of limitations have expired....or would have expired if the dates I give were correct.  In 1987 I decided to visit a museum in western Oklahoma to see their display of Temple Lea Houston, only to find out that the curators had not set one up. All of Temple's things were in boxes and just sort of stacked or sitting next to other things he owned in the back rooms of the museum. I wasn't having it. Nope. I hid in the men's bathroom after the ladies who run the place thought I had left the building. They locked me in, and I set up their display with little cards and everything. I snuck out in the morning, and there you go - - one ready-made display; you're welcome. (They actually did thank me.)

    My mom and I went to see a mansion that belonged to an oil mogul who just happened to be our state's governor as well. There were areas marked with signs telling us (and everyone) to stay out of this or that room.  Right. That's just such an invitation!  I not only visited every room, corner, staircase, and nook that was off-limits, I found that others had done the same. There were notes left by some of them, and I left a note as well. A dangerous game, really, seeing how an authority figure could retrace my handwriting and find me. It never happened, but I did see more than what was out there to be seen. I learned about passageways in the "house" and places where the man more than likely kept "visitors".

    While in Scotland, I ventured through the Surgeon's Hall and was strictly told by a curator type not to go into this or that room. He pointed with his finger. I simply told him later (when I was caught) that I didn't have a good angle as to which two doors he was referring to. He wasn't pleased. I was. I saw things I'm sure were a bit too morbid (definitely) than what was displayed. Let me just say that place fascinates me, and it grosses me out to the absolute max, but I'll go every time I get the chance. It's so so so interesting.   I won't and wouldn't try this at Buckingham Palace for two reasons; I can't stand the Royals, and I'm not stupid.  I will try this, and have, at other places of residence belonging to people of a more....shall we say...Scottish nature. Think Stirling Castle....think Abbotsford. 

    It's not that I'm a complete diabolical fiend who can't obey rules; that's not it at all. I just like to see the actual artifacts, all of them, or as many as I can possibly find. I'm very respectful with things, never stealing them, never borrowing them; can't really say that, but mostly I don't. I did borrow a book owned and read by Temple Houston. He even drew little pictures on it. I borrowed it, and yes, I returned it. I'm very nice like that. I didn't take anything from Sir Walter Scott's home, I promise. I did touch things that weren't on display. I told myself over and over again that no matter how rich I became as a writer, I would never have such a house, and I mean that. I could feed too many poor people, rescue too many animals, and just do so much more good.  I'm a cave dog. I don't need opulence to feel complete. 

    OK, that's it, but it isn't. I've never enjoyed taking in someone else's preplanned story or tale about a place. I like to look for myself and learn all I can. I'm thinking of deep diving into Loch Ness, but there's the whole I can't really swim that well, and I can't hold my breath very long thing. I may have to wait until someone with better lungs and equipment does it for me. I have to wait, but hopefully not for very long. Since Tony Broonford told us that Loch Ness is deeper than the North Sea, I'm more than curious about what it holds. I wait....just not very patiently.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com  (Abbottsford House)

I'm From the South Y'all

 I still can't figure out why we don't all agree on how to spell words like "Y'all" and "Thingymabopper" because it's really not rocket science.  If people from the North can figure out how to spell "do-dad," I think the rest of us can get on the same page with one another and stop misspelling really important words. I saw a book the other day at Barnes & Noble that had to have been written by a Yankee because the words "fixin' to" were spelled "fixing to" as if...c'mon now!  There ain't a single soul in the South who has ever been fixing to do anything - - nope! We're always fixin' to do it. 

    That's another thing; if you hear someone from the South say, "that's another thing," it's not the beginning of a sentence, friend. There's a pause, maybe even three invisible dots, but she or he is not starting a new sentence; we are either closing up the last one or extending it. That part is subjective, but yeah, we're not saying something new. We're pointing something else out to you. I just thought I'd throw that out there.

    I was watching a show recently, and I'm trying to figure out which one it was; it was one of the new CBS dramas; I know that much.  During the show, a black man was killed, and his family was planning the funeral.  The family lived in the South.  When the FBI guy or cop questioned the wife, she said something like, "Oh, there ain't gonna be a funeral at the church; he's being cremated."  This piece of information just hit me squarely between the eyes, and I said verbally and out loud in front of God and everyone in the room, "No, that's not right! Poor writing right there!"  Then, a few seconds later, the new star of the show reiterated my thoughts. He came back with, "No, that's wrong. That man is black. He's a Baptist, and this is the South! How is he gonna go up in the Rapture if he's cremated?"  LOL...I couldn't stop laughing.

    The Rapture aside, because Jesus will call up every molecule from fishbait to cremations, but still, the man was black, he was from the South, and he was a Baptist. Yeah, there's not gonna be a cremation unless his woman is MAD MAD MAD....and she was. It was her way of getting back at him for having an affair, I think.  The same way my mom used to tell my brother if he didn't tuck his shirt in, she was going to sew lace on the bottom of it. Gotta love those Southern mommas!  I am one. I didn't have that problem, but I do remember telling my daughter she needed to say thank you before I pulled out her tongue, and she couldn't do it.

    Recently, and by that, I mean a few minutes ago, I took an American Dialect Quiz to see where the computer says I'm from using the words I choose to use. Some of the questions were just silly, and I thought there was no way anyone would call something as simple as a can of pop something dumb like soda or soft drink. I mean, I get the "Coke" thing, but I don't say that. A soft drink comes in a cup at Sonic! (best ice) Soda is something you bake with; again, c'mon!  They say the English language is the hardest one to learn, and this is why! That, and we spell our parent's female sibling "aunt" when we say "ant" and stuff like that. 

    By the way, I'm from Oklahoma, which some say isn't a Southern state. They, and anyone else who thinks that to be true, would be flat wrong. We're absolutely South of the Mason-Dixon Line, and that makes us South. There are rules, you know, and we follow them. We're also a Western state because we're WEST of the Mississippi River. Hell, we're west of the Arkansas River too. We're definitely a Western state. Oklahoma is a Southwestern State, albeit it's the most Northeastern Southwestern state there is. There are rules, but there are also boundaries. We get that.

    Oklahoma, in case you didn't know, is on top of Texas. You can look at any map you want to look at, and you'll see it. God did that. God knew what He was doing too. God put Oklahoma on top of Texas, and when Texas thought it would extend its panhandle thick and wide going upwards toward Colorado, Oklahoma blocked it! That's right. We blocked it. Stay in your lane, Texas.  You're good, Colorado; we've got your back! There will be no assimilation at this point; nope.

    When we meet, you and I, and we have tea in the afternoon (yes, I'm also British in that my DNA fights for its rights to say I'm English or I'm Scottish. I'm literally the same amount of each with a bit of Italian and Iberian added in to behave myself.) you will notice that I have a Southern drawl. Mine is not as pronounced as others, but get my goat up a bit, and you'll hear me drop a few Southern charms that could cook your grits faster than a gnat can fly in your eyeball on a Spring evening. You're likely to hear me cussin' and fussin' if you wind me up too far, something I don't recommend, really, but if you're trying to see if I'm authentic or not, that's the best way to do it. Oh, and when I travel overseas (always to Scotland), you'll catch it too. I have NO idea why I sound so Southern when I hit the tartan moors. I just do.

    One of the best things about being from the South is that I have the patience of Job most of the time, and I'm really good at explaining things because I figure someone may not fully understand me the first several times I say it, so I'll just hunker down, blow out my cheeks, give a smile and ask if it needs to be gone over again....or not. You may hear me breathe out a bit of a sigh and whisper, "Bless his heart" to myself, but that's just Southern for "God, he's an idiot! Please be with that man!"  It's all good.  At least I'm usually smiling when I say it. If a Southern woman ever stops smiling and she stares at you, crosses her arms, and shakes her head - - run.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

I Love Dead People.

 This is me giving you a bit of an insight into my personality and what it is that I love. I love dead people. Yes, it is true; this woman loves the past, the history of everything, and with history comes (naturally) the deceased.  By loving dead people, what I mean is I find myself gravitating to a city or county graveyard where I can walk among the stones, reading them and thinking about the departed whose body is "resting" beneath the words shared about them.  I read the stones. I think about the person. I make up stories about them. I even pretend we have known each other while they were alive or when we were all in heaven before coming to Earth, you know, the normal weirdness that happens in the mind of a writer.

    I can, perhaps, lay the blame of my love for dead people squarely on my mother's shoulders as it was she who first took me to the cemeteries when I was young. She liked to see if she could find the oldest marker, the newest marker, the prettiest marker, the ugliest marker, and things of that nature. It was more or less her hobby, and who is to say if it was odd; I was a kid. I had no idea if it was weird or not. I know that for over 100 years, people have gathered at Edgar Allen Poe's grave to celebrate Halloween with him and/or people who liked his work. I know that's considered odd, but fun. I would do it. 

    When I was in my mid-20s, I went to the gravesite of Temple Lea Houston, the last son of General Sam Houston; it's in Woodward, Oklahoma.  I not only visited his grave, but I also spent the night in the museum, where most of his personal effects still remain. I, in fact, helped to set up the display that they used to showcase his personal and professional wares. That's a wonderful blog; I'll leave the link.  When I found Temple's gravestone, I was quite disappointed. It was too new. Yep, it was right out of the 1980s or maybe a bit earlier, but it wasn't from 1905, the year he ceased to be among the living. It didn't fit with the times, and it bothered me. It still does.  

    Bill Doolin and Elmer McCurdy's tombstones aren't my favorites either. They look like they are trying too hard to be old.  Elmer's was set to match Bill's, but neither of them is from the time of the men's deaths. (Albeit, it's true Elmer died in 1911 but was buried in 1977, there's that...another great story.)  When you walk the cemeteries as much as I do, you start to notice things, things that maybe others just don't see.  I see them. One of the things I see is the blue fake plastic/silk flowers that people buy, and I have a thing about them, too; I don't like them. I've commissioned my friend to steal every blue plastic/silk flower from the graveyard (when I do die), and she's to line my gravestone with them - - all of them. Because that way she can save money and I can have a good laugh.

    I find myself doing something else, too; when I look for a place to live in Scotland, I tend to find churches nearby so I can see if their cemeteries are worth walking through. Some places don't even have an old churchyard or kirkyard, and that just won't do. Just as important as it is for me to have a good grocery store within walking distance, I want to walk to a cemetery, MY cemetery, with MY dead people, and I want to meet my new "friends" on a regular basis. I have stories to tell and stories to listen to. I have a vested interest in that I am a writer and feel that they can help me fill in some of the blanks when I need to do so.

    I don't really care if the person I'm talking to at the time of the meeting was murdered or if they died of natural causes. When I run across a young child's grave, I stop and pray. I usually pray for the families and the sorrow that the child's death caused in the area; as you know, it had to be devastating. We, among the living, can learn a lot from the dead if we just learn to be patient, listen, observe, and maybe do a bit of research.  What would we find if we could look inside the coffins? What would we see in terms of dress, attire, perhaps knick-knacks, important papers, jewelry, love notes, and more? I know they may all be just dust by now, but there was a time when...  Well, you fill in the blank.

Photo Credit: travelok.com

Link to the blog about me spending the night in the museum. 

https://judestringfellow.blogspot.com/2017/01/confessions-of-writer.html

Know Your Worth.

 We have had it drilled into our heads since we were very young not to toot our own horns. There's something to be said about it, sure, but there's also something to be known about knowing your own value.  I heard someone say once that if you don't know your value, you shouldn't expect anyone else to calculate it for you. They may know you're pretty cool, adequate, or even in most cases, better than average, but if you don't believe you are what you know you can be, then you have no one but yourself to blame when you constantly accept those insults that tend to cut you into pieces. Water on a duck's back, folks; let it go. 

    Today, I was turned down for yet another position where the company had advertised that they wanted someone with experience, know-how, and the ability to command a team; that's me in a nutshell, but they also wanted someone younger and yeah, if I was absolutely honest about it, they thought my name "Jude" belonged to a man.  When I met the recruiter face-to-face, the first thing she mentioned was, "Oh, I thought you would be a man." I asked if that was a problem, and she stated that the company was more male-centric. Her word.  Male-centric.  Is that even legal? No, it's not, but it happens.

    So, where I wasn't surprised that I wasn't offered the position, I didn't let them cut me down or use redundant paraphrases that have been near extinct since the mid-'90s. Words like "We're going in another direction" or "We were lucky enough to have several people with great qualities and experiences..." that's when you know they're lying. Most of us who have the experience, knowledge, skillsets, and qualities they're looking for are still employed. The wage they were offering didn't exactly scream "Career Change"; no one making that amount would leave, and anyone making more would never have even applied.  Shouldn't people be more honest about it? Oh wait...they can't be. They're not allowed to say, "You know, you're sixty, so...we think we'll pass."  The joke's on you.

    The average executive or manager these days who have had a few life experiences stays with a company for between three and five years. Four years is the average, folks. They spend time and money advertising the position. They spend time interviewing, vetting, then training.  If they don't have the money to pay the current employee what he or she deserves, they don't have the money budgeted to replace them either. That takes time, effort, and a  host of other unbudgeted costs.  

Another thing.  Companies like to interview and then take weeks to decide if they'll actually fill a position, hoping against hope that while they're waiting for upper management to make a decision, their worthy candidate isn't offered another position. It happens. I interviewed two weeks ago and hadn't heard a peep from the manager; I gave them a call.  I let them know I appreciated the opportunity to meet with them and to hear about the opening. The response I received was vague, basically thanking me for my time and wishing me good luck in the future. OK, but the guy you just made the offer to called me about five minutes ago and said he grew tired of waiting on you and went in another direction! (He was my former student and thought I deserved to hear what they said about me during his interview.)

    If they call me tomorrow, I'll let them wait two weeks before I make my decision. I'm not in any hurry to work outside of my house. If I can find employment remotely, that's my jam. I'm not dying on the vine, and they need to realize that we old folks have value and worth; we have the stamina and the ethics to be better employees. We were raised on stick-to-itness, and we often choose to work overtime without pay just to be sure we did the job correctly or that all the details are covered before we head home. Vintage employees are full, chock full of knowledge, been-there-done-that moments, and we don't always fall apart or throw out the baby with the bathwater. We fix things. We pull up our bootstraps, and we make things happen. We didn't get those trophies for showing up; we earned ours. (Then we put them in the drawer, not on a shelf to be seen or bragged about.)

    Yeah, it was a different time. It was hard. It was full of need-to-change, so we made that happen too. We have worth. I have worth. I know I do. I don't have to wait for someone to tell me how great I am. I don't even want to hear it. I don't want someone talking smack about me, and I don't want someone falling at my heels to follow in my big footprints, either. No one, not in a professional or personal relationship, is going to reveal something about me that I didn't already know about myself. I am me, and I have enormous value. It didn't come all at once, nor did it come without pain, suffering, and heartache. I worked for my credentials. I forged my way. If someone doesn't have the insight to consider me a part of their team - - I'm not part of their team. I can find one that doesn't need an adjustment to see what's standing right in front of them.

    I don't fit in many boxes; that's true. I am out there; I am contained. I am self-proficient, and I am self-motivated and driven. I don't need a rah-rah committee to boost my ego or tell me that "we're all in this together"; another term that only works when THEY want something. I'm who I am, and I won't change. You wouldn't need or want me to change. If I chose to change, I wouldn't be the one you could depend on, would I?  I am who I am, and that's enough.  God is to be praised. He made me.

Photo Credit: Redbubble.com