My Daughter the Handy-Woman!

     More than once, over the past few years, I've relied on Laura's abilities to watch a YouTube video or two on how to fix something, all the while hoping and even expecting her to actually fix something.  To date, she's batting a 1000! She's been able to turn a wrench, fix a fence, lube a machine that was making noise, fix a toilet handle, and even caulk the bathtub. She's awesome! 

    Today was absolutely no different. I took a shower when I woke up and noticed almost immediately that the hot water wasn't exactly hot. I mentioned it to her, and she had experienced the same thing the day before. We just bought this house! I wasn't happy at all that the hot water tank was going to be the first thing to go out on us after only one full month.  Believe me, I wasn't looking forward to calling the gas company to find out exactly what I needed to do. I know they have a crew that helps people relight pilot lights, but who wants to spend money if they don't need to?

    Laura, in her typical fashion, sat herself down and watched a few videos about it. She took a deep breath, went into the garage where the tank is, and she went over it a few times in her head, imagining what she would need to do. Then, she did it! She read a short article, watched a video, and when she hit a snag, she stepped back, watched another video, and fixed it. Bam!

    The water heater is an A.O. Smith 100, which is powered by gas, but the ignition is electric. There isn't a small viewing window to check whether the pilot is lit; there's a button that lights up! She followed the instructions and fixed it. We have no idea why it went out, but it did. We'll need to keep an eye out for ways and reasons this happens, but I'm absolutely certain she's gonna save us both a lot of money and a few headaches.

    I didn't want to just post it on Facebook; I wanted to blog about it. I want to brag about her openly. She's really handy, street-smart, and has a little know-how for just about everything that needs to happen to help life push its way through. She's a game-changer, a life-saver, a great friend, and an amazing daughter. I'm so very happy to have her, and I'm so very blessed to have her. Jesus knew exactly what I needed when He made her - and when He gave her to me.

Photo Credit: Me (one of my favorite photos of her)

NEW BOOK! "The Trust" Has Begun.

     The new book "The Trust" has begun. It is the 10th book in the Nick Posh series and, I believe, my 23rd book. I'd have to sit down and write them out to be sure, but I think it's my 23rd book. At least, if I do nothing else in my life, I can prove I was an author. When I was writing my first book, I was so thrilled, so scared, and ultimately so very green! I had no idea what I needed to do to start it, keep it going, finish it, publish it, print it, sell it, or anything else. To be honest, I ended up hating it and almost didn't write the 2nd book. The experience was harder than I could have imagined. If I had money, I could have worked through it much better, but life is life, and that just didn't happen.

    Now, because I've learned so much more in terms of what I can do on my own, and what I absolutely don't need from anyone else (publishers, editors, agents, etc.) I can write a book using Word, edit it using Grammarly and AI, and design the book cover on Canva before loading the interior and the exterior into a file with IngramSpark, creating my own book from scratch! This book is probably my 19th book (I think) that I've created entirely on my own. Again, I'd have to sit down and figure out the math on it, but it's around that. 

    "The Trust" is a book that will take the readers through the mill in one way, and up and down an emotional rollercoaster in another. It tells my own story as it relates to real estate hell, and it digs deeply and intentionally into the various disasters Laura and I had to endure just trying to buy a place for ourselves. The deceit, the lies, the half-truths, and the pressures put on us were tremendous. We didn't deserve any of it, but there we were, swimming in the muck with one hand raised, asking for help before going under, and the other hand holding onto my daughter as she had to face extreme choices due to the people we trusted to smooth the way for us into the path we believed we could achieve. 

    God. God and God alone achieved the end results for us. We are in the house we need to be in. We are now, finally, after more than nine months of extreme mental and financial abuse, in a house we love and will love for years to come. The journey was rocky, deeply pitted, and sometimes impossible to imagine. We were misled by those whom I had hired to guide me, and in the end, even those people appeared close to innocent compared to the owners of the house we first believed we'd own, and the previous owners of the same house - a trust. 

    What takes place in the book is NOT what took place in our lives. No one died in reality. No one purposely tried to wrangle our situation into chaos, but we felt as if we were spinning out of control more often than not. The book is an outlet for me; a therapeutic adventure. It is my way to let off the steam I allowed to build up during the agonizing time(s) I was dragged through the mud, pushed into the ropes, and made to jump through so very many unnecessary hoops - hoops that didn't need to be jumped through if the people I had trusted had just done their job to begin with.

    "The Trust" is a murder book, a look-the-other-way-before-you-get-pulled-in book. It's a hard book to write, but a good book to write at the same time. I can get rid of some of that nagging indigestion I've been holding onto due to the way we were treated. Maybe when it's over, and the book is on the shelves waiting for people to buy it, I will look back and see that my bottle of Pepcid and Mylanta don't need to be refilled. Maybe the people who did what they did will read the book and understand I could have said so much more than I did. I could have filed complaints and raised disciplinary flags for them, but I chose not to. I chose to write a fictional novel instead. (It's my way of giving the one-finger salute.) 

    I have written two chapters today. I don't have a deadline. I don't know when it will be finished. I'll write it as I feel led, and I'm sure it will be timely. I'm sure I'll stick with it, like I do with all my other books. I'm thinking by Christmas it will be out - that's not too far in the future; maybe that's a goal. At least I know this: I can relax in my new home, a home God was able to secure for me, and I can breathe better, eat better, and know that what I (we) went through will never happen to us again.

Photo Credit: Me.

FALL is Coming!!

     Too bad, John Snow. Before winter can come, we have the entire Fall season, and I don't care if I'm not supposed to capitalize a season; I do it anyway. I am such a rebel!  Fall, Fall, Fall, Fall, Fall... I'll even say Autumn, but I am a FALL person. I was born in the Fall, and I long for it all year round. I'm not a summer fan - nope, hate just about every aspect of the season. It's overrated, it's hot, it's humid, it's stifling, it stops me from exercising. It makes me sick to eat; I find myself with more and more physical ailments from mid-June to the end of September, but once the weather begins to cool and the breezes don't throttle me or make me feel like I'm stepping into an oven, I tend to truly relax.

    To celebrate this year like I never have before, I've decorated my front porch! I know, to some, that may sound really trivial, but when I say it is a landmark experience, I mean it.  For 40 years, I've waited to decorate my porch. I remember Halloween 1986. I was taking Reuben out to Trick-or-Treat at the tender age of 6 months, and so many homes were decorated. So many homes were colorful, beautiful, fanciful, and fun. I wanted that. I really, really wanted that, but it never happened.

    After 1986, I was feeding a baby, making just enough to pay the bills, not buying myself anything new, and barely scraping by. It got worse. I married, had two more kids, and found myself working and earning the money for the most part; even when the two of us were working, we couldn't afford more than maybe a cheap plastic wreath for the door, and I wasn't about to embarrass myself. I decided I wouldn't do it unless I could do it right - whatever "right" is.

    Well, 1997 rolled around and so did the divorce. (It happened at Thanksgiving, and let me just say, I'm still very grateful.) I had little money, lots of kids, more responsibility since I wasn't receiving a single penny from the ex, and my insurance didn't cover most of the things they came down with. I could see the pretty colors and nice decorations, the pillows, the crafty things at Hobby Lobby, at Michaels, and other stores, but I literally could not dole out $15-20 to make the door look good - let alone the porch if I had one.

    When I finally had a little money to spare after the kids grew up I didn't have a porch. I lived at one place in 2014, but it was a rental, and the owner asked me not to decorate; she was trying to sell the house, and she didn't want anything distracting from it.  Then I moved into an apartment. I guess I could have decorated the balcony, but only Laura and I would see it. That was 2015. We lived there for 10 years. Finally, in 2025, we moved to a house with two porches, but unfortunately, it was in an area where, if we put out a pumpkin, it would be stolen. We decorated a little inside.

    We moved to our home in El Reno in November, and I almost put out Christmas decorations, but after moving and all the things you have to pay for, I told myself no. I'll just do it in the summer when the 4th of July rolls around - that didn't happen. By the 4th of June, we were told we had to move out of that house- the house we believed was OURS and we had to not only save for the closing costs, but we also might not even have a house to live in if we couldn't fix every last issue FHA threw at us! To say it was overwhelming would be tantamount to saying the great flood was an inconvenience to most.

    NOW!!  Now, it is time. NOW, the house is ours. NOW, we can (and we did) actually buy decorations and put them outside on the porch, around the pole, over the bench, and in front of God and everyone in the neighborhood. I am so very very happy about. I knew I wouldn't go too overboard, but I also wanted to be sure to do the porch up so it looked warm, cozy, fun, and pretty. I think we achieved that. Jeannie and went to Ollie's Bargain in Yukon, and I bought most of the things you'll see. I'll have to use zip ties to hold up the leaves, but it's cute. I went to Walmart and bought the vegetables, and I already owned the little blanket.

    There you go! Oliver is dressed for the season to come. I'm not ashamed of putting up the decorations a couple of weeks early. No, I'm just really hoping that God will see them and decide to send a massive cold front. We need it. It's been over 95 degrees for over two solid months, and I'm just sick of it. Just down right done!  Bring on the frost. Bring on the sweaters. Bring on the pumpkin spice everything, and bring on the football. With OU winning their opener 51-0 over UTEP, I already feel a lot cooler than I did two days ago!! BOOMER!!

    If you have a dream - keep it. Don't let time or people tell you not to dream it. It may not be a big dream. It may not be a really expensive thing, but when you can't pay for it and you can't do it, you realize that there may be a day when you can. I found this to be true. I will let Oliver (my house) shine, and be the loved and beloved home that he was always meant to be. He's been a rental for many years, but no longer. He is in my family now, and he is beautiful.

Photo Credit: Me

Indigestion vs. Heart Issues

     It is really good to hear your PA say that you have less than a 2% chance of returning to the ER anytime soon with heart issues, but that's exactly why I went into the ER in the first place. It happens to me, and when it does, I take far too much time to react to it. Most people who feel like I felt for the past two days would have just gone in, had the tests run (bitten the financial bullet), and found out two days earlier than I did that they have less than a 2% chance of returning to the ER anytime soon with heart issues. I had acute indigestion - again.

    I say "again" because this was not the first time. Heck, it wasn't the 2nd, the 3rd, the 4th, or even the 5th time. I've been dealing with this stupid acid reflux and gastro problem on and off for years, and to be perfectly honest about it, it sucks! It really, really sucks. It sucks not only because it's painful, which it is, but it sucks because women don't always exhibit the same sort of symptoms a man presents when experiencing a cardiac event. (Look it up, I'm not lying.)

    Women die all the time from undiagnosed heart ailments that could have been diagnosed if we'd just go to the doctors and admit what we're feeling, but like me, most women think it's just another bout of indigestion, so we pop a Tums and think we'll be OK. If they're really like me, they'll rest, walk around a little, get on the vibration plate to shake things up, and take another Tums before going to the shower, and lie to themselves about it getting better. 

    Saturday morning I got up and worked about 40 minutes in the garage, moving things around and trying to get the last bits into the house so I could sort them. It was hot; I knew it was hot, but it was still early, and I felt as if I needed to get those last boxes into the house. We moved a month ago! I was determined to bring the last boxes into the house, and I did. I did, but at a cost.  The extra exercise, stress, and lifting stirred my gut a little, and then it began to churn. Over the next 48 hours, things got a little heated.

    I refused to go into the hospital yesterday even though ChatGPT was adamant that I do it. I couldn't talk my way out of it, so I told myself it was a machine, probably backed by hospitals, doctors, and Big Pharma, and I wasn't going to fall into that trap. I knew what I had was gastric and not heart-related- I wasn't dizzy, I wasn't sweating, I wasn't vomiting, and there were no other shooting or dull pains other than the center of my ribcage; like every other time, it was indigestion.

    Well, I couldn't sleep again. I moved about, turned, propped myself up, argued with my body, and finally, after another semi-restless night, I decided to ask Laura to take me to the E.R. I hate it too, because I know I'm going to end up paying for it, and it was all for nothing. This time, it was different. This time, it was at least something I could deal with, so I listened closely and let the nurses and the PA do their thing.

    I went into the SSM Health in El Reno, a great place, by the way. You never have to wait, and the staff is always tops! I get in, and three young nurses start in on me. I had to remove my bra and shirt; one hooked me up with sticky pads, while another took my blood, and the third asked me rapid-fire questions about my health. I was told to remain still, so Laura answered the questions for me from that point.

    No one likes to be pricked, but there they were, poking a needle into me, drawing blood and adding the little tube thing so they could give me meds if I needed them. The other side of me was bound with an armband to keep track of my heart rate and blood pressure, which, by the way, was fantastic! My temperature going in was 97.6, which is normal for me. Laura and I discussed it; I felt it best to let them know I have an extra click on my heart, but the PA told me he saw it when he came in to discuss my results.

    The thing is, it's very normal, even before they run the blood and tests to give a "chest pain" patient an aspirin and a tiny pill of nitroglycerin. If you've not had nitrates in the past -- ASK about them.  I made the mistake of saying OK before I found out the hard way that they literally open up veins and deprive your brain of needed oxygen. This forces you into a dizzy spell, you sweat, and yes, it makes you heave from your toes! I didn't actually vomit, but I sure as hell felt as if I would, and I sure as hell sounded as if I was. It was TERRIBLE!

    That event was over within fifteen minutes. They put a cold, wet rag over my forehead and at the base of my neck. They noted in my chart that I have a sensitivity to nitrates, and they promised not to do that again unless it was ultimately needed to save my life. I was far too weak to thank them, so Laura had to do it for me. What a brave one she was! She held the barf bag under my mouth the entire time I was wretching. Dang! She did well.

    After the whole dying without needing to die event, they let me rest and gave me Pepcid intravenously to ward off the pressure in my chest that had not subsided with the nitrate. It was their way of solidifying that the heart had nothing to do with the pressure; it was the digestive system instead. Pepcid is a strong medicine, and I am so grateful I can pick it up over the counter at any drugstore I choose. It will be my nightly friend. I don't feel bad for admitting that, either. I will listen to my doctor, and I will pop one before I eat something spicy, greasy, or heavy, and I will pop one an hour before I go to bed. It's my new routine. 

    The PA came in, and he said I was good to go -- I was 64 years old, overweight, needed to stop eating crazy foods, and to cut back on as much salt as I think I can cut back on. I'm normal, which always surprises me when someone in a professional capacity says things like that. I'm normal. Keep that in mind, friends; I am a normal person!  He said my bloodwork came back negative for anything bad and positive for all things good. He said my EKG was perfect, and that my chances of this particular event causing heart-related issues were less than 2%. He gave me a score of 1, which I assume is on the lower side.

    Let me just say, and say it out loud, that Jesus Christ is so very wonderful. Not only are our bodies marvelously and wonderfully made, but He also gave us the opportunity to go to school and learn about them. We can watch videos, read books, listen to people, and learn all we can. It's a gift. It's a gift to be able to predict, to a certain degree, that this or that is the issue. When they took my chest X-ray and told me there was nothing wrong in my chest, just pressure in the ribcage around the sternum, I was relieved. No tumors, no clouds, nothing. I think when you get older, you often stop or refuse to go to the doctor because of what they may find. I know that's what I do.

    So, it wasn't all for nothing this time. Laura drove me to Walgreens and home, which was the first time she'd driven in a very long time. (I drove us to the E.R.) She was so brave and so helpful. She was truly worried and prayed for me. I was able to face a lot of fears without much fuss. I was a polite patient even when I was swimming in misery from the nitrate—at least I was told I was nice. The whole thing took about two hours, and I'm home again. I have felt better, but I can absolutely testify that I have felt so much worse.  God is great!

    I took a couple of little Jesus rubber figurines with me. I left one in the waiting room. When we were walking out, I saw a girl playing with it. That made me happy.  He's literally everywhere.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

Mama Needs a New Dress!

 Here's the thing: I am so not a girly-girl. I was born with a fishing rod in one hand and a snail in the other. I wore out the knees of my jeans before the first week and basically had to cut them off since my mom couldn't find big enough iron-on patches to cover them; plus, it looked funny.  I didn't wear shoes (and still don't) unless I was going to church. I know there were signs in the stores suggesting I should have them, but until someone was brave enough to come up to me and ask me to leave, I went into those stores barefoot. It's just who I was.

    Today, I wear shoes when I go to the stores. I have evolved. However, the second I get home, those barefoot shoes (flat and wide) come off, and I'm sock-footed from the moment I get out of the shower in the morning until the moment I lay down to sleep at night. I prefer thicker socks even in the summer because I don't like the way thin socks feel - they're not real socks. It's another quirk I have.

    Dresses, especially girly dresses, are not my thing. I didn't like them when I was four, and I don't like them now. I say I don't like them now, but I think I may! I think I've found a really good reason to like them now that I'm old, fat, and stay home 93% of the time. I did the mental math - which includes attire, apparently. If I get up in the morning and shower, and all I have to put on is my undergarments and a light sleeveless dress (and socks), I don't have to worry about T-shirts that are a little snug or lounge pants that individually cover each leg - covering them to the point that I get hot. (It's 100 degrees outside, and even though it's 70 degrees inside, my legs still get hot.)

    The reason I can't wear shorts is twofold: one reason is I have a Chihuahua that scratches me constantly to remind me that he loves me and needs help getting onto my lap. The 2nd reason is that my faux-leather office chair would stick to my legs, and I really don't want that. However, I told you I did the mental math!! If I buy myself sundresses, I eliminate the fear of being mauled by the Chihuahua, and my legs won't stick, with the added bonus that they won't get hot -- and another added bonus, my bestie can gloat and say I've come over to her side of the world - she, unlike me, is a bona fide 100% girly-girl.

    Laura and I were in Walmart the other day, and I saw a few dresses that were not only well-priced, possibly because we're nearing the end of summer, but they were also cute. They had open collars, wider straps at the top, and came down below the knee, which is non-negotiable when it comes to my legs and the dog's gratitude for my existence. I could try to stave off the animal, but in the real world, it's never going to change, so I live with the hand I've been dealt.

    So yes, I bought two dresses today. I didn't buy those at Walmart, though. I bought them online at Amazon because I had a credit from taking back something else, and after all was said and done, I bought two really nice maxi sundresses for $23.00. That's not a bad thing - not in this day and age.  $11.50 per dress and free delivery tomorrow. If I really like them, I can see myself buying a few more and when sweats season rolls around I can give them up for onesies and long pants again -- I won't mind if my legs get warm when it's negative 10 outside even if it is 68 inside.

    There you have it - my life has changed. I am turning into one of those old women, but at least I'm cute, and I can still sit cross-legged in my chair without any fuss.  I have to sit cross-legged or else the Chihuahua wouldn't be able to sleep in my lap most of my workday - we have priorities in our house.

Photo Credit: Me.  (This is Kiba. He's Laura's service dog, but he sleeps in my lap most of the day.)

No Coffee For Me

     So, it's been about 11 months since I gave up coffee, and I have been drinking mushroom coffee in its place. I tried a few different brands and realized some of them contain a mushroom called chaga that can affect a person's kidneys. I don't need that. It's not terrible, but if you have an underlying kidney issue, it's not recommended. I don't have an actual underlying problem, but I had a kidney stone in 1990, and no, I never want to experience that again! NEVER!!

    Coffee was giving me digestive issues. It also made my head hurt after the 2nd cup. I was unable to drink more than one cup after the age of about 60, if my memory serves me correctly. It's really odd, because as a young adult, and well into my upper middle-aged years, I could drink a four-shot espresso drink and not be bothered. I stopped drinking that sort of drink when I hit 50, I think, and began drinking Caribou coffee almost exclusively. I loved the brand.

    Still, I only had one or two cups in the morning, and nothing after about 11:00 a.m. You couldn't offer it to me; I would just say no. I didn't like the way it made me feel.  About a year ago, I began researching mushroom coffee and wondered if I could do it. I did it. I did, and went cold turkey on coffee itself. I just stopped. I mean, I think I tried a cup once in a while, but after two or three weeks of drinking the mushroom coffee, one or two cups in the morning, I just stopped drinking coffee.

    The thing is, I owned a really expensive and nice espresso machine, too. I had a lovely Keurig, and I had a stash of Caribou coffee that I decided to give away after about four or five months of not drinking coffee. I sold the espresso machine, of course, but I put the Keurig away just in case I decided to start brewing in the future. I couldn't justify paying $100 for a machine and either giving it away or selling it for $50 just to get rid of it. I kept it. Then I moved. Then I moved again, and last week decided to try coffee once more, but I couldn't find where I stashed the Keurig.

    I purchased a really cheap drip coffee machine online. The single-cup type. I think I paid $15 for it. I wanted to see if I still hated it -- which is crazy. I mean, I could have just driven to McDonald's and bought a cup of coffee, but I wanted to try organic coffee after hearing about how mass-produced coffee beans have mold and mycotoxins on them. Gross.  I wanted to try Maud's decaf coffee, and I shouldn't have. It cost me another $15, and I hate it. I was right; I hated it. Now, I will be honest, I hated the taste because it tasted metallic or sharp. I didn't hate it because it was Maud's.

    I had a couple of K-Cups left over from back when I was drinking coffee, so I tried one of them; it was Caribou, but it wasn't decaf; it was fully loaded. I hated it. It was too strong, too bold, too heavy, too robust, too everything, and within one minute of me sipping maybe three sips, I had to pour it out just like I had done with the Maud's decaf.  Nope, coffee is not for me. I have decided to stick with mushroom coffee, which is smoother, lighter, tastes better, and doesn't make my head hurt. Within one minute of sipping that stuff, I had a throbbing in my head - could be because I hadn't had coffee in a year; I get it, but no. I don't need it.

    Anyone who wants to try to get themselves off coffee, or maybe off caffeine, should know that mushroom coffee still has 48-50 mg of caffeine in it. It's not 100% decaffeinated. You can't get that with anything related to coffee or even green tea! A lot of people think that green tea is caffeine-free, but it's not. It has 20-25mg of caffeeine in it. Check your brand on Google to find out. I use Yege mushroom coffee, and I love it. There is a lighter blend and a darker blend. Both are nice. I switch them up; whichever is on sale, I buy.

    There you have it - my decision is made. I don't need coffee anymore, and I don't want it. I won't regret my decision, but I don't hold anyone else in contempt for loving it. It's a good thing for a lot of folks. Coffee is a strong antioxidant and has a lot of health benefits. I was really turned off by the whole mold and mycotoxin issue—turns out there's not a lot of it, but there is still enough to make me shake my head and say no thank you. (This coming from a woman drinking fungi)

Photo Credit: Pinterest

That's Me, the Warthog!

    So, about a week ago, a person I know and I had a bit of a spat. We didn't see eye to eye on a matter. The thing is, we are two very different people, and at first glance, you'd see her from a 30,000-foot point of view and think she's harmless, she's normal, average, basic enough, but when the rubber hit the pavement, as it were, her true colors began to show; and that's when mine did.

    There are many ways to say this, but I'll say it the way I know best: directly. She's a follower, a very good follower, and does exactly what she is told. She has no imagination, no creativity, no spontaneity, and she's perfectly incapable of making a decision on the fly. If she were forced to do so, she would collapse. I, on the other hand, due to years, even decades, of falling flat and realizing where the mines are buried, have been capable and willing to make split-second decisions as well as to take on the full responsibility of those decisions should they fail.

    There was a spat. She did something she shouldn't have done (no, she did 4 or 5 things she shouldn't have done), and others called her out on it both in a general meeting and privately when we spoke to her. Her reaction, apparently, was to retaliate; to me, that's a coward's choice. You do the math. To make a long story short, I decided to take the high road and to let it go without escalating it. I decided to let her fall on her face a second and even third time without assisting her, so she could see exactly how much more she needs my assistance, and how very little I need hers. Petty? Maybe, but I didn't do anything - I simply didn't do anything.

    Others banded with me, not with her, and in fact, they have been actively seeking her removal, while I have remained somewhat neutral on the matter. I believe she is working hard and doing the best she can, but if what she needs to do is outside her scope of capabilities, then I'll have to let the natural course of things take its place. I am not in charge of it; I won't add to or remove from it. She will have to fight that particular battle alone, as I am not going to help her in any way; not now.

    Several of us spoke in the evening on a conference call; we can do that, you know, we're American.  We came up with scenarios, and we decided that each of us has a unique personality and many traits that relate to or could be compared to various military weapons and/or vehicles, if you want to call flying craft vehicles. It was immediately clear that my personality, experience, age, and demeanor resemble the AC10 Warthog. I wasn't sure how I thought about that until I did a bit of research, and I have to say, I am a Warthog at heart!

    I'll let Google tell you about it: The A-10 Warthog (officially the Fairchild Republic A-10 Thunderbolt II) is widely considered one of the most dangerous and feared close air support aircraft in history due to its unmatched combination of devastating firepower, extreme low-altitude maneuverability, and legendary "flying tank" durability. It was designed with a single, aggressive purpose: to loiter low over the battlefield and obliterate heavily armored ground targets. 

    So, there you have it. This Scorpion-born, Year of the Ox, stubborn, head-strong, thinking machine is, in fact, an AC10 Warthog when it comes to making decisions. I'm a low-flying craft; you see me coming. I want you to see me coming. I want you to hear me. I expect to be heard, and then when the time is right, if you force me to use my weapons, I will. I'll not only use them, but I'll also obliterate what's in front of me even if it means I have to make future plans for myself. I won't let anyone micromanage me, second-guess me, strong-arm me, or put the kind of pressure on me that too many people have tried in the past -- I will obliterate. I have earned every damn stripe I have.

    The others also decided the person in question was more or less a Chinook helicopter. Big, bulky, lumbering, slow, strong, and has use, but she is incapable of actual combat because she depends on everyone else; she can't move forward at any rate of speed, choosing rather to hover, stagnate, keep everything churning above her head, and this causes bottlenecks that the rest of us just can't afford or live with -- we break through. We show our teeth when this happens. Luckily for me, I didn't have to do much obliterating - the F16, B2 Bomber, and other crafts stepped up and did it for me. The Chinook has been stationed.

    One of the others, I won't say who, has self-described himself as the C-130 Hercules (One of Lockheed's best).  He said he was there to carry us where we needed to go. He was big enough to be imposing, and he knew where to go, when to go, and how to get us into position to do whatever we needed to do to get the job done.  I love that. He is a true leader, not a follower. He knows who brings the money home. He has the right attitude, mindset, and ideas. Ego has nothing to do with it - he got where he is by being the best at what he does.

    So, this little Warthog is moving forward. I'm fully loaded, but if I don't have to use my munitions, I won't. I'll keep my smirky-toothy grin on my face and my head down with my eyes fully open. I'll work and play hard. I'll do what I'm supposed to do, but I won't be pulled back out of commission by a wind-sucking easy target with heavy maintenance issues. I can't be pulled back; I have a job to do. I've been at the top of my game for years; why would I stop or even slow down so someone with less experience can think about something before moving forward - nope!

    

Photo Credit: Popular Mechanics

     

Deciding to Choose Joy.

     I am exceptionally angry right now, and I have a bona fide and justified reason to be so. I'll get into it a bit later, but just know that I had a good reason to flare up, and when I flared up, I decided to be honest, open, transparent, and blunt. I said what I believed needed to be said, and I really didn't give a damn if the person on the other end of the phone was upset, because she was the reason I was mad in the first place. I had let myself care about her too long, give a hoot about her personal life, and I even offered my advice on far more than 100 occasions since January of this year.

    Let me start by saying I haven't ruined a relationship; I've just decided to change my role in that relationship now that the other person has shown not only her true colors but has also been about as narrow-minded and short-sighted as possible. If it took skin off my body, I wouldn't have cared. If it took food out of my mouth, I wouldn't have cared, but she messed with my money.  You don't do that. You just do not do that.

    I won't go into what happened. If you're one of my best friends, you'll find out when you come over and drink tea with me, or when you drive around the city looking for bargains. I'll tell you then, and we can go to Walmart and buy a load of good chocolate to top off our adventure. Sometimes chocolate is simply the answer. This was one of those times. 

    I mean, yes, I was and am so mad, I unfriended her on Facebook, and I'm not going to invite her back because really, after knowing her for nine months, she hasn't grown in terms of being more intelligent with her choices; she's become a door mat for others to walk on, kick, and leave dusty as they go on with their own lives. I'm sorry, but I don't be pathetic. I like people to stand up and defend themselves. Is that really too much to ask?

    It was a work thing, but I won't say what. She made a choice, a decision that shouldn't have been made, and it pissed me off. We have guidelines and rules, and I abide by them. Hell, I wasn't the Employee of the Year last year because I don't know how to respond to people. I was given the honor and the title because I deserved it. I was the most productive, and I took time out of my day to assist and train others. I was voted into that position. She wasn't even there. I actually replaced her; she had quit the month before I started. I took her place. 

    She returned, but in another role. I'm told she was average, and I can see that. She's slower, more thorough perhaps, but in commission-based work (recovery work) you can't beat around the bush; you make the calls, do the work, get the offer, and submit it. You don't overthink; you cross the Ts that don't need to be crossed if you already have the offer. You don't need to stop, mull it over, think about it, and go through ten to fifteen more steps; you grab the damn bull by the horns, throw it down, and get up! It's really no wonder she didn't return in the same role.

    One of...no, five of her decisions lately have put me and several others at bay. She's caused us to be behind. She's caused us to have to wait. She's put us so far behind the 8-ball, we're wondering if we're sinking or swimming; we're not sure, the water is high, and we're moving, but it just doesn't look like we're making any strides.  I called her out on it nicely; I was transparent and polite about it two weeks ago. Nothing changed, and I was a bit more direct last week. Nothing changed, and when another decision to keep the turtle's pace continued, I let her have it when she asked me what I thought about this or that. I let her know exactly what I thought, and what everyone in my department thought as well.

    Work relationships should more or less stay in their place until you have reason to trust one another outside work hours. I live really close to two of my co-workers, and we shop together, hang out, and discuss stuff. She lives in another state, but we Facebooked, texted, and talked by phone nearly every day - until today.  I decided, like I decided a year ago that I no longer wanted to drink mass-produced coffee, that I just didn't need her in my life after the closing bell. I'll be polite. I'll be professional. I'll be useful, helpful, and supportive -- at work.

    I can't say I'm mad. That was the wrong choice of words to use earlier. I'm disappointed. I'm upset (a little) because her actions have caused me to face consequences, but I'll be OK. I've got God to pull me through. I've got all the characters from every book I've ever written or am about to write inside my head, and I can strike up a conversation with any of them at any time, and they'll tell me what I should have said to her. I wish I were so free -- but Jesus has me by the soul. I can't say what I wanna say. What did Auntie Em say in the 1939 Classic, the Wizard of Oz? "For twenty-five years I've wanted to tell you exactly what I think of you, but now, being a Christian woman, I can't."

    Well, I can say it's been twenty-five years; more like two and a half months, really. She's forfeited my concern by bottlenecking my production. She's forced me into a holding pattern, and I'm not a helicopter; I'm a rocket! I don't hold well. I work. I don't hover; I strike. I've decided to be joyful, not necessarily happy, but I am going to be joyful. I can choose that. I'll work. I won't involve her anymore than necessary, and when it becomes time that she becomes necessary, I'll seek another path if I can, because there really are more paths to choose.  

    If, because I'm no longer conversing or being chatty-chat-chat with her, I feel that she's oppressing my progress, I'll switch gears. I'm good at that. I can dance. I can sing. I can smile, and I can survive because life isn't about being happy; it's about choosing joy. I can find another way. I can find a way out. I can find means to shine without needing to dim her light. I just won't shine mine in her direction.   Co-workers, in my experience, come and go. She will too. With the choices she's made lately, I can't see her hanging on much longer anyway - all this frustration may be for naught.

    God is good. He is always good. He led me through the thick of it last year when I needed Him, and He'll never stop leading me. There is nothing in that Good Book that says I have to keep talking to the woman; I don't have to be mean, nasty, or rude either, but I sure as hell don't have to be accommodating, available, or even affable. I'll be cordial, polite, even accessible. I don't have to change the brightness of my light -- I have learned a great deal in these 64 years, and letting go of the negative is one thing I'm getting really good at.

Photo Credit: Target.com

Coffee Redo -- I'll Try

     If you've kept up with me for any time at all, you know I gave up drinking coffee about a year ago. In fact, I'm about 3 or 4 weeks from actually completing a full year of not drinking coffee.  There were at least three reasons why I gave it up, but the most prominent reason, I suppose, was how my gut felt after drinking just one cup in the morning.  My body had changed. Back in the 80s and 90s, I could drink a four-shot espresso without any problems or any indication that it was beginning to rot out my gut - not now.

    About a year ago, and maybe a little before, I began having severe gastro problems after drinking two or three cups, so I cut it back to drinking just the one cup in the morning. Where I could (maybe 5 years ago) drink up to about 11:00 a.m., I found myself just having the one good cup in the morning, and I'm not talking about espresso- just coffee.  I told myself that I needed it, which was the real problem. People don't believe they can become addicted to it, but the truth is, they can.

    For many years, I only drank Starbucks coffee. I went (with my dog Faith) to more than 810 separate Starbucks stores all over the world, but after seeing firsthand how the company itself treated police officers and military personnel, I dropped them entirely and haven't looked back. I still have a $5 card I could give to someone, I suppose, but I'm not going to use it. I'm done with that brand - unless and until they reverse their treatment of good, solid folk who give their time and put their lives on the line daily so the baristas and administrators of Starbucks can be as liberal and narrow-minded as they are.

    The other reasons for dropping coffee were, of course, the caffeine and the cost when I went out. I talked myself into going half-caf for a while, then fully decaffeinated, but it just didn't stop the issues with my gut. I felt as if I had leaky gut, to be honest. I felt so drained, so lethargic, and puny. Here I was, thinking coffee was the great pick-me-up, and it was the one thing literally stopping me in my tracks. I gave it up for mushroom "coffee," and I've really never had a reason to look back - until now.

    I watched a long documentary about how coffee began in the early 1000s in Iraq and how it spread through China, Russia, Europe, and, many centuries later, to the New World. The first coffees were pure, made organically, and were considered by physicians of that time to be healing and good for both the body and the mind; maybe even the soul. Then, when it became commercialized, demanded, and fell into shorter supply, it was mass-produced, like most things. It lost its roots - it lost everything good about it.

    Later, in the 20th Century, with everyone in every country and its people wanting it, the only way to bring it from Africa, Asia, and Columbia was by boat - and there, the beans were sitting in bad conditions, drying out, getting stale, growing mold, and they may or may not be rinsed or washed slightly, before being roasted in large batches in industrial giant roasters before being ground incorrectly, measured out, packaged, distributed and sold. The result? Mold; in a word, mold. The coffee most people drink today, if it is mass-produced, has quite a bit of mold and mycotoxins in and on the beans. Google it. Try not to gag when you do.

    More than 91% of the coffee beans being sold today for mass production have both mold and mycotoxins. We consumed it. We didn't know, and we just kept on consuming it. It's a wonder we're even breathing when you look at some of the pictures of the beans that were washed to cover up the mold spots and smells before being sold to places who mixed the bad with the slightly better, and called it good -- it was anything but good.

    For example, I got this information straight from Google: Folgers, Maxwell House, and Starbucks brands rely on basic FDA compliance rather than being proactive with safety testing. They're trying to produce more for many, whereas smaller boutique roasters like Maud or Fabula want to satisfy fewer people, charge more, and produce a much better product. Folgers won't release a third-party lab report or verify a zero-trace purity test because they would be seen for what they are -- that's my opinion, but again, based on what I found online.

    Mass-produced coffee beans are among the most heavily chemically treated crops in the world. The smaller boutique roasters don't use these types of chemicals, and it's the chemicals, not the coffee beans, that cause all the issues in my gut - and probably every other drinker's gut. The Arabica bean, being one of the lowest in bitterness and acidity, is the better bean and is grown at higher altitudes, where mold risks are lower to begin with. I can't speak for all coffee brands, but Maud's is roasted in a California facility and uses only solar energy, adding cleaner production to the mix. I like that. (Less oil, less gasoline for machinery, etc.)

    So, this week, in fact, Monday, I will have my first cup of Maud's half-caf K-cup coffee, and I'll let you know what I think. I'm going for taste more than anything, but the antioxidants in coffee are another draw for me. I am hoping I have found a portal into the past, and can benefit from the way coffee was in the beginning - healthy and good for me. I'll let you know if it's worth it. I'm paying $14.99 for 16 cups. I pay $17 now for a bag that makes about 22 cups of mushroom coffee. I'll likely do both. I'll likely have one and then the other. 

    That's it. That's all I have for you right now. I will keep you posted, let you know what I think about the taste, the smoothness, the color, the smell, everything. Keep in mind, I may be rusty, but I'm willing to get back in the saddle. That's me using a couple of idioms to describe my life.

    

Book Review - Dion.

     Most of you know, if you know me, that I'm an author. I auth. I write, and I read, of course, but I really love creating stories and typing them up, editing them, publishing them, and sending them to print. I love it. If I could make a living doing it, that is exactly what I would do. Maybe someday that will happen, but until then, I have to remain steady, stable, and satisfied with being the ever-learning and helpful claims adjuster that I am. 

    Today I had a minute of excitement regarding one of my books, and to be perfectly honest with you, I couldn't have been more surprised or happier about it. One of the people I have the privilege of speaking with from time to time through my job called me to say she was feeling much better since she had become very ill in the spring, and that she was, in fact, returning to her job. That made me happy. I have to call her (or did, when she was working) nearly every week to discuss one of her work crews because they tend to break facilities belonging to one of my company's clients. To put it in a professional term that we use, she is a damager.

    As a damager, someone who damages, she isn't the one out there on the excavator tearing things up underground, but she's on the administrative side of things; she gets to take my calls where I tell her how much her company needs to pay my company, and we negotiate. I adjust, she accepts, we move forward to the next claim when it happens; and it will happen. She's the best, and I really was so happy to hear that she was doing better; so much better that she may be back to work in a few weeks.

    While she was out, in fact, while she was laid up in the hospital, she had time to read one of my books. The book is a novel, not one of my Nick Posh books. The book is titled "Dion," and the reason she had the book in the first place is that I wrote her into it! I made her a very wise and compassionate judge in the book; she gets to make people happy and, in a way, save the day. I won't say more; I don't want to give it away.

    Rena told me that while she was in the hospital, she had time to finish the book, and that she really enjoyed it. She stated very clearly that she wasn't "just saying that" because I wrote it, or because I put her in the book itself. She said if she had just picked it up and read it, not knowing anything about it, she would have liked it just as much. We both laughed a bit because "Dion" is sort of a...no, it's a really creepy, cringy book. I had to step out of my shell to write it. I had to use AI to give me prompts and ideas because I don't let my mind go to some of the places my keyboard went during the writing of that book.

    Still, just hearing that someone other than my good friends enjoyed the book made me happy. I don't often get to hear anyone say what they really think of my writing. I get the occasional surprised look when they think I've written something I wouldn't normally say out loud - that happens quite a bit, actually; more than you'd realize. Writing can be so very therapeutic if you let it be. You can get so much off your chest. You can say things you would never dare say in public. You can call people out; hell, you can murder them. I do it all the time - in my books.

    Being the picky person that I am, I wanted to know whether she found any glaring grammar errors in the book. I edit my books myself, so yes, you will find mistakes. You'll find the ones I couldn't find before sending them up for publication. I'm going through "Murder Book" now because I know I missed a few mistakes. I'm on Chapter 10 and have found at least six corrections. I'll go through the book by this time next week and send up the new files to correct the errors. If you want a book with more mistakes so you can tease me about it later, you should buy it now before the corrections are made.

    I'm going to go through all of the books, but unfortunately, I can't go through the ones on Kindle - just the prints. Sorry. I don't want to spend $215 to correct the files for Kindle. I only have to spend $25 to correct the books themselves. If I were rich, maybe. Then again, if I were rich, I'd have someone else edit them (no, I wouldn't).  It was so much fun to hear Rena go on about the book and how much she loved it. She shared it with her nurses and a physical therapist, too. She pointed out her name in the book, told them how the two of us met, and was so nice as to ask them to buy copies of that book and others I've written. 

    I write to write. I don't mind if they sell; that's great too, but I write to write. If someone likes what I've written, I'm amazed. I get a little silly inside when someone says they really enjoyed reading my books. I giggle, and I thank God for giving me a wild and crazy imagination. I told stories before I learned to write. I've told stories for as long as I can remember, making them up and telling my mom that my dog, Rover, told me what to say. I didn't want to be criticized, even at that age. The dog kept his silence; he was my first true fan.

Photo Credit: Magnific.com