I Sold 6 Books!

     You may or may not know that (a) I am an author and (b) I don't write to sell the books. I write to write. I am published. I have been published for over twenty years, and in that time, I have written twenty-one books. I'm writing the 22nd book now. I have also written dozens of stories, poems, etc, but if I were to describe myself as a writer, I would say I write fiction. Have I written non-fiction? Yes, in fact, my first four books were non-fiction works, but I consider myself a novelist. Some people cook, some paint, and I write.

    Growing up, I wrote as well. My older sister loved to knit, crochet, and do other needlework. My second sister was a master at baking cakes and sewing. My mother is an artist. She can draw and paint, but I write. My brother is a magician when it comes to fixing things; his skills and talents were always hands-on, like my father, who built cabinets and furniture. I think it's really cool to say I come from a talented family, and from one that didn't ever (not once) discourage me from my chosen path of expression. In fact, my mom would put my work right up on the fridge for anyone to read. 

    Just today, I was sitting at my computer desk, minding my own business, because that's what I do; I mind my own business. I received an email from a friend saying she found my bio on a site that had to be at least 15 years old. It mentioned that I had written "Faith Walks," but it also said I was still teaching Composition and Literature, which I had stopped doing in 2006. Well, well, I say now, I must contact this site and at least update the masses. Since 2006, I have written twenty more books! 

    What I laughed about, and still laugh about, is one of the remarks in the bio stating that my books were niche or not well known. OK, but that doesn't mean they aren't any good. I don't write my books to sell them, but so far the reviews have been good. I know a lot of folks say you shouldn't read your reviews, but I haven't read anything bad about my novels yet. I will agree with anyone who says my other books weren't well edited. I even paid good money for that service and got what I got. Changing it now is possible, but I don't know where my original files are. I'd have to type each page over again -not happening.

    In 2026 (and for a couple of years), I edit my own books, and I am quick to add a disclaimer to every book that I will miss a few commas, a few punctuation errors, and even the occasional there, their, or they're. No, I'm not above making mistakes. I do it all the time. I try not to. I try to catch them all. I review the manuscript at least three times, but it happens. Oh well, we're all human, and if I really were writing to sell the books, I may care more. I am super happy when I do sell one or two. I laugh to myself each month when the reviews and sales stats come in. I look forward to it now.

    From April 1, 2026, to April 30, 2026, I sold six (6) books. I am stoked! No, no, don't think I'm kidding, I'm serious. Six people decided to take a gamble and read my books. Who knows where that could lead? It only takes a spark to get that fire going - right? Oh, if I did sell hundreds or thousands, I would love it. I would, but I don't write them with that hope in mind. I write them because they are in my head. If I don't write them, I find myself tweaking the storylines over and over. But if I write them, I can tell my inner voices (characters from the books) that the book is finished. We need to move on to the next.

    When the Ingram Spark people let me know that six books had been sold, I quickly checked the sheet to see which ones. STRANGELY enough, five books of the same title were sold, and then another. The 5 that sold under the same title is the book "The", a modern romance set in Florida. A very talented and burned-out stockbroker moves to Sarasota to chase her own dreams and finds love, albeit with a homeless man who has been shaken to the core a few years back. It's a good book!

    The other book, the single, that sold is titled "Edinburgh" and is another romance, set in Edinburgh, Scotland, and it too is modern. It's about a middle-aged English teacher who gives up everything to move to Scotland and write novels. I can see myself doing that, but I'd have to race back to the States after a year or so. Oklahoma is the place to be - for me. I could do the whole kilted pleasure thing for a year, but then I'd get a hankering for Braum's ice cream and need to fly home. You can't pop off to the nearest ice cream and dairy store in the land of hearth and heather for anything Braum's related, and you can't expect to get yourself decent BBQ either. 

    So, there it is. Me - the published author and seller of good books. I hope you find one or two to your liking, but if you don't, I have them tucked away in my head and heart. They keep me company - I'm never alone. NEVER.

Photo Credit: Amazon - buy my books there. Kindle and in print. 

The Last Moments.

     I made the decision to take Ginger to the vet's so she could cross over to see Jesus; I made it three days ago, knowing it was time. Then, as you know, as you probably suspected, she decided to act as if she was fine - nothing to see here, folks, just a dog with no complaints. That happens, and when it does, we (owners) start second-guessing ourselves. We start wondering, deep inside our hearts and heads, whether what we're doing is the right thing. I prayed about it. I prayed about it, and I held her, and I kissed her, and I begged God to tell me if what I was doing was really the best choice for her - and it was.

    This morning, after sleeping with Ginger one last time, she got up a little early, and Laura took her outside. She had another fit and another micro-seizure. She has been having real issues breathing when she wakes up, and though she's been getting progressively worse, we can tell from the noises that she's going to pull through. We pet her sides and held her head just right. She'd pull through it and give us that look of gratitude. It was time - I couldn't let her go on that way.

    We sat on the couch this morning, and there were no worries, just loving and kissing, and I told her over and over that I would always remember her. The hardest part about her aging has been that she slips in and out of a trance-type state where she has no clue who I am. I know she trusts me as best she can, but I'm a complete stranger to her some days. Most of the time, she cuddles and knows where she is, but lately, she's been staring at walls and floors - and she'll stand off a bit, until I pick her up and bring her in, letting her know that she's safe. It takes a long time sometimes for her to come back to me.

    Throughout the day, she rested. She slept in my lap while I worked, and she snored up a storm - a sound I will always remember, love, and cherish. When she woke up, we went through her seizure spell again, but this time she had a really bad bowel accident, and after that, she became sick too. She wouldn't eat anything, and drinking wasn't easy for her either. I knew then, around noon, that I had made the right decision, and I wouldn't let my heart talk my head out of doing what was right, best for her.

    When Laura and I took her, it was literally across the street. We could have walked. We pulled into the parking lot and let her out. She walked into the place, and immediately her nose caught the smell of antiseptics. She knew where she was, even if she hadn't been to that clinic before.  It was hard to wait with her, knowing we had only minutes left, but we prayed. We cried, and we prayed, and I know she knew. I know she knew. When we went into the room, Laura kissed her and waited out in the waiting area, and I stayed.

    The doctor shaved a little patch on her arm, the tech held her tightly, and when the medicine to help her sleep was given, she literally turned to me, and she had a smile on her face - an actual smile. She didn't flinch, she didn't pull away from the tech, she just relaxed, sighed, and smiled. If anything, I know now exactly where my precious girl is - and I'm OK with it. I really am. Before Laura and I could cross the street to go home, she was home. She was home-home, not just in a temporary state of life - and she will be missed for years to come.

    Thank you for all your thoughts, prayers, and comments throughout the weekend. They have really helped. It will be hard for me, but I'll see her again - when I pry her out of my dad's arms. 

Photo Credit: Me. (Ginger's last photo) November 9, 2011, to April 27, 2026.  

Ginger: A Tribute

     Animals hold a very special place in our lives; they always have. From my first dog, Rover, who stayed with me just over 15 years from the time I was one to my high school years, to Ginger, a dog I have had for nearly 12 years, they have always been more than just pets.  Rover, a Dachshund/Beagle mix, was just about as perfect as any dog could be. Not everyone would agree with me, but that's OK, he wasn't their dog; he was mine. When he did finally decide to go see Jesus, it was on January 18, 1978, just after his 15th birthday on December 1, 1977. He hung on as long as he could.

    Then, after Rover, came Lady, Chrissy, Doni, Angel, Bebe, Ricochet, and others -- Matrix, of course, Faith, and George. Each with their loving hearts, wonderfully inspiring souls, and their unique charms that made them all so very precious to me. Ginger is no different; she is as unique and as individual as she is marvelous, and it is because I love her so very deeply that I am going to escort her to the Rainbow Bridge in just a few days. She has been too good to me; I could not allow her to suffer any longer for my own selfish hopes that she could recover or "get better", when I know she will not.

    I found Ginger, a Chihuahua/Pug mix at the Edmond Animal Welfare back in the fall of 2014. She was a gift to George, who needed a friend. She was about two or two and a half years old. She was an escape artist; her previous owners couldn't keep her in the fence. She was found on the cat side of the building in a kennel that read "Ginger" - so the name stuck. The real Ginger was a golden, hairy feline who had just been adopted. Ginger's kennel name was "Angelica" -- Nope! She's a Ginger!

    When she came home, she and George hit it off immediately, and they were absolutely inseparable until the day he was taken to the vet for the last time; he was only 8. He had injured himself too severely. To say she was devastated would be an understatement. She pined for weeks for her best friend. Now, because I love her, she will see him again soon. We have a couple more days to spoil her rotten before taking her to her vet, and we'll take the time to really show her the love she deserves. With quiet, elegant reserve, Ginger has won our hearts for nearly 12 years.

    We noticed her decline recently, and through diagnosis, I was told her esophagus is collapsing. It is an incurable thing, but managed somewhat with anti-inflammatory meds and other medicines. She didn't like them. She rejected some of them. The effects seemed worse because they caused her stress. Over time, maybe six to eight months, she has developed some other issues causing her discomfort, including an obvious observed behavior that mirrors human dementia. She has been staring at the corners or at nothing for hours at a time. 

    This week, I've noticed she has been losing weight, and the goose-honking has become worse each day. It's been nearly impossible to get her to breathe correctly in the morning. The vet stated that this would only get worse, but the final reason for my decision was her inability to keep food down. Her belly is very upset, and not only is she spitting up bile, but her discharge also has a gray color to it and an off-putting odor. Her vet confirmed what I knew to be true.  It's time.

    So, in honor of my sweet sweet girl, I ask that anyone reading this, think about the times you have shared with an animal or pet you really loved - and keep that thought close in your heart as well as in your prayers. Ginger will be fine. She will cross the bridge soon, but she will not be alone. She has lost several friends over her long life; and her best best friend in the world will be there waiting for her. She doesn't know it yet, but my Dad will scoop her up as soon as she arrives. He's like that, you know; he's an animal hoarder - one of Heaven's best.

    I love you, Ginger. I truly, truly do.

Photo Credit: Me.

Insurance for the New House.

     Believe it or not, Farmers is the better company for my new house. We live in a small town of only 18,000, and oftentimes, the insurance carriers are more expensive, but not in our case. Our lender reached out using his AI tools to find the best price for the coverage we need and want. I couldn't have done a better job if I had done it myself, and I mean that. With AI working for him, he was able to push through every quote possible using any and all criteria he needed. He zipped right through and came up with an amazing deal. The one I found was literally $ 1,000 more, and this one covers everything the other covered, with very few adjustments.

    For the past few months, since we've been leasing the house, waiting to close, we've had a Progressive rental policy; that will change. Progressive, though wonderful, was higher, even with my auto policy bundle applied.  There are literally so many small things you have to do when you buy a house - it's incredibly complicated for most of us, which is why you have to have a really good realtor. We have the best. I've blogged about her before; she's really been the best warrior for us. There have been at least a few times when the owners, who aren't that educated in the first place, have tried to pull the wool, but we said no. We said no, then we called Amanda, and she put her foot down.

    No one was trying to be too bad, but you just know when someone is trying to push one past you - if they can. I am going to be so glad when this thing is over, and we own the house, and we can do with it what we want without all the fingers in the pie. It's not just been my realtor who came to our rescue, but our lender as well. I use The Money Store, and my guy is Josh DeBlaise. If you need a good one, he's highly recommended.  (Realtor: Amanda Rose Keller of Re/Max, OKC). Such a good team! Josh has a couple of really dedicated associates as well - they're the ones he turns to for support, and they always deliver.  I just have to wait - but that's really been harder than you think.

    I am not a sit-still kinda gal - I want things to move. We didn't have that opportunity because I hadn't been on my job for a full two years. I had to wait for that to happen. I just passed the two-year mark, and May was the next month following the full 30 days after my 2nd year. We set the closing for the 29th, but honestly, I would have preferred it to be the 1st. You don't have to pay your first mortgage payment until after the first full 30 days after close - so it could have been May 1 or May 31, and we'd still not have to pay the mortgage until July.  It's OK, I'm not too worried about it -- we're just too excited to finally say it is our house -- OUR house. Right now, we have to say we're under contract; no one can take it, but we're still leasing. I hate that. It's just a first-world thing, but it bothers me.

    FHA wouldn't lend to me until I had been on my job for 2 years, and they wanted me to pay 6 months of rent (on time) to prove I was worthy. I had to prove I was still working at the same place. I had to prove my income. I had to show my bank statements, and now, FHA knows I shop at Amazon too often. My statement is rather boring - Amazon, Amazon, Amazon, Walmart, Amazon, Little Caesars, Amazon, Tractor Supply, Amazon...you get the point. I pay all of my bills through the card as well, so they do get to see that I pay my car payment, my insurance, my utilities and water payments as well as buying copious amounts of hay, feed, and dog food. Now and again, I buy cat food and cat litter too. I'm nice like that.

    So, when the lender told me I had to send in my bank statement and paystubs for the past 30 days, he added I had to pick an insurance company and plan to start May 29, and that excited me. It made it more real. I'm happy he found a good rate, too. It's a 1,368-sf house on land for only $ 2,560 a year. I like that. It does pay to live in a smaller town. The same coverage I used to have in OKC was $ 3,790. There is just something to be said about living in near-rural America. The Mom and Pop restaurants are better, too; just sayin.

    God has been so very wonderful to us - for us, with us. He's made sure that I keep my cool under all the stress that we've been through. He's the reason we have the house to begin with, and He's the reason we'll keep it. He has just been so very wonderful; words can't describe it. When we thought we couldn't do it, He showed us how. Every time we got upset or discouraged, He smoothed it all out for us - and now, well, we have another issue we're about to deal with after we close, but He'll still be there. I know it will work itself out for the best - it always does.

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Turning into a Recluse.

     I like the way the word sounds when the British say it. The word is "Recluse". We Americans say "Ree-cloose" and the Brits say "Rec-cloose". Whatever it is, however it is said, that is who, or rather what,  I am turning into.  Laura and I moved into our house just about five months ago, and I can count on one closed fist just how many times I've driven back into the city, or for that matter, how many times I've left the boundaries of my small town. I do not go anywhere.

    I should add that when we lived in the big city, I would put maybe 30 to 40 miles per month on my car. I still didn't really go anywhere, but just getting to the regular places one must go to took longer. The city was bigger, there were more stops, and frankly, more people, and after being out for an hour or so, we both (Laura and I) have had just about all the public we can take. We head home, I park the car, we go inside, and we open the doors to let the dogs in or out. I will go out to feed the birds every day - I do that.

    Laura treks to the end of the drive to fetch the mail. She hangs out in the "back 40" with the horses, too. I walk the acres. I like the quiet, and I really like that there aren't any neighbors to speak of. We can see them. They're about 500 yards to the south. The people who used to live next to us are not only selling their place, they're razing it and selling the land to someone, I think. I don't know exactly what they're doing, but it may be worth looking into. It's another 1.7 acres that could be grazed on by a few horses, I think Laura's thinking of adding to her stables.

    I drove into Oklahoma City five months back - it was Thanksgiving Day. I went all the way into the closest point possible - maybe one, three miles past the county line. I had lunch and hit the road hard again, making it back to my cubby hole. I mean, it's a real house, but it's where we like to hide from the world now.  We don't go out much, and we don't care that we don't. When Jeannie comes over to see me, we'll hit up the big sidewalks of downtown El Reno. We'll shop and window-shop. We eat out, we walk around, and stuff - when Buc-ees comes to town, I'll venture that far. (It's literally going to be 2 miles from my house)

    I have the Progressive app on my phone that gives me a discount for driving safely. They routinely text me to say I haven't driven enough to get a discount. They still have to give it to me. I put 17-22 miles a month on the car. If I had to, I'd make another trip to Tractor Supply just to keep the discount. It's 15% - I like that. I can be persuaded to hang out at the country store for a 15% discount on my already low insurance premium. Being an old gramma and driving like an old gramma has its advantages!

    Since I work and write from home, I really don't have to go anywhere other than the store to get food and whatnot. Amazon delivers all of my paper products and, really, anything else I may need. If being a recluse is a bad thing, I could sell the T-shirt and make a little money.  What makes me laugh is when I tell people I live in El Reno and they say something like "Oh my gosh, why? There's literally nothing to do out that way." Well, yeah, that's the point! I haven't gone to the casino yet - Jeannie and I may have to do that.  It's not hard to be a shut-in -- I prefer it to getting dressed and wearing makeup (and God forbid, I should ever feel the need to shave).

    Home is where the heart is - and I guess Laura and I really love our place. We do. We thank God for it all the time. We aren't impossible. We don't mind visitors. We have Jeannie! We also have raccoons, foxes, birds, stray cats, and even cats that live in actual houses that sometimes like to wander by our place and check out the food Laura puts out for their counterparts. We love visitors. We're a friendly lot.

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Route 66 - The Mother Road - Book 22.

     So, this is book 22 for me. I remember a few years back when I read that William Bernhardt was writing his 22nd book. It just seemed too amazing to me. It was not only a goal but something I held to be so very wonderful. If I could do that, if I could write 22 books, I told myself, I would really feel great about it. It's true. I do feel great about it. I am not lying, I feel fantastically wonderful about being able to say I've written 22 books.

    Now, Bill, I'm thinking, has written over 60 books, and not all of them have been novels. Some of this work is nonfiction guides; some of it is poetry. He has a few historical fictions in there, but I mainly know his work in legal fiction thrillers. That's where I first found his works, and that's where I do most of my Bernhardt reading. I will say this: I've read a plethora of authors, and he's right up there with the best. If you have not taken the time to read his work, you should do so. He's on Amazon! 

    Bill has written 19 novels in the Ben Kincaid series. I've written eight, and am writing my ninth in the Nick Posh series. Ben Kincaid is a lawyer, while Nick Posh is a detective. Ben was probably hanging out in the 1980s to 2010 if I had to guess, while Nick was born in 1890, and the first book I wrote, "Murder Book", takes place in 1929. Both Bill and I are from Oklahoma. In fact, we are both from the same area; he was raised about 15 miles from me. He's just about 22 months older than me, so you could absolutely say we have a lot in common. I truly admire his work. 

    "The Mother Road" takes place from August 1934 to about Christmas time. There will be a five-year reunion of sorts because Murder Book's end was right at that time in 1929, and now that it's 1934 in this book, a few of the characters will talk on the phone and exchange gifts to remember a fallen friend from the first book, Oscar Keogh. (I love that guy)  I think it's nice that the books talk about and include characters from other books I've written, so that they have a few common threads to string them all together.  It's intentional.

   The actual Mother Road, Route 66, is literally less than 1/4 of a mile from my house. I was born less than 6 miles from it, lived less than 2 miles from it for 24 years, and then bounced around, but I was never that far from it except when I lived in Indiana. Even when I lived in Beverly Hills and worked in Hollywood, the end of the road came right up to the Santa Monica pier in Los Angeles. It's been a staple in my life and something I haven't given too terribly much thought about - probably because it was always there.

    I kind of giggle when I see the Route 66 signs in the backgrounds of some of the YouTubers I watch, or in movies. I think to myself, I could throw a rock really hard and hit the street, but that's an exaggeration. I could walk to it in under 2 minutes, though. I really could. I decided to write the book because the road is turning 100 years old this year. I love the road. It's a fun and amazing thing. I haven't driven the whole thing like some people have, but I've driven part of it in every state it goes through.

    I don't think I was even aware of its importance until many, many years after I learned to drive. I'd see it in movies and think it was fun because I knew it so well. I'd take it from Oklahoma City to Tulsa if I wanted to avoid tolls. I took it from Oklahoma City to Amarillo, but there are more "Old Route 66" roads that are off I-40, so it's hard to find them all -- I'm thinking I'll rent a car someday and drive it from Oklahoma City to Dwight, Illinois, near Chicago. I don't think I want to go into Chicago again. I love Chicago, but I don't want to drive in it -- not now, I'm too old.

    The route is still an amazing road, but the real stories it holds are long gone. I wanted to bring some of them back, even if only through fictional means. I'm sure hoping a dozen folks weren't killed around the road at any particular time period - I'm also hoping that gangsters and mobsters aren't lurking about the side of the road attractions waiting to pounce. If they are, I'm also hoping that there will be two wonderful detectives with brains and brawn to take them out! That's what the book is about anyway - hope I didn't give too much of it away.

    I wrote three more chapters today. I'm up to Chapter 8 now. I'll do 8,9, and 10 tomorrow. I'll probably have the thing written in about six weeks, so by the end of May. It's taking a bit longer than I first expected, but I'm not in any rush. I have another two or three books to type out this year as well. I'll have at least one more Posh book and another romance book. I could do two Posh thrillers if I push it. I may write another Blog Book as well - just to have it out there. They take a couple of weeks to produce, not too much time, not too much trouble. I like them, and even if no one else ever reads them, I wrote them.  Whenever someone on YouTube sends me an uninvited DM saying they want to "get to know me," I tell them to read all the blog books first -then we can talk.

    The way I see it, I'm just too busy to start up some romantic venture at this age. I'm both uninterested and, really, I'm not even sure my body could handle it. Fuggetaboutit -- nope! I'm too happy being old, fat, and frumpy in my jammies. If I didn't get dressed and put on makeup to go to work, what would happen if I had a man in my life? Gosh darn, please, don't even think about it - nope! I'm good. Thank you, I'm good. I'm getting my 5th dog tomorrow. I will do that. I will welcome that kind of love into my life. Go ahead, twist my arm.

Photo Credit: Me

Acute Indigestion is NOT Cute!

     So....here I am. I wasn't aware that was an option less than an hour ago. It's happened to me before, twice, in fact, but you never know if the next time is going to be the last time. Thank God, and I mean that, thank God, I'm not dying, and I'm OK, and all is well - or at least, it will be. I'll tell you all about it.

    About 12 years ago, I had my first real bout with acute indigestion. Of course, when it happened, I knew it wasn't a gallbladder issue because I don't have one. I knew it wasn't my heart, but not for the same reason. I do have a heart.  I knew it wasn't my heart because even through the horror of it all, the pain, the sweating, and the shallow breathing, I could tell my heart was doing OK; at least I thought so. 

    About 12 years ago, in the early summer, I think, I was at a BBQ, and I ate a big burger, which was part of the issue, and the other part of it was that the mayonnaise had been left out for a minute; I had both acute indigestion from the burger getting stuck and I had a touch of food poisoning. What all happened that day, I don't remember; the drugs were that good. I do remember the ambulance ride and my daughter driving me home. After that, I can only remember paying off the hospital bill for the next six months.

    The diagnosis was acute indigestion; something I was a little embarrassed about because I was literally calling 911 while curled up into a ball, sweating and crying. It was terrible! How could it be that bad? But it was, and when they finally were able to pull my legs down from my chest and hook me up to the medicine, it was lights out until I was in my bed later that evening. I don't recall a single minute of the ordeal after the needles.

    The next time, and maybe another time, I ate burgers again. The reactions occurred only after I either ate too much or ate two meals closer together than usual. That's what happened today. I had a Burger King Whopper, but only 1/2 the bread. The problem arose because I had eaten a good-sized breakfast only two hours beforehand. I should have been more careful, but you don't really think that way - until you need to think that way - and now, I do need to think that way.

    About two weeks ago, I went to Braum's (an ice cream and dairy store with an attached restaurant), and they had an amazing new double bacon burger. I had to try it. I knew I shouldn't, but I did, and yep, I felt it. At least, and this isn't much of an excuse, I hadn't had much to eat beforehand, so it didn't "kill" me the way I was slain today by the Whopper! Both were doomsdayers, but today's problem was so much worse. I can't blame the restaurant -it was me. I'm old, it's just the way it is. If beef isn't settling correctly and is causing me this much pain -- I'll give up beef.

    Today, after eating a really nice, perfectly cooked Whopper (I never eat all the bread. I have dogs.) I may have had five minutes from the last bite to the first pang. I immediately knew what was happening, but I decided to thwart it if I could. I drank a really big drink of my tea and chomped down two Tums as fast as I could. I tried to go to the bathroom to vomit it out of me, or get it out of me the other way - I know it sounds really gross to say, but I thought if I could poop or vomit, I could get the pressure that was beginning to build inside my chest cavity to subside.

    I couldn't do either; I couldn't make the thing budge. It would not move. I began to breathe; those deep and practiced breaths you do when you're having a baby, when you know you need to stop and take control of everything before you can't. It wasn't long before I became both light-headed and ultra-sensitive to movement, sound, light, dogs under my feet, and even my own breathing. It all bothered me.  It all seemed to echo and throb...and then came the sweat.

    Laura sat me up because I couldn't get up on my own. She helped me breathe, and I squeezed her hand. Sweat was pouring from my face and back, as she called 911, asking them to pull up into the driveway. The last time they came to take Laura, they pulled up along the curb. I knew I couldn't walk that far. They pulled up close and had the gurney ready for me. I could at least make it that far.

    Interestingly, the bumpy, rough ride over the grass and gravel helped jostle my body a bit, and I could feel the lump in my chest move. I sat in the ambo for a good 30 minutes with Luke and Zoey, the great EMTs who came out to help.  Luke started to put in an IV, but couldn't find a good vein. He tried both arms. Zoey asked me a lot of questions, forcing me to speak, and though it was painful, upwards of 7 out of 10 at one point, I felt that the bulge was moving and the pain subsided to a 6, then a 5, then it all but went away - until it didn't.

    Several minutes went by as they ran tests on my heart rate, asked me questions, and made sure I was both alert and able to make my own decisions, and, in doing so, it gave my body time to react to the fact that digestion works in both strange and wonderful ways. Prayer helps! I was praying, telling God I know He's there, asking Him to make it go away and to be with Laura because she was about to overload mentally. He knows me, and He knows her. She wasn't going to be able to handle me being gone, so I was really thankful when the pain left my chest completely.

    Luke and Zoey continued to talk with me, gave me options, and we discussed them. It was determined that I do know what is best for myself. If the pain were to return, I could call them again. They are less than one mile from my home. They worked very well together, and because I was conscious, breathing, able to answer, and able to decipher some of the silly, simple questions they ask on purpose to see if you can jump start your brain on your own -- it was determined that I'd be OK staying put; staying home.

    It's been one hour since I left the ambulance. I'm sitting upright, I'm breathing, I'm typing, and I'm drinking electrolytes in my water -- but I will not be eating beef again. I don't need it. I love it. I really do, but I don't need it, and it doesn't work with my gut anymore like it used to. Luke mentioned I could have Alpha-gal, a condition a person can develop after being bitten by a particular tick. I've been bitten 100 times by ticks, so yeah, it could be that now that I'm older, that disorder has come to the surface. It would not surprise me.

    What to do if I can't eat beef? Eat more vegetables, grains, nuts, chicken, rice, and fruit, I guess -  at least I don't have to give up something really important like chocolate. That could end me. Beef is just that: beef. It's not a deal breaker for me. Well, that's my next-to-death experience story for you. I told Laura that dying would be an upgrade to how I was feeling. I don't know about you, but I can't stand being in pain - I am such a weenie about it. I hate it!! Knock me out or something. I just don't want to feel that way -- Thank God, I don't.

Photo Credit: Burger King 

Clearance Candy!!

     Well, I don't know about you, but I am not a happy after-Easter candy shopper, I can tell you that. I'm the person who buys candy every day after a holiday, so I can have both what I want and have it at a much reduced price. I think, honestly, it's the best way to handle the candy situations in one's life. Chocolate can last up to a year if kept cool; so yes, I do like a good sale when I find one.

    All that being said, I was just simply gobsmacked to find out that my local grocery and other outlets allow their employees a first shot at buying the reduced candy after a holiday. Now, I haven't lived in this particular city long; maybe four or five months. I didn't try to buy too much after Christmas because I cleaned up after Halloween. Then, when Valentine's Day came, and candy was on sale on the 15th of February, that's when the brick hit me squarely between the eyeballs. There was a very, very dismal amount of boxed candy at most stores. I finally (finally) found one that hadn't been picked over.

    Then, not realizing it was a real thing, I went back out on Monday, the day after Easter, to buy more. Nope...shot down again, and this time, even my out-of-the-way store was depleted. What I found most upsetting was that Walmart (of all places) had a few bags of jelly beans and, of course, a million Peeps left, but nothing else. I say that, there were other things, but believe me when I tell you that it wasn't worth the bother to even try. They had the candy on sale, but only 25% off, and Reese's doesn't pack their bags the way they used to. You'd end up paying $3.74 for about 10 pieces, and even those aren't full-sized eggs but are compromised "fun-size" or even smaller. NOPE.

    The Family Dollar had one worker who was in the back. I couldn't find any on-sale candy, and no one was there to assist. I looked and finally found a few pieces, picked over again, and nothing was worth purchasing. I didn't have time to wait for the worker to come to the front, so I left. I met a woman who was coming from the other store next door - she must have known what I was doing. She said to me, a stranger, "If you're looking for day-after candy, they ran out yesterday. They have those stupid Peeps and a few bags of mixed no-brands left." I mean, to be fair, no named brands are fine - but I looked, and she was right - nothing worth looking at.

    My thoughts ran the gamut for about a minute. I wondered whether to venture into Yukon, a larger city nearby, or even into the big city of Oklahoma City, but when I really thought about it, I realized it wasn't worth my time, gas, or effort. I should just get over it, not buy any day-after candy, and live with the sad but possibly new way of life. Things change; not always for the best. I was told by one store that the actual day of the holiday was the day they allowed their employees first shot - I get it; it's a perk.

    Dollar General did have quite a few Russell Stover eggs to choose from this afternoon, a full three days after the holiday, but they were still only 25% off, and even reduced priced, they weren't worth what they were asking - not when the size of the egg has been reduced, but the price of it has gone up. I know, I know, I sound like my dad - but the older I get, the smarter he gets.  I'm learning to be more like him, and in doing so, I'm not losing out on life as much as I am reserving time, money, effort, and even the experiences. I wasn't happy when I went into those stores to find out that trying to buy the candy was a bust - but if I don't go in at all, I don't have to deal with that loss. There you go!

    I think I'm maturing, which could or could not be a good thing. I'm 64 - maybe it's time I let that sort of thing happen. If I want candy, I'll buy it - but I won't spend more than what it's worth; that's not who I am. It seems the systems have changed. Maybe stores can better guess now how much to buy based on last year's sales, or a combination of several years in a row - it makes sense. Then they order 10% more, knowing their employees will take up the slack, draining the shelves to make room for the new stuff, and those of us who thought we could get a bargain just... well, we don't. 

    There's not another big "candy" day in the future. Fourth of July is the next big holiday, and it's not a special candy time. I'll have to make do with what I can make do with -- which at the moment, is nothing outside what I would normally buy. Oh, the sorrow of it -- the simple, yet agonizing pain of being without copious amounts of chocolate! If only I could survive...oh look, I did! Yep! I pushed right past it. I'll smile and walk away - but I won't pay more for something just because it's there - that will never happen. It doesn't matter how much I make; that part of me remains. I am a spendthrift in some ways, and overpriced candy tops the list.

    I did take advantage of the egg prices this past weekend. I did buy two cartons of eggs for .67 cents each. That was good. It again goes to prove that if they wanted to, they could keep the price of food (eggs, milk, bread, cheese, etc.) lower instead of expecting people to pay a premium for it. If we all just said no, they'd have to comply -- we hold more power than most people realize. The consumer is the driving force of supply and demand; truth.

Photo Credit: Etsy

Hans it is! (New dog)

     No one really has to twist my arm too far to get me to agree to take on another dog. I'm not that stubborn about it. I'm tougher than a rusted bolt when it comes to a few things, but not dogs. I'm not a pushover either - there has to be a good reason, and yeah, you can define "good" in various ways. I'm really not going to fight you if you're just damn set on giving me a dog. 

    I have, in the past, and probably still will, take a dog for someone and fatten it up, find it a good home, and pray over it knowing it's going to a good place. I've done that a few too many times in my life. I've also, God knows, been the one to simply take a stroll through a dog pound to just window shop; you know how that ends. I can guarantee you that if I go to a pound, I'm going to walk out with a living, breathing friend I didn't walk in with. That's a given.

    Well, there is one breed - the Dachshund/Beagle, that no matter what my situation is, I would make room for it if it had to be. I couldn't and wouldn't turn down a Dachshund/Beagle for any reason, really, and if I needed to, I could always find room for it around the place. It's just a fact of life. There's a really good reason (Good being the word) that God has kept most of the loose or needy Dachshund/Beagles in other states. He knows my weakness. I can't say no. I'm incapable. 

    Well, Hans isn't a Dachshund/Beagle, but what he is (is) just as good. He's a half-standard and half-mini Dachshund, which makes him the exact size of the most perfect dog to walk the face of the earth; the Dachshund/Beagle. When he first became available, I wondered how the other dogs would be with him. But after seeing Kiah with a toad baby the other day, I'm convinced Hans will be perfectly safe in our home. Kiba was tiny when he came into our house, and he's been squashed, kicked, bitten, and rolled over a few times, but nothing he hasn't deserved - he's an instigator. 

    Hans was available, and I said yes. Then, after thinking about it, and the training that would be necessary, and all the worrying about his safety (not to mention, I have four other dogs), I decided not to get him. I told his owner, and she understood. I just knew someone else would come along within an hour and snatch him up! She's not charging much at all for her dogs. Her full price is usually what some charge for their deposits!  I told her no, and then a week went by, and I noticed she still had him advertised as if he was available.

    I called and talked about it; no one was willing to put the deposit down until he was weaned. That's not how it works, folks. You put the deposit down to keep the dog when he is weaned. Well, with no one beating down her door, and me really wanting him despite my better judgment and despite the fact that I won't be all that thrilled about training another puppy, I decided to tell the owner I'll take him. She agreed, and she's really happy about it because she and my daughter are long-time friends online -- it makes good sense.

    So, in just under two weeks, I'll pick him up. He'll come home, and he'll start his little black and tan butt life right here at my house under strict supervision - I know my daughter. He'll be my dog, but she'll run his life from the get-go when it comes to where he can and can't go, what he can and can't do, and who he can and can't mess with -- the cats will no doubt train him well, too.  I'm excited about it. I can't lie. I won't lie. I'm not being a very responsible adult right now, but with Ginger's inevitable passing, maybe it is a good thing. God knows. He could have let someone else come along, but no one did.

    I'll consider that my sign. He'll never be a Rover. He won't ever replace Matrix; he may only come close to George, but the truth is, he's going to be perfect -- he's my Hans.

The Mother Road (the new book)

     Book 22 (I think, I'm pretty sure it's the 22nd) and the 9th Posh book is about to be started. I wasn't planning on this one either. I had "Shadow" on my mind to write, but with the 100th birthday of Route 66, "The Mother Road" across the U.S., I decided to write another novel where Nick and Ralph take a road trip up and down the new highway chasing a couple of killers as they make their way hitting up diners in small cities all along the route. 

    The premise is simple. Two would-be Bonnie and Clyde types out to make a name for themselves are double-dipping in the world of crime; they are aimless in some ways, hitting what they can when they can, and yet have a method to their madness. Not quite as organized as the gangsters they pretend to be, these renegades prove to be dangerous because of their lack of discipline. Anything can happen, as their lives are as unpredictable as the Oklahoma wind.

    Ralph Ferguson, now a private investigator in his own right, lives in Oklahoma City, within walking distance of Posh. They ride the Mother Road together, much like they did in the book "Mesa", but this time, they are primarily on the road, not just taking the road from Point A to Point B. This time, it's personal, it's business, and it's scenic. They'll necessarily stop in on a few old friends, make new acquaintances, and find souvenirs and treasures along the way. 

    I won't give away too much of the plot, but if you know much about Ralph, you know he's from Chicago. He'll shine there in style, while Nick remains reserved as he usually is. The two pair up perfectly in "The Mother Road", which will see the exit of one major book character and the emergence of a new face to help the boys solve what needs to be solved in a timely and professional manner. It's hard to let a character go, but when you realize he's no longer progressing in that character, it's time to shelf him until such time I can either revive or officially retire him. It needed to happen.

    Back to the road! With "The Mother Road" about to take up a lot of my time over the next few weeks, I'll be sure to keep you up on what the two detectives find along its route. They'll stop off in El Reno, of course, for their first meal at Johnnie's diner for a big, fat, heavy-on-the-mustard onion burger with a sackload of fries for the road.  Then it's to the West first, picking up clues and realizing that the dead should bury the dead and the living are the ones worth trying to save. 

    You'll have fun - I know you will, you may even get the opportunity to stay at a quirky motel, eat at a truck stop, or have an outdoor street BBQ on your way through the Texas panhandle. You know we'll run into Dennis Rockford on his body farm! It wouldn't be a whirlwind road trip without that!  I'm betting by the time we're through, you'll be glad Nick makes it home safely to help Elaine diaper those twins she just had in the last book-- spoiler alert: He'd rather catch a murderous fiend than wrestle with safety pins and pooey smelling nappies.

    Enjoy the ride - I know I will. If you get a chance to make it out to a diner (any diner) on Route 66 this year, remember to wish the road a happy 100th! She deserves the attention. She's been hostess to a whole lotta love in the past 100 years. She's probably just about seen it all.

Photo Credit: Me. "The Mother Road"