People Suck. (That is all)

     I didn't think I would spend an hour of my life this afternoon on hold and then talking with the fraud specialists at both my bank and the credit card company, but there I was!  A little after 5:20 p.m. I got an alert on my phone that I had purchased a car seat - I had not purchased a car seat. Then, about a minute later, I was being asked by the VISA verification site if I had purchased a vacuum cleaner - I had not. A minute later, I got another ding - again, asking me if I had purchased dishes at William Sonoma. Nope! This is just crazy. I am so sick, and so tired of would-be thieves.

    The thing is, most of us now have protection services on our credit cards. Our bank covers us on the debit cards, and we're going to find out whether someone has hacked it, tried to use it, or stolen it and then tried to use it. In my case, I have no idea how they got the numbers, but they did. The charges were from all over the United States. I even have 3 addresses to give to the fraud people so they can possibly connect the recipients of the would-be purchases to a fraud ring. Who knows? At least I have something I can give the people investigating the cases.

    The reason I got the credit card and kept the charge limit as low as I did was to protect me from this sort of activity. I use the card nearly exclusively for Amazon purchases, but I have been known to buy food at a fast-food restaurant, too. I pay the card down if it goes above 33% of my overall limit. It's a credit builder. I don't buy much. I just use it, pay it off, and use it again and again, pay it off. I put two or three purchases on it, pay it down, and repeat. You can see the very, very similar pattern when my statement comes in, so anything grossly deviating from it is noticeable.

    Is it a hassle? Yes, it is. I have to cancel the card, have a new one sent to me, and I can't buy anything from Amazon for a week - oh no! I'll survive. Besides, if I simply had to buy something, I have a bank card.  I'm just pissed that I have to go through the trouble of placing the call, waiting on hold, going through the steps to cancel the card, and putting up with all the nonsense that shouldn't happen in the first place. People suck, it's as simple as that. I wake up and get ready for work. I think about paying my bills, feeding myself, and my kid. I don't think about how I can scam someone today! (or any day)

    Here's the truth - and it burns. I know that when I die, my soul is going straight to Heaven. I won't be let in because I'm such a good person, or because I didn't scam anyone. I'm going through those gates because of the sacrifice made on my behalf by the Living Son of the Living God. He made it possible me, and what would not be possible would be for me to be a scamming sick son of a bitch who tried to hurt people, steal, and harm others because just after Jesus assended into Heaven the Holy Spirit came to live wihtin the bodies and hearts of all Believers - He won't let us do things (not easily) that can hurt and dishonor His name. 

    I may not be clever enough to steal from someone, but I doubt that the guy or gal who did steal from me today, or tried to steal from me today, won't wake up in Glory if God decides they've lived their last second -- and that's really very sad. I hope they find Jesus before it's too late. I really do. They can find cash, money, crypto, things, stuff—whatever they think will fill the void—but they won't know peace until they find true redemption. They need Jesus! 

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

The Mother Road (Route 66) Is Half Written!

     The book "The Mother Road" is halfway done! Halfway!! Woo Hoo! I'm at 40,000 words right now, and it will be around 83,000 when all is said and done, but I will only have about 75,000 when I start to fluff and stuff it. So, I can say that it is halfway written and feel pretty good about having said it.  I'm about to start Chapter 20, and I have noticed that my average chapter isn't as long as it was in other books, but that's OK too; there really isn't a rule about that sort of thing. You write until you're done—that's my rule.

    So, the book is shaping up, and I now have enough to go back and reference something that took place earlier. I'm going to go back in at the end and add this or that to this or that chapter and make it fuller. I have the words my friends have given me to put into the book. I have notes to add, both simple and complex. I write out notes before and during the writing, and then, at the end, I go back in and insert those ideas. It does mean rewriting from time to time, but I'm OK with that.

    Right now, one of the characters is dead, but the other characters don't know. What I think is fun to do is have conversations in my head about it, because I know who knows and who doesn't, and they never ask who I am -- which is odd, but it's true. Not once has Nick Posh ever stopped me and said, "Hey, who are you and why are you in my story right now?" I think they know my role.  I think they sneak little tidbits of ideas and suggestions into my thinking when I'm not actually thinking. That's probably how I get the better ideas to begin with.

        I'm not telling Nick or Ralph this, but I didn't write much in this book about their wives or kids because the books aren't about them. The books are about Nick and his experiences. Ralph is part of those experiences, but the books are, in fact, Nick Posh thrillers, not Ralph Ferguson thrillers.  Nick is married to Elaine; they have a 12-year-old son away at Boarding School in London, and newborn twin sons. He's got a full house, but I can't waste time dealing with their needs when the great detective has work to do.

        Likewise, Ralph is married, and he and Stella have a little daughter named Gracie, who is about 2 now. They have to do their thing without much interaction from Ralph, because he's out on the road chasing bad guys with his good friend and military brother, Nick Posh. I did do a good thing early in the book. I sent Eoghan MacRae back to Scotland, where he'll live out the rest of his fictional life helping his fictional friend Chief Montgomery. I'm sure they'll end up in another novel devoted strictly to them - maybe, I don't know. What I do know is that I am halfway finished with my 9th Nick Posh thriller -"The Mother Road".

        I have decided to dedicate the book to Route 66 itself. I know that's a bit odd, but Route 66 turns 100 this year, and it is what it is - a living, breathing, historic road willing and mostly able to take you from the west coast, beginning at Santa Monica Pier, all the way to the great Navy Pier off Lake Michigan in Chicago. It may or may not actually go out to the shore, but it is a wonderful road that can take you on a marvelous and very nostalgic trip of your lifetime. Yes, there are things to see along the way that have, over time, diminished, but the route is still iconic, and you really should, if you can, get your kicks on Route 66.  I double-dog dare you!

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com  Most of my books can be found on Amazon. Print and Kindle. 

Decisions. Decisions.

     Decisions can be a funny thing. They often depend on so many factors, and my decision not to get Adirondack chairs is a good example. I say that, but then I realize it was based solely on one factor: I can't easily get out of the Adirondack chair, so I've decided not to get them for the back porch area. There you have it, I've reached the age where an Adirondack chair is not the best choice - damn. Who knew it would ever come to this?

    We moved to this house in November, and last year, last summer, and most of the summer before that, I lived in a house with a backyard, but not like this one. The one I had before was just that: a backyard. This house has 14 acres of land surrounding it, and it has something the other house doesn't have—peace! The house I lived in before, and chose not to get any outdoor chairs to sit in, had noisy neighbors and random crack heads walking around it. Believe me, we didn't hang out in the yard much - and we certainly didn't have any firepits to draw attention to the fact that we had a fire pit.

    Leaving that part of our lives behind feels so good. It has literally been six months since I've even driven to that part of the world - it's a good 27 miles away, and I feel no need to make it a part of my life anymore. My best friend still lives there, but she comes out to visit me, so there you have it. I'm not going to head back if I don't have to, and that's a decision that didn't need too much time to make. It is, however, a decision based on a number of negative factors; factors I knew existed but was not at liberty to do much about.

    When I say I thank God every day for my job, I really mean it. It has been so very wonderful to earn enough to get out from under the burdens, the circumstances, and the forces that we were surrounded by. Now, today, we're surrounded by quiet, peacefulness that just goes on and on. Our nearest neighbors are farther away than most, and they never (or rarely) leave their homes or hang outside, let alone make any noise. They don't. I can hang out in my backyard and whip up a nice little fire in the new firepit, while not sitting in Adirondack chairs, and really enjoy myself. 

    Laura has decided to raise chickens and vegetables, so she's having a great time doing it, while I'm just listening to cicadas, birds, the occasional car passing by, and the dogs barking at leaves that decide to blow across the front lawn. Dogs are dogs, you know, and we no longer have to keep shock collars on them, bring them into the house when they begin to bark, or try to stop them from barking. Nine times out of ten, when we lived at the other house, the neighbors were the ones causing the dogs to bark and calling the police to say our dogs were barking. Geez!

    Now...well, they're dogs. We have four of them, and they are all perfectly content to stand outside, inside, wherever, and just bark their fool heads off. One of them is a Dachshund, so it is what it is. The others are just normal, average, basic dogs, and they will bark because dogs like doing the dog thing. Again, I thank God every single day - five or six times a day, and He smiles.  He's smiling, we're smiling, the dogs are smiling, and if our old neighbors are also smiling, I would have no idea. Furthermore, I really don't care.

    I'm taking off tomorrow, it's a Monday. I'm taking off so I can write a little bit in my book. I'll end up writing today, too, but I haven't been writing as much as I thought I would, so I took a break to get back into it. I'm off next Monday because it's a holiday, but maybe it can be a thing. Then, I'm taking off the 29th as well, for a fun and fabulous time of a floating holiday. I'm using it for cultural purposes because again, my company allows for such wonders. I am so grateful. I'll end up writing that day as well -- so, it looks like decisions are being made both left and right! 

    Enjoy your time wherever you are, and if you dream of getting out from under something - keep the dream. We knew, and we prayed, but it took a long time. It really did. I only earned enough to make it, and now I'm doing a bit better. I've learned to save, to buy better, to work better, to use more of what I already have, and to buy less of what I don't need. It's all worked its way up and down the ladder of decision-making, and I can honestly say, I'm both content and happy. I love my life.

    

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

The Dachshund in a Nutshell.

    The Dachshund is a majestic sausage on four legs that refuses to acknowledge its own ridiculous proportions - it doesn't realize it's a smaller dog. No one was ever brave enough to tell them so.  Originally engineered (not just bred)  by German breeders to flush badgers out of tight underground burrows, these dogs were designed with long bodies and short legs for maximum excavation efficiency. What that means is that you, the new Dachshund owner, or someone who loves their look and was hoping to buy one, will no longer have a pristine yard if you get one. 

    Essentially, they are furry, sentient torpedoes designed for subterranean combat. Their ancestral makeup, their blueprint, means your living room sofa cushion is treated like a tactical military operation, and your laundry pile is just another tunnel waiting to be cleared of imaginary forest monsters. Those chew toys for aggressive chewers can help - but in the mind of the Dachshund, what is his is his, what is yours is his, and everything you thought may be off limits is also his. (or hers if your dog is a girl) 

    Despite weighing a little more than a standard bag of flour, a Dachshund possesses the acoustic volume of a jet engine; have you really ever heard one? They bark excessively because their original job required them to alert hunters from deep inside dark earth holes. The dog would go into the hole, lose himself looking for a badger, and sometimes he'd get stuck - the owners had to find them somehow. To achieve this, God blessed them with a barrel-shaped chest that acts as a massive acoustic amplifier. 

    When a Dachshund barks at a leaf blowing across the yard, it does not sound like a small lapdog yapping, nor is it because he (or she) is bored; it's because he sees it as the enemy -- everything is potentially the enemy, and the dog will bark. It sounds like a deeply offended, bass-heavy hound echoing through a canyon, leaving neighbors to wonder where you are hiding the invisible Great Dane. Little do they know that the Great Dane would most likely be a whole lot nicer to them than the sausage dog! 

    This combination of hunting heritage and acoustic power breeding is absolute in the Dachshund. You, too, will believe you have a Great Dane-sized dog living with you when you try sleeping with the little guy -- somehow, he/she will learn how to command more space than they need, and you may end up begging for your blanket sometime in the middle of the night as well. In a Dachshund’s mind, they are not a foot-tall wiener dog; they are a twelve-foot-tall apex predator capable of taking down a grizzly bear. They will look a snarling Mastiff directly in the eye and confidently decide they could win that fight - and they actually start that fight; so be on your toes, ready to scoop them up. 

    They are stubborn, fiercely loyal, and utterly convinced that they own the house, the yard, and the concept of time itself. To live with a Dachshund is to accept that you are merely a chauffeur to a small but powerfully over-confident, loud king (or queen) who walks like a slinky but commands the room from his or her first side-eye! (Did I mention how stubborn they are?)

    I laugh when anyone tells me they've just bought or adopted a Dachshund. Immediately, I smile because I know the struggles are real - and I wonder why exactly someone would put themselves through the torture. I have been a Dachshund friend and/or person since my birth. I don't have an excuse. I was literally born into a family that was literally that crazy, that dramatic, that silly, and that ambitious. 

    I have loved them, shared my life with them, and would never trade them - ever; but still, I laugh.  I always ask if they have Dachshund experience. I ask because it's not the same as being a dog owner; far from it. I laugh because the level of faithfulness, loyalty, and devoted lovingness that you'll experience with a Dachshund outshines and surpasses any type of experience you'll ever have with any other canine - bar none.

    So, if you've never had one, think about it. Read the book "Dachshunds for Dummies" and don't focus on just how darn cute and adorable they are. If you value your time, space, or ears, you'll choose another breed. You can't simply tell a Dachshund to stop barking or to pee outside if it rains. Don't try to tell it that picking a fight with bigger dogs is inappropriate; you'll only look silly doing so. They weren't bred to be lapdogs. That's a newer trait for the breed - they were built and bred to rule the world, and they're doing a really good job at it so far.

Photo Credit: Me (This is Neo, he's 10 weeks old) 

The German and the Swede!

     I should have taken their picture, but I didn't. I can tell you what happened, though, and you'll think it's fun. If you're from America, you'll understand, and if you're from the South, you'll really understand. If you're from Europe or the UK, you'll probably find something about the story that resonates with you too. I'll tell you how it started, and how it went, and you'll know that the moment you step foot in America, and find yourself in the South (or the Southwest) you'll be greeted by some crazy woman, just like me - it will happen. Prepare yourself.

    So, I live in El Reno, Oklahoma, which is one of the must-see cities on Historic Route 66. Route 66 is celebrating its 100th birthday this year, so naturally, we have a lot more guests coming through town than we usually do, and it puts a big smile on our faces to see all the folks from around the country and the world. The couple I met today was no exception. He was from Germany, she was from Sweden. They were in town for only one day, but I talked them into staying the night at a decently priced motel just off HWY 81 and I-40 -- tomorrow they will attend church, go to an open BBQ, and be on their way.

    I went downtown to take photos, to see my friends who own S&S Downtown Bargains, and to get my steps in. I have been trying to walk a mile a day, which may not seem like much to you, but my hip has been really bad for a while, so one mile is good for me. I take it slowly, and I do it right. I walked the streets of El Reno, met people, and pointed them in the right direction to give them a great Southwestern experience. His name, believe it or not, is Hans. Her name is Deidre.  He goes by John most of the time, though, since his father is also a Hans. We shook hands at the big white Route 66 sign in the middle of town.

    I helped the couple by taking their picture. Both had reservations about giving me their phone. I gave them mine to hold, and they agreed. We talked about their trip, and I noticed Deidre couldn't stop looking at my T-shirt. It was blue, and in white lettering it reads "Ya'll need Jesus". She smiled and said, "You'd be asked to turn the shirt inside out in our countries. It could offend someone." I laughed. "Well, it should offend. Jesus didn't come to earth, die for our sins, and resurrect Himself to show off - it was to fight Satan and take souls to Heaven; offended souls who like their sin."  Yes, that's what I told them. They smiled.

    Hans told me they were believers, too, and loved the strong personalities they were finding in America. They flew into Chicago, rented a car, and are driving Route 66 all the way to Santa Monica, and they'll fly back to Germany from L.A.  Great trip. I asked them if they found folks to be a little different in the South than they are up in Chicago - they laughed and said, "Are you kidding? No one talked to us there, unless they were serving us or it was their job. Here, people come up to us, realize we are newcomers, and shake our hands, tell us where to go, give us tips, and offer advice. It's wonderful."

    Since it was only 10:30 in the morning, the hamburger joints weren't open yet. We have 3 really good onion burger restaurants in El Reno. I pointed them out. They're literally within two blocks of each other. I told them where the S&S store and the feed store were, because that's always fun, and I pointed out the museum.  They promised to go to the museum, so when I left them, I went and paid their entrance fee. When they show up, they'll try to pay, and the good ladies there will tell them it's been paid. I think that will make their day!

    I knew there would be a big community gathering in the park tomorrow, where they would be welcome. I think it's free, but if not, it won't be much. It is a place where people meet to donate things, pick up things they need, and just talk and get along. Hans looked at me. He stared at me and asked if I was serious. I told him I was. They'll stay tonight in a hotel, after going to Walmart (his 1st time, her 2nd), and they'll hit up the casino this evening before going to a really fresh and open service tomorrow at a church that often meets outdoors if the weather is nice. They won't forget El Reno, Oklahoma. If they had come last week, they would have seen the world's largest onion burger! It's a yearly thing we do here.

    If you're from Europe, and you see folks waving for no reason, smiling, and coming at you, you can bet those folks are not only American, they're from the South. Be calm -- they're usually some of the nicest folks you'll ever encounter. I can only imagine what they'll think when they meet Steve. He's a Native Cheyenne-Arapaho man. He's probably 6'3", a little over 300 pounds, and has a big, big smile to go with his big, big personality. I would love to be in the store when he greets them. They will not forget El Reno, Oklahoma!

Photo Credit: Me

Listening to my Body (Finally)

     There was a time when I didn't have to worry about, care about, or think about what I was eating. I could pile in the food, and as long as it wasn't too spicy, I'd survive. I found out rather early in life that I couldn't eat peppers. They flat try to kill me, but I have managed to beat them at their game. I don't touch them, they don't touch me. We have an understanding.  However, it has only been recently, perhaps the past few years, that I've paid close attention to what (and how much) I can eat without having to call the ambulance to haul my carcass to the repair shop.

    About 13 years ago (dang, that's been a minute), I was taken by ambulance to an Indianapolis hospital with acute indigestion, but I thought I was having a heart attack. It felt really, really bad, and you could never have convinced me at the time that it was just indigestion. I think it was also, if I'm honest, a bout of food poisoning as well. I was at an outdoor BBQ and had some potato salad with mayo - do not do that in the heat. DO NOT DO THAT. I also had two burgers - do not do that either! I have zero understanding today as to why I thought I was so hungry. 

    That was the first real scare, and I've had two, three more since, but the real issue is the beef. It's the hamburger meat. I have reached an age and a stage where I can no longer eat it. It could be that Alpha gal syndrome; it could be. I have been bitten by any number of Texas brown ticks throughout my life. It could be a real thing, but what I know is that the last two times this happened, I had eaten a larger burger - just one, but I had it with fries, and I know better. I don't need that in my life.

    Today, and for the past month or so, I've been listening to my body. I eat a couple of Tums before I eat anything greasy, and I don't eat larger portions anymore -nope, when I start to feel as if my body is about to call it quits, I quit. I am not a fan of riding in the back of the big box with lights and sirens. I am not a fan. I do love the EMTs; they are always so, so, so very nice. I do like them, but not enough to call him regularly to take me for a ride. Nope.

    I still eat chicken, pork, and turkey -- and the other day I had a thinly sliced French dip sandwich. I ate it very, very slowly, and as I got to the end, my body said it was done. I didn't eat the last bite. That's why God made dogs. Dogs are there constantly reminding you that you really don't need that last bite. They'll take care of it for you. I have four dogs, so I eat less than what I used to -- and they are pleased. They think I'm making the right choice(s) for my body. They really, really care about me. I can tell. 

    My body was telling me I needed some really cold, unsweetened iced tea from Burger King today, so I listened. Of course, while I was there, I picked up some food for Laura, and since I was there, yes, I picked up a chicken sandwich for myself. The fries were split. I had a few, and the dogs ate the rest. Again, they don't mind if I'm on a health kick. It makes them feel as if they are useful and attentive. I came to the last bit of the sandwich, literally at half of it, and gave the bread to the dogs and took one more bit of the meat before splitting it with the mutts - I say mutts; Neo is a full-blooded Dachshund.

    This was Neo's first time in the lineup, and let me just say, there's a good reason people say Dachshunds are 10-feet tall. That little guy pushed his way through the big dogs, climbing over his Chihuahua brother Kiba, to take the tiny piece of bacon I was offering him. You'd have thought he was capable of breaking through brick - he's a keeper.  The big girls act as if he's annoying them beyond imagination (and he is), but he's their best friend when nap time rolls around.  I am just so happy God decided I needed dogs to remind me when to stop stuffing my face. 

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

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