Three Way Calling

(My three on the phone)

I didn't actually have a photo of Reuben on his phone up in Alaska, but when I saw this guy hanging out in a bag of dusty brown and green men I knew I had to have him. Look at this; he's on the phone while he's shooting someone! That is SOOOOO my son. He's on the phone talking to his sisters, telling them to stop fighting but he's about to kill someone - - this is NOT our father's Army.

I have been so bad in the past year or so calling Reuben up just because he has a phone and I can get a hold of him. He'll be in formation, on a mission, at bivouac or just climbing over a wall when his phone rings. Everyone in the unit just laughs at him...."STRINGFELLOW, you're phone's ringing!" Bet it's his mom, they say under their breath. They used to say it out loud hoping to get rise out of him, but it was me, and they'd get all upset because their moms never called. I call just to see if he's taking his vitamins, if he's remembering to turn off his coffee pot before he goes out to the field for the day, or just to make him burp for me. He's really one of the best damn belchers in the universe, and it makes me happy to hear him. I know he's OK if I can get a burp from my son. (Worked 21 years ago, and I just haven't stopped listening for it. I don't bounce that much with him anymore though.)

The girls were actually both talking to him in this picture. One on my home line, the other on her cell, and he'd have to switch back and forth on his cell to listen to the other sister bitching after he'd had enough of the first one. I couldn't stop laughing. I was in the kitchen making something and heard every word. Finally, when one of them hung up I got a call from Reuben telling me that he had to go park his Stryker, it was going to require both hands, but he couldn't get his sister off the phone because she was crying. He's needed.

Sometimes I think he went to the Army to get away, and sometimes I think he went to the Army to protect them. (Us) He'll call me at 11:45 his time to be sure the doors are locked, the dogs are in, the girls are in bed, and all the candles are blown out. The only problem with his 11:45 (2345 military time) calls is that it's 2:45 a.m. (0245 MT) my time. If the doors weren't locked by that time, I'm probably in some sort of trouble, but at least he's still the man of the house - more than 2000 miles away, but he's got it covered. HOOAH!

No Tequila was Injured During This Blog

Something had to give. I was flooded with invitations today, asked to show up everywhere and with only a few hours of daylight I knew that accepting any real invitations to play would be AFTER the sun went down. In other words, NOW. A girl can only do so much. I'm telling you, you post a blog about needing attention and the world comes out to greet you - - I'll have to remember to do that again next week too. Let's go work out! OK...I'm there. I'm usually there, so when my friend asked me to go with her, albeit a different gym by the same franchise, I was all over it. I don't mind showing off my bike-riding, treadmill rocking skills. I don't care where I am as long as my MP3 is working and I can close my eyes, dream of the man in my mind and pump the best out of the Bose headsets; the best possible - total escape. When I told the lady at the front desk that I wanted to tan - I was pumped myself. She was all over that too. She, like the lady at my gym, reminded me that the bulbs were new and I remembered to tell her to lower my time from 15 minutes to 10 and I was sure I remembered to remind her. So, why was I second doubting myself when I was completely undressed and about to slip under the heavy door...I was sure of it. Imagine my fear when I realized I was just about to turn the door knob and walk into the foyer to re-remind the counter lady about the timers....oops, you might need some clothes on to do that girl, just might...probably, yeah. I put the headsets back on and just counted 2 and 1/2 songs! 10 minutes - brown backside. Let's go the casino tonight for dinner! Let's make pizza! Let's go shopping for soap at that place! Let's call up spirits from the mirror! NOOOOO, there is a limit, I do draw lines. Get those people out of my house. But I was up for the pizza thing, so Caity and I went to the store and checked out every veggie available to make it the fattest, most veggie topped extravaganza on the planet! We ate 1/2 of one piece each and just died....we'll be eating old stale veggie cheese and yeast less crust pizza for a week. Someone, probably someone with a really sick sense of humor, bought me a book on Yoga from the internet. Stretch Mommy! Do this Mommy! Can you bend this far Mommy? SCREW YOU and your 17 year old body - I have pictures. I remember being able to put my legs behind my neck, those were the days.  Oh wait, that didn't really need to be out there. Little gymnastic humor....OK, scratch that. So, yeah, there comes a time that after you've worked out, tanned, burned, showered with oatmeal and vinegar, stretched and made a mega mountain of munchies that you (me) deserve to cut up a couple of limes (OK three). I can do that and feel no pain, I mean...no guilt. No guilt. Bring on tomorrow! I have NO plans to answer the phone.

Journals

The only thing I really had to worry about today was when and how I was going to go to the store and buy a new journal. My last one only lasted 2 weeks because my cable tv and internet was out for a few days when the tree trimmers cut a line. In times of extreme nothingness I write. Actually, I write all the time, and journals only usually last about 16 days, but this one was certainly running out of room and I had only had it maybe 11.

When I die I have it in my will (if you can call a bound book a will) that my daughter Laura will get my journals. I know she'll want to keep most of my work, my dreams, my thoughts, my energies a big fat secret but only because for the most part they are as mundane and idle as this particular blog. I mean, when I write in my journal (I say journal as if it's one book. I think I have over 250 now and that's for the past few years only. 11 entire years of journals were destroyed by my former whatever you want to call him. 11 years of writing - I probably averaged a book a month then.)

Laura won't make a movie out of my journals unless she decides to spice them up and say all sorts of things that aren't true; or if she just focused on the dream segments that could be both entertaining and interesting at the same time. I think I'll write a book covering the dreams I have had in just the past year or two because I really do write them out in my journal and try to make up meanings for them - it could amuse someone. Now, if I gave the journal to Caity...please, she'd burn them and say they went to good use. Reuben would probably pour over every word and try to make sense of my life. That would ultimately prove to be fruitless and unnecessary - the only meaning to my life is that it's MY life....I live it.

Journals have been used to determine history. Most of Blackbeard's (Edward Teach the pirate)life was determined by his writings. What we know of marinetime navigation came from journals - wait a minute. Maybe I could start writing about being something really cool and end up being in the history books like Teach himself! He died on my birthday, or rather I was born on his deathday. John F. Kennedy died on that day too. Come to think of it...journals aren't such a bad way to keep track of life now because I'm sure with all the technology we have now no one would bother to even check what I write about myself...but accept it as golden truth! No one takes the time to write these days, obviously if they did they must be telling the truth. YES, this is it. I will become...oh, I don't know, a writer, an author, I could be a teacher, no....wait, a professor! I could be a professor!

That's it, it's settled. I'm writing more about it tomorrow in my journal and when I die, and the movies come out about me...you'll see that I taught English somewhere, that I had wild and passionate dreams that could rock the tartar off of the teeth of a killer whale! (Oh, I like that...that was good. I'll use that in my book too!) Maybe I'll write something about being a mother, a good mother, a kind hearted, nature-loving, crocheting type that drinks coffee all day and probably too late into the night....and she (I mean I) blog too! That's it, I blog!

Good thing I got the journal. I need to find a pen now, I'm out of ink.

My Baby Is Taller Than Me!

I turned around and it happened....my little girl grew up. She got all tall and long legged on me. I took these (and a thousand other) pictures of her in her baby doll outfits for the Japanese TV crew that is coming to Los Angeles just to see her, or rather to see and hear her. She'll be singing a very beautiful song in both Japanese and English, and their idea is to mix the English for her background vocal background. It really should be sort of cool. I know it will eventually make its way to America. It would be sort of strange to have an internationally known singer in the family - - but I would like to see America step up too. It's so hard to break into the business in this country. Everyone and their dogs .... oops, that would be me, wants to be in the spotlight! Laura deserves it. She's awwwwwesommmme.

When I think back to all the times I screamed at her to turn off the television after midnight so I could sleep, it makes me wonder if I was actually being listened to. I don't think I was. She speaks Japanese - she was training herself in the middle of the night when she watched the anime shows televised in Japanese. She'd wake up at 2:00 in the afternoon and say something to me that sounded like "Ka-Nichi-Wa" and now I know...it was hello, or how are you? Sort of like Aloha!

When Laura was four years old she would stand on top of my bed and say "I'm taller than you Mommy." I would sit on the bed and bounce her down to me and tickle her and say "But if you're taller than me I can't do this", and I would grab her and roll her around, tickle the stuffings out of her and kiss her belly button. We don't do much of that anymore, but I did kiss Caity's bare butt the other day so she could get a little extra cash on a bet! I love my girs. I don't call them girls because again, when Laura was little she couldn't say girl correctly. They are my girs.

My little one. My baby...I still have that one. Caity will forever be shorter than me....but damnit, she'll forever be thin and gorgeous too! Oh, I don't mind, I just sit back and look at her. Both my angels are incredibly talented and beyond words for describing their beauty.......gag me already, I sound like a schmooze! LOL
But Laura is pretty and she is talented, and at 5'8", she could be a model....but she one thing for sure, she's taller than me. (and her feet are bigger too...hahahaha) Good luck with the song baby gir.....Godspeed.

Pyrex Explosion - Expresses Sooners Defeat

And just like that, an explosion came out of nowhere. If I had been standing in the bedroom I would have thought it was a car coming through the wall, but it came from the back of the apartment. Maybe it was the spirit of OU descending at the same moment that West Virginia, yes the clear cut underdog, barked their way into a Tostitos Fiesta Bowl winners circle! CRRASSSHHH and then there was a smell of something really hot burning, just burning. I went outside thinking the trees that had been affected by the ice storm had broken in half. It was that loud.

Turns out the dishwasher got a little hot and the Pyrex square pan I purchased for myself to bake with at Christmas just shattered! Pyrex isn't suppose to shatter! It's suppose to be good from hot to cold. I hadn't even cooked in it for hours. It was cold, sitting outside on the cabinet 10-15 minutes before it busted...but the dishwasher; whoa! It may need to be investigated. If it's getting that hot, hot enough to splinter a well constructed tempered glass pan, it's probably hot enough to cause a fire! So, we'll just turn it off for now. You can see my DAWN liquid gel thing in the machine still - so maybe the water isn't coming out, but the heat is heating up....BAM! (Maybe the dishwasher, like the Oklahoma Sooners, is missing three very important players!)

I can't believe our guy Grainger is out shoplifting in Arizona, and got sent back! Well, of course I can believe he was sent back, but I mean, I can't believe a kid would play a fantastic season or two with the Oklahoma Sooners, a team that really stands for greatness, and then he throws it all away - for what? A coat? $100? Maybe! I can't see it....stupid is as stupid does, and well, you can't say we're not all guilty of being a little tip-headed at times, but to give up a chance at the National Championship next year, and to be a part of the greatest college tradition in the world - yes, I know we lost, but we're still the Sooners, by God, and we'll be there again, and again, and again. West Virginia is good, but it's been 19 years since they played in a bowl of that magnitude. I better not hear ONE Longhorn or ONE OSU Cowboy fan say a word about Sam and the boys - NOT ONE WORD. Our record stands! (Unfortunately, so do the flags and penalties from tonight's mishap!)

When the explosion happened I ran outside. I was looking, and looking, I didn't see anything. I thought it was a crash, boom, bang, and I couldn't see any evidence! Follow the evidence, always follow the evidence...where did I hear it? I was at the computer. Which direction did it come from? Behind me. What am I smelling? Beef? Burning beef? I don't really cook or eat much beef......OH WAIT...the girls cooked a couple of steaks, and I put their pan, the square one in the dishwasher, but didn't rinse it thoroughly because the phone rang. I was counting on the DAWN soap pad to get the grime.....BAMMMMM! You can see what it looks like! I'm just drop-jawed at the mess. I'll clean it tomorrow, but want to show it off to my 2 maintenance men. They love a great challenge, and nothing says challenge like a grimy broken jigsaw puzzle! They'll be happy - I'll bake cookies, and we'll be set with a new dishwasher.

Next week...the tub breaks! YES!...well, I can dream.

If you're wondering what I did about the fact that the Fiesta Bowl played during CSI-NY...worry not. I have two televisions. I know I could have foregone the show, but I actually love that episode (Suicide Girls). Caity wants to be one. Hope she's tall enough.

GOOOOOOO SOOONERRRRS!! (Kick them a couple of times for me Bob, and then hug them twice)

Aries is as Aries Does! (Reuben)

ARIES: (Translation) Someone who meets life head-on, ramming their way through every aspect of their life, enjoying everything to the very very end. Someone who, without reason, switches gears, drives like a maniac just for shock value, and who, because he can, climbs up onto the roof at the age of 2, wrestles with danger, and usually ends up thrilling, and scaring the living hell out of everyone who loves them. THAT is a proper description of my son. Look how cute he was at 6 days and even at 6 years, he had that smile...look! He had that smile back then!!

Jeanie and I went to the Oklahoma City Zoo and we took this picture of the Elk playing with a large branch. At first we thought he was entangled, but as he maneuvered his way with it, around it, under and over it, we realized he was playing with something he could easily control. You have to think of this in perspective to what I have witnessed for many many years. My son Reuben (You may know him as Baby Boy) will (still) play like the Elk, in front of God and everyone, in the backyard - with toys. He has a certain area that he plays in at my parents farm. It can't be mowed down, he'll call from Alaska to be sure that Pop leaves his field of glory the way it was meant to be; overgrown and full of weeds. Pop indulges the boy.

He'll get out there with air weapons and just play. He's the ultimate fighter, he's the hero, he always saves the day. This is a man almost 22 years of age, and when I say he doesn't care if anyone watches, I mean, he doesn't give a rat's butt. He's out there for hours yelling, playing, laughing, digging in, climbing rocks, over ledges, under hedges, he's the quintessential warrior. It's always been that way. Before the Army the boy played football hero. He entertained neighbors for years! I'm sure there were time that people wanted to jump the fence to play with him, and you know what...he would have let them!

When you walked out into the yard you became his prey! You were NOW involved. You didn't leave until you were captured, tortured for information, forced to make a winning play, or escorted to the hull of a massive ship, but you were in his control. This was my son then, and this is my son now. I am told that when he goes to pick up his tank/Stryker on base that he can be heard talking to himself as he walks the 2 miles to where they are kept. He's pretending. He's plotting, he's about to become the lead character in the play that will involve real machinery...I knew there was an ulterior motive for this man to have joined the Army! He's in fantasy 24/7 at this game....he's IN IT. It's better than owning a Wii, he's the player and the subject, it is Second Life in real time!

Knowing what I knew about Reuben I had no inclination to jump the fence to assist the poor Elk who from the point of view of most tourists was in real straits....it only took a few minutes staring at him huffing, puffing, foot stomping, and listening to him blowing out his nostrils air of frustration so loudly he intentionally called an audience to his fence....he's pulling a Reuben! Every last Aries is exactly the same.....show offs. I wasn't about to help him, I just blew the animal a kiss and told him to kill the damn branch, get it, get it, YOU WON! YES!

Within a few minutes the massive mammal released his victim branch and smiled at everyone who had fallen for his antics...he knew. They all know.

The Better Diet Assistant(s)

For years I have had the best diet assistance known to man. I have indulged in their services, I have given in and literally handed over my entire meal at times either out of guilt, or because I knew I wasn't suppose to be eating what I was eating. (Which of course begs the question why would I assume the dogs should be eating what I wasn't suppose to be eating, when they aren't even suppose to be eating table scraps?)

Show me a dog that doesn't eat table scraps (and/or meals) and I'll show you a mean nasty owner/friend who doesn't really have the dogs best interest at heart. Now, having said that, I don't need your e-mails explaining to me all the problems with giving dogs food from the frig or my plate. I believe my records stands. Rover lived 16 years, Christmas another 16 years, Doni-Dog 15, and yes, I could go on. We had the puppy-house on the block. We were never without dogs, and we were never without friends - both two legged and four now.

I will say that the dogs in my life currently have very different tastes in food. In Faith's case, she doesn't hardly taste the food - she wouldn't be able to tell you whether she just ate a piece of steak, a yam, or a buttered piece of toast. (Actually she prefers lemon curd to butter) She consumes everything instantly, not savoring it, not even feeling it, I believe she is a machine at times. Whereas Matrix, on the other hand, will sniff, think, actually roll the food around his mouth and give it a process before fully accepting it, I think Yuki (the little one) is somewhere in between. Wanting to be exactly like Matrix in every way, Yuki will at least attempt to take his time...but his dogness comes through in the end.

Faith is part Chow and it couldn't show more in the way of her eating. I have a pedestal, yes I do, and Matrix eats from it just fine. It may be the only real exercise the dog actually gets - he's a bit too plump in the winter, we're working on that, he is encouraged to chase the geese on a daily basis, and even though he doesn't mind, it has become a bore to him. We're thinking up new ideas. Faith doesn't need to exercise, she's small and thin. Walking upright must actually take more energy than walking on all-fours. She's spayed and doesn't show the least inclination to becoming overweight - quite the opposite, so handing her 33% of my food is really a means of helping her sustain her life! That's what I tell myself.

I sat down yesterday and figured out every calorie I was eating and cut off 30% for the dog-portion. I handed the finished figure to my personal trainer and he laughed. He agreed that his dog was also a life saver, he was the one thing standing between himself and a larger pants size. So, I say "hats off to the dogs" - instead of throwing the dog a bone, I just hand them the rest of the sandwich, the piece of cake I thought I wanted, the cookie calling my name, and then there's always the milk in the cereal bowl - I haven't had milk from the cereal bowl in .....well, ever. It's always belonged to the nearest dog.

It's a good plan.

I'm So Pretty!

LOOK AT ME....I was really young once. I think I was 21, maybe almost 22 in these pictures. I know where I am, I'm in Los Angeles; actually on Santa Monica Beach just off the pier. It was in November 1983, and I was working three jobs but felt that I had to go home fast fast fast. I wasn't into cocaine and it just seemed to be popping up everywhere I went. I couldn't go to work at any one of my jobs and not find an addict as a boss, as a co-worker, as the payroll clerk - it was stupid. I came home after my car was loaded down in all sorts of secret places and I literally drove 16 kilos (MULE) from point A, where I worked, to point B, where I worked. My innocence bustled - I wasn't stopped, I wasn't arrested, I wasn't even questioned....and I didn't know either...but after I was told I left. RAN HOME.

What the heck? I wish to God that I would have had the nerve, the strength, the power and the confidence I have now...I really could have done something. I worked for three separate studios, I lived in a mansion in Beverly Hills, even if I was just babysitting it. I drove a really cool 1968 Karmann Ghia, had shoes out the whazoo because the guy in the mansion had a billion girls visiting and they threw out shoes and clothes on a daily basis. If ONLY I would have had EBAY in the '80s. Why...why...why!?

There was this apartment, it was in Brentwood. The apartment had 7 women and 1 guy living in it, everyone's schedules twisting and turning around each others. You could go in and see any one of them in the bed, it was a one bedroom place, and any one of them on the couch, under the table. I found a little one, she was maybe 4'11" sleeping in the closet - on the shelf, over the clothes. It sort of made me feel a little guilty about the 15 bedrooms and 4 living areas in the mansion....and me. The billions of girls coming and going rarely stayed; it cost them too much. Me? Never....I didn't do that. Damn, I didn't do anything!

I remember thinking "Wow, I don't drink liquor, I don't smoke pot, I don't blow coke, I don't blow anything, I don't have sex, I don't even stay out when I'm not suppose to....what a freakin' bore." So, I went to the beach to scream. I did too, I just screamed and I was standing in the water, looking up to God screaming and God said "HEY, don't scream at me...LIVE". Now, living wasn't drinking, smoking, toking, having sex, or staying out - but it was doing more, and it was doing it with fun....with others. I turned around...and there he was. The Photographer!

So, there I am. Standing in the water, wearing my clothes, and just laughing....because I wasn't screaming anymore, and I basically had no other plan. He asked me if he could capture me, shoot me - - sure, why not. I hadn't really been a model before, I thought my teeth were too messed up, and even though I was 5'7", I had a little belly - it wasn't flat and pretty like .... like models, but he wanted me to dance in the water for a few pictures. He was from Chicago. His name was Lincoln. I said yes.

24 years have passed and I'm still willing to dance. I don't scream at God anymore, and I couldn't call myself all that innocent anymore, but I like to think that the girl in the water is still in my head, she's still in my heart, she's still in my dreams, and she sure as hell is still in my soul. DANCE - and don't scream so much, live instead....breathe.

Tricky Business!

No one was shouting TIMBER this morning when I let Faith outside to do her thing. They were yelling "Whoa!" just before they (he) nearly fell off his perch about 10-12 feet in the massive Oak that stands outside my door. Sometimes taking Faith to public places can cause a stir. In this case, it could have caused an accident involving a chainsaw!

Faith bebopped out of the gate at a normal clip. I heard the chizzling, clacking of the saw, and had just about that much time to look up to see the man nearly disengage himself from where he was standing when he unwittingly lost temporary contact with the large tree he was connected to. Thank God for safety belts, huh? The man below him was laughing, but I'm not sure it would have been too funny had his partner come headlong down the branches onto the ground below. "I'm sorry!" I shouted up to him. I didn't think about anything like that happening. We've been next to bars in big cities and seen people fall off their stools. There have been wrecks in NYC over her, and a man nearly lost his life that way. No kidding, he was so agile, so athletic, that had he NOT jumped straight up onto the hood of the taxi that was aimed toward him on Broadway, he would have been hit. It wasn't traveling all that fast, but still - tons vs a man! He was awesome.

So, I did what any good natured person would do in this case. I went back inside and got my camera and took a couple of really nice pictures of them. I'll email his boss and tell him how great of a job he's doing. How he managed to compose himself in times of extreme uncertainty! Actually, I think he is the boss. I'll just tell his wife, she'll be thrilled to know.

One of the funnier stories about Faith surprising people with her upright walking ways took place in Dallas at the DFW airport. We were stuck due to high winds, so we were just walking through the airport. Suddenly out of left field, I hear a really loud, rather high-pitched laugh/scream. It was a man! He was dancing, and he was laughing, and he was trying to decide to run up to us, or squat down and let Faith come to him. He did both really, sort of sliding into her, but she was more surprised by his voice and waving arms...she had to be coaxed into seeing him, but once they met he was the kindest of men. He broke his own cookie in two and gave it to her, he got her another one, then another one....he pet her, he kissed her, he told her how much he adored her. I think he even had a little tear in his eyes.

We hugged and shook hands and said our good byes, but I took pictures then too. Thanks Rick Springfield, your smiles that day have lasted even through today! You really are a master of your craft, and a fun-loving, hard-working man to boot. Kiss Gomer Blue Eyes for me!!

Tubers! I love them.

So, I'm like hanging out at the gym today with my buddy Niki, and what should happen? Tubers. Niki found me a recipe with all of them, all beautifully, fat, rough, raw veggies in a great healthy sauce made up of olive oil, cinnamon, ginger, and mango juice. Yes, you heard me, tubers! I bought them all. Beets, turnips, yams, carrots, and then I threw in an apple -- granny smith baby! Set the oven at 400, cut up the tubes and poured on the 1/2 cup of sauce. If you want the exact number of turnips vs. beets, I don't have a clue, I just cut them all up. I love beets. I really really love beets. About 30 minutes into it, you throw in the apples and you let them plump up. The mango juice is the last to leave the frig. Now, I cut my mangos and juice them right there, but that's me, I'm a freak.

After about 45 minutes you have a fine meal of the meanest, best looking, hard to resist veggies that just can't be beat. Wine, a little water, doesn't matter what you serve it with, the beets steal the show every time. Oh, and the leaves, the big, leafy green leaves with red-purple twizzler-type stems? What do you do with them? EAT THEM...eat them all. My girls like to make fun of me by making little rabbit faces, holding up their hands as if they're little paws....they cock their heads to the right and left, making chipmunk sounds - refusing to enjoy the meal themselves, and all the while teasing me further with showing off their sleek, svelte bodies while I stuff my face with green leafy stems and beautiful beets. Damn kids.

Just thinking about my veggies while I was working out today made my day! I couldn't even concentrate on the loud blasting music. Nothing could compare to it. Shut up Boston, go away Foreigner! Please, I'm going to be consuming carrots in an hour! I'm going to be cutting up turnips, mixing them with mango, I'm stripping yams of every feeler-looking-tentacle...I'm eating tubes! All day! (OK, I conceded and listened to Michael Buble, a girl can't resist the master can she? He's hot.)

Such a day, such a work out, OH, and I even learned about the 1/2 ball. Have you seen it? It's like a balance ball but it's cut in 1/2, has a flat side? I found out how to use that too today. Tell you what - with tubers in me and the knowledge of how to balance on an unstable platform (while holding 8 pound dumbbells) I could be unstoppable tonight. I could be dangerous. I hope so, I haven't had danger is such a long time.

Live a bit.