Bettin' on the Ponies! (I won)

(www.paintracing.com)

YES! I did it. I was at Remington Park with my good friend Niki and her husband Eric last Friday and while Eric rummaged around the casino floor looking for the right slots to play, Niki and I ran straight to the ponies. Actually the quarter horses were running Friday night, and it was a lot of fun. We didn't know what the heck we were doing, so the first two races we just sat in our padded leather seats drinking wine and staring both out the window where we could see the live action, and at the t.v. monitors in front of us so we could see it in a medium we were both more familiar with. Having only been to a few races it still sort of boggles my mind that in just 300 yards the game is over! (16.8 seconds or so if you're into quarter horse racing)

You should have seen us, well me...I was the one screaming like I was at an OU football game. You'd think one of the horses was quarterback Sam Bradford, and I was standing up shouting at him to throw the ball...throw the ball...NOW! Only this time it was RUN! RUN!...of course they're running Jude, they're horses and they're in a race! Running is what they do....suppose it would have been counteractive to scream out STOP STOP! Which is what I wanted to yell at the horses that were beating the pants off of my very first ever bet - I bet $5 on a beautiful horse named "Flashin' the Boys" ONLY because he was being ridden by a girl jockey (Debbie A. Freeman) I wanted to be the supportive fan....She and Flashin' the Boys came in dead last...STOP STOP!!! That's what I wanted to yell, but I didn't.

So, the next several races Niki and I had a plan. It was a good plan too. We have found the way to beat the system...not hard if you think about it. We're not numbers geniuses or anything, we just cover the spread by betting on every horse. No, just kidding - we didn't do that. I bet on one, Niki bet on one and when we won we just split the pot. That was the best way to beat the odds and still have some play in the game as well. Seven horses ran, we bet on two, picked a high and a low horse to be sure and get the better money if possible - but in both subsequent races my horse won (being the favored) and we split the $30.00 which means we were up! It's always best to leave when you're up, so we threw air kisses to the jockeys, thanking them for dinner essentially, and set off to find Eric.

Eric, who has always been a lucky man (got Niki didn't he?) was sitting at the same slot machine he was playing before we left, and he was up over $140 in nickels. We thought our $30 was cool and he's blowing us away by pressing a button over and over again...well, he can't stand up and express himself like we did, and he wasn't sitting on fine Italian leather seats either. He didn't have a glass of wine called "Fat Ass Cab" in his hand, and NO, he wasn't almost getting into a fist-to-cuff fight with a large cowboy type who told Niki and I that we were sitting in his seat - as if. A gentleman would have tipped his hat; apparently this man was from out of town. We let him have his seat, and that's when we ordered the FAT ASS CAB wine in his honor...we ordered him one too, and made sure the waitress told him what the name of the wine was and who it was from. (We could kiss the jockeys for that as well, since we were winners!) LOL

We're going back.

Why Do I Bother To Plan Anything?

I have no idea what gets into me when I think I should, or even could, have a thought about planning something that might be fun or exciting for me. I have kids. When I was growing up it never dawned on me that my own mother may have plans, I know I had to be the first of us four to change whatever it was that she was thinking of doing. So, why would I think differently today about my own free time? Please...I should have some sort of a rewind button so I could see exactly how bad my Karma is from back in the day so I could at least plan on not being able to plan anything for quite some time.

I was suppose to go to Florida at the end of February. That didn't happen. I was suppose to go to Turkey yesterday - Turkey! That was a big thing to plan too, let me tell you. However, it was God that thwarted that one; you know the term "Act of God". The weather was a bit cold, lower than 45 degrees, and the airlines won't board my dog Faith onto cargo if it's lower than 45 or higher than 85. Of course, there is a way to get around that one folks...book her in the cabin! I'm just saying. You get what you pay for in most cases. Nevertheless, we didn't get to go to Turkey, so the temptation to plan something came pretty naturally for me - - only to be smashed to the ground by children who simply HAD to have the car, HAD to go to their friends, HAD to go to the Zoo at this EXACT minute.....I haven't had a single "ME" minute all day.

I shouldn't pout about it - I can always WALK to Starbucks. I may do that. I may just pop the laundry in the washer, load the dishwasher, vacuum the living room floor, dust the cabinets and such, and then WALK my happy butt over to the local coffee house where I'm sure there will be someone to talk to. Probably my man Jeremy! (At least I think that's his name. We have been talking over a year now. I'm rather embarrassed to say I only THINK his name is Jeremy.) He's an actor and a playwright too - besides being a great barista. Love his face! He gives great face...don't you think? I think they call that "character". He's got it. Actually, at my personal Starbucks we have 4 aspiring actors, a couple of semi-professional singers, a dancer and a gal that plays the flute in a college band...so there! We have talent all around us. Maybe I can PLAN on going to see a few of my baristas in action from the other side the counter some time.

Reuben called me last night from Alaska. He had planned to hang out with, or at least get a picture of himself with the new quarterback - - having replaced the great Brett Favre. (Oh, and speaking of planning, what's up with not planning to spell your name correctly Mr. Favre? Shouldn't it be FARVE? Am I wrong? Just kidding. We love you.) Plans-schans...no pictures with Aaron, which sucks. Duty calls and the boy has to run 12 miles or something today. Something to do with Army regulations - you have to shoot the bad guys, tackle your SGT whose pretending to be the enemy. Couldn't Aaron and the other Green Bay Packers who are visiting Ft. Wainwright join in? I mean, hand Aaron a grenade and see if he can lob it say 60-70 yards but PLEASE....NO SON, do not go out for wide receiver at that point! NO..refrain. ("I'll get it Mom, watch this?") I don't think so.

Nope. Planning is for the birds. They make their way to and from Oklahoma every year, so do the migrating bugs and periodical flowers - they've got great timing and plan to show up next year at the same time doing the same thing. What's so hard about it? Why can't I just get in the car and go to the damn spa to have a massage every once in a while? I remember...Caity and Laura, of course. SIGH.

My Favorite Color is Brown (Hershey's Milk Chocolate Brown to be Precise)

I have always been a fan of the color brown. My first and favorite memories are of my dog Rover (Yes, his real name was Rover). He was, like my current dog Matrix, half Beagle and 1/2 Dachshund. He had the voice of a lion, the heart of a warrior, and against his tu-tone brown and tan body I would prop my head for hours and either read to him or pretend that he and I were on a mission to Mars, perhaps a foreign country, and sometimes he talked about the people on the Moon as if he had met them in person. Rover talked all the time - - but only to me. I have forever considered myself quite privileged for that.

They say that those of us who prefer the color brown to other more vibrant colors are earthy, we're natural and in some ways even materialist. I can see that. I also see where we're honest, up front, steadfast, but most of all, fiercely loyal to those we support. I understand that formations of other colors form in the earth, rocks abound, crystals, gems, foliage and brilliant floral - all nestled in or being rooted first in rich soils; browns. I relate to that feeling of being the one to hold onto the bright and electric colors of my family.

Reuben is a zany orange though he'd fight me on that one because both of his nemesis teams, the Oklahoma State Cowboys and the Texas University Longhorns boast variant oranges in their school colors - nevertheless, my son is a zapping, blasting, up and grab it for sheer life brilliant sunrise - never a setting glow with purples, but busting the dawn's horizon with as much fire as possible. He'll agree with one thing: he has one strategy when it comes to winning and that is to bulldoze through whatever it is that stands in his way - he is a force of energy.

Laura is a glowing, sparkling, shiny, almost transparent green...an Emerald. She was even born in May, which is quite suited for her. Her ambitions only slowly grow, taking their time to fully bloom in order to be purposely enjoyed at every stage. Nothing speeds my Laura up, but she is steady, rocks along, gathering colors, gathering strength, gathering full height before reaching out with everlasting branches of so many directions, all flowering, all delicate, all picturesque.

Caity could be nothing if not a rainbow of every single spectrum under our Sun. She radiates with blue horizons, teems with glorious white fire, and stews in her deeper purples of passionate anger from time to time - often exploding into a gleaming galaxy of starry golds and illuminated pixie dusts. Pixie dust that shimmers every which way and you're not sure if you just saw green or silver, but you're sure it wasn't yellow; that much you know. She is never ever yellow.

I don't mind being the brown, being their strength, giving them life. I don't have one problem with them standing on me, through me, holding on with their tentacles of life - what I do mind is being neglected. Please, remember to water me from time to time, and NO REUBEN that doesn't give you permission to piss on my garden or stomp on the water puddle outside my car door...just love me a bit, and keep me in your liquid prayers.

Being a brown lover I can easily be spotted in the mall buying things that go in my home, I'm not a do-it-yoursefer but I do buy too many sets of sheets, comforters, anything for the bedroom. Being a Scorpio keeps my attention in that room mostly; being a lover of brown makes me both sensual and natural...should be good for someone in the future, huh?

What else could make the brown connection in my heart and head? I drink a lot of coffee. I still climb trees; maybe there's something in that - maybe because my strict diet includes as much chocolate as I want has something to do with my intense and intimate feelings for brown...or it could be, just maybe, that I really am earthy, naturalistic, preferring not to wear make up and to dance by the fire. Someone out there knows why - it makes me feel comfortable. I like that in me, and I won't change - not even for a Heavenly azure.

Not So Close, But On the Trail

My daughter Laura and I usually play the lottery twice a week. I call it my twice-a-week contribution to the educational programming of our state. Not that I truly believe much of my $2.00 ($4.00 weekly) goes toward the educational path of any of the students in Oklahoma, but I like to believe that I can put a little faith in the word of our politicians - - just a little.

Well, let me tell you how close we came today to winning over $133,000,000 - - not so close! I mentioned to Laura that I was going out to get a ticket or two, and she jumped at the chance to make up a few guesses, good guesses, and to come up with something that would simply have to win. There must be a systematic way, a reasoning behind the numbers drawn, pulled, or chosen - - there has to be, right? I mean after all the shaking, rolling, bumping around in a big bin, there must be some sort of mathematical equation someone could come up with -- or just dumb luck. We'll go wit that. Laura thought about her numbers and she came up with them: 5, 17, 23, 25, 53, and the powerball number of 33. At the same time she was coming up with her numbers on the couch, I was making up my own numbers at the dining room table. We were about 15 feet apart, and I couldn't see her numbers and she couldn't see mine. I came up with: 2, 11, 17, 22, 53, and the powerball of 1. I won't tell you my algorithm how I came up with those particular numbers...trust me, I'd look like a geek for telling you.

Off I went to the store, I wrote out the numbers, I paid the man, I even bought cigars just in case. Afterall, we had 2 numbers come up the exact same, and then look at the first number. I said 2, she said 5. That's not far off. She said 23, I said 22....that's close. We must have been thinking on nearly the same plane....wow, that's a scary thought. So...after waiting and waiting, and waiting...what were the numbers? Well - 20, 24, 37, 48, and 53....and the powerball was 11. But, if you think about it, we got 53! Herbie! We both said 53, and we both love Herbie the Lovebug...Laura looks like Lindsay, and I owned 11 white Volkswagens between 1980-1986. (Told you I was a geek)

OK SO WHAT..I didn't win. Not that big of a deal. What's $133,000,000 anyway, not much in today's economy. Not after you think of the buy out of only $79,000,000 and then tax on that being another $22,000,000 - I'd end up with just around $57,000,000 and that would just about cover the cost of a good education, a house, a couple of cars, maybe a vacation, a little nest egg...wow, actually, I could think of a lot of things I could do with that money! My kids would have no problem helping me spend it either. I would hope that I would have the wherewithal to at least NOT tell anyone I had actually won until the money was safely invested. My mom told me once that if I won a large sum of money someone would steal my kids and demand ransom - RANSOM, that was a good movie...I liked the bad guy, had a great voice. Anyway...back to the kids. Sure, someone might try; but it would only mean one thing. I wouldn't have to split the money with the brats and I could go to Europe and start over! Completely over!

Oh, I'm joking, you know I am..I'll probably never get the chance to actually pay someone any real money for my kid's return, but if that Jimmy guy shows up demanding something of me, I'm totally giving in. (She smiles an evil sort of wicked little smile that says so much without actually opening her mouth much.)

You Don't Get It People - He's OUT THERE Defending YOU.

(MY SON is the one smiling)

OUR U.S. Army has some really strange and unusual ways of showing us how well they know what they are doing with our sons and daughters. Given half a chance I would have at least taken the time to explain to one of his recruiters that my son really shouldn't be trusted with loaded weapons. I would have explained to them that ANYONE who laughs when he breaks his leg, giggles when he breaks someone else's body, and has been kicked of CHURCH teams for rough conduct unbecoming a Christian team player, shouldn't be given live ammunition...often.

Here I am lying in my bed at night praying to an Almighty God to not only protect my son, but people, I'm praying for you too. This is a boy that has driven his TANK to Walmart on the streets of Alaska - getting there was no problem, he told me. Getting out of the parking lot was tricky because of all the people who had gathered around to see it once he arrived. WHY would a man drive his tank to a local store you ask? He was told to get some supplies and according to the Sgt that told him to do it, he "He didn't care how I did it, Mom!" To Reuben that means "take your tank if you have to" and he did. Same kid that only had 2,000 or so Lego soldiers in his collection so when he created Gettysburg in my living room in 1997 he was forced to re-kill the men over and over and over again in order to meet the required 51,000+ deaths that took place over three days in the hot July sun in 1863...it took my son 4 days I think to kill them all because he kept praying over them when they died. "Go with God", "God loves you." "See you in Heaven", |Oops, not you, you bastard - you're going to HEEEEELLLL", and then the next time he killed that particular soldier he let him reside eternally in paradise. You have to be realistic he told me.

Guns. My son has guns. HELLO someone gave my son guns. REAL GUNS...OK, I'm over it. It's just that, well - he's rather clumsy at times, he has huge feet - and he steps on things. He falls a lot, he trips, he throws people when he's not suppose to, and...I'm a mom and I worry, is that so hard to understand? He's my baby...my only baby boy, and dammit, someone gave him a gun to play with...several from the looks of it. I hold the Army responsible...maybe someone will teach him how to use them correctly? Here I spent years telling him NOT to point guns at people, and they go and screw all of that hard training up - and encourage him to do it! They probably expect him to shoot people too! Why didn't I just have a bunch of girls? Oh wait...I remember...never mind, I go broke buying shoes already.

I love you Baby Boy...please, don't pull that trigger when it's pointing at your pretty head! (Are you insured?) LOL

You Are What You Eat - How Nice.

Take the challenge. Come on, it doesn't hurt, but it will possibly change your life or at least your eating habits, which could change your life. I remember seeing myself on the Montel Show and I weighed over 200 pounds. I didn't much liked what I saw, no I wasn't any taller that day than I am this day, but after losing over 60 pounds I can tell you there were changes that had to take place first....food changes.

I will throw in a word of caution: It was the drastic food changes and the overt exercising that I was forcing on myself that may very well have caused my gall bladder to freak out and form an unwanted and very difficult to live with stone. I was literally on a road to challenge and the my body was responding in both good and bad ways. Where I did lose weight, felt better, slept better, ate and seemed healthier than I have ever been in my ... well, since my early adult years; I was also forcing my body to assimilate probably too quickly and it retaliated in a very aggressive manner. I have the scar to prove it....but the only thing I would change is the time I lost the weight in. However, if I could jump into a time machine I would (a) never say hello to my ex, (b) adopt the last two children from whomever gave birth to them since I couldn't, having never said hello to my ex, and (c) I would never have started the weight gain - which followed having the last two children, so see...having said hello in the first place could very well be blamed. Or, I could actually take full responsibility, and go with that.

We tend to go grocery shopping at the same places we've been shopping, and we tend to buy the same products, in the same manner we've always done it. Why? Why are we that way? Why do we force fatness and unhealthy foods down our own throats if we know full well that these foods will only end up in our middle section, our butts, our thighs, and under our arms? Are we that ignorant? Don't answer that, we are...we really are.

So, go to your cabinet, your refrigerator, your pantry and do this. Separate all the healthy and nutritious foods from the foods saturated with fat, carbs, and/or sodium. When you've got 90% of your food on one side, pray they resemble vegetables, fruits, nuts, and whole grains. If you're like me and had sugary cereals, donuts (for the kids) ice cream and heavy fatted dairy products - claiming they weren't THAT bad, you're in the same boat many of us were in before we jumped ship and decided, yes DECIDED to live a better life for ourselves. One without gall stones if you're doing it a little more carefully than I did. Take a full 4 weeks to lose 3 pounds, push the water, push the 30-minutes a day exercise, and sleep a full 8 hours every day. EVERY DAY.

OK, so what am I today? I'm a roast beef sandwich on whole grain bread with spicy French mustard, low fat Swiss cheese and lots of black olives. What does that say about me as a person? That some things barely change. The difference between my favorite sandwich now as opposed to THEN, back THEN when I was large and apparently NOT in charge of my health...the only changes are: The olives are black not green. I'm not even sure that makes a difference...but I prefer the ripe olives now, and I probably don't add as many as I used to, they can have a full content of fat themselves.

Some of the really bad things I found in my own pantry when I took the BBC sponsored challenge in 2007 were: Sugary cereals, I now eat Total or Special K. I had Campbell's regular soups which have 900 grams of sodium, go with the lower levels, and if you can, just dump their water and add your own, that cuts sodium out by leaps and bounds. I remember seeing snacks; potato chips, cookies, cakes in plastic wrap. Listen, if it's in an individually wrapped piece of plastic, chances are it's not good for you. I had boxed pizza (for the kids when I couldn't be there, but I ended up eating them.) I had peanut butter (not reduced fat) and frozen pot-pies and/or meals that have more fat grams than a Big Mac. Believe me, you want to check out the fat grams of a Big Mac before you pull up to that drive in window again...don't do it. You are a better person, you have it in you to go to Subway or to demand that McDonald's starts serving better food. (Oh, here's a thought...cook it yourself at home with the family, and have less trash to throw away.) Now I'm just preaching.

So, we are what we eat...thank God that doesn't change. If I had to go back I wouldn't. I would simply choose to die. I won't subject YOU to my way, but just looking at the cheesecakes in the bakery window used to cause my mind and body to salivate, not anymore...I see flags waving in front of me screaming "Fatty Pills, Fatty Pills, step away from the deli immediately. There is very little that can help you in this corner of the store. Find peace, love, joy, and contentment in the produce section...run!" OK, so drinking grapefruit juice doesn't appeal to you, something will - but what does it say about me because I do? I'm sour I guess, maybe a little big headed, colorful, sweet but tart, perhaps even a little off the beaten path. I can take that...I'm just still trying to figure out why I've always loved olives on my sandwiches.

OK, I'm not saying you have to throw away all the foods with fat in them. Don't eat so much, that's all. Replace the butter with "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" and take ONE cookie from the box; you really can do that, it's allowed. One of the biggest shocks of our lives these days is the size of a real portion of food. We supersize everything and we actually believe in our heads (for no reason) that a hamburger patty is suppose to be 1/3 pound...no it's not. It's suppose to be 1/6 of a pound actually; daily recommended amounts are amazingly small compared to what you and I demand of our restaurants. If it were me, if I were King/Queen for the day, I would outlaw buffets. I really would. Next would be the fast food restaurants. They could be open on Saturdays only from 12:00 to 1:00 p.m. and they could only serve one burger to a customer. You'd have to get a stamp each time you bought one too.

I'm a meany huh? I just think, no, I know, that our country is really fat. We are the fat Americans, and it won't stop unless we do it for ourselves. When the lawmakers in Mississippi teased us last month with the possibility of outlawing obese people in restaurants I laughed. How can a government do that? What would the standard be? Who would govern it? Who would write them up if they served the overly large customer, and whose to say they wouldn't just find a loophole. We're lazy creatures most of the us, and most of the time we take a path of least resistance. OK...at least do this: Go look at your grocery list, your pantry, or next time you go shopping stop and think before putting something in the basket....just do your family and yourself a favor and think first. (Oh, and you can't use the excuse that your family won't eat it if it's healthy...YOU'RE the parent.) LOL...mine tried that, they starved. I won.

Lightweight Drinker Despite What You May Read

When I re-read several of my latest blogs I realized that I had mentioned drinking in about four or five of them. Anyone out there with an active imagination could possibly get the idea that I have a drinking problem; and that wouldn't be fair. I mean, I actually do have a drinking problem in that I can't drink more than two good shots of anything without crawling into bed with my dog and going to sleep with him wrapped up tightly in my arms. He being part Dachshund prefers to be under the covers at the foot of the bed, and not being squeezed. The Beagle in him tells him to run for the hills, at least I have my faithful pillows in these cases. They never fight back.

Here's the ugly, bald-faced truth about me and my drinking problem. I was about twenty when I decided to have a drink - and it knocked me out. There I was sleeping on the couch of a good friend and I woke up to her reading me stories out of a magazine; I think she thought I was paying attention. She was up walking around holding the neck of the bottle, and it may have been a second bottle in fact, but I was only able to open my eyes half way and I was thinking about becoming intimate with the toilet...after ONE lousy tequila shot.

It has improved, I can do two now. I'm older, I have built up my resistance, and let me tell you - if I've had something to eat I can think, yes think about doing a third glass of wine but that's as far as it goes. My mind can entertain my body, my spirit can use up all the images I can conjure and I am the life of any party whatsoever as long as I'm tossing back something that hasn't been fermented. I can apple juice the best of them, and when it comes to 100% white grape juice...no one holds more than me. Don't even give that look kid, I will nail you to the floor with my ability to put back the fruit.

So, when I say I cook with wine, or I drink when I dance, or even that I grab a bottle of rum and write - that is EXACTLY what I'm doing....writing while holding the neck of a bottle that may be full but I'm not able to empty it. I can dream. I can think. I can pretend, I can even act - - I just can't actually drink it because the ink in my pen starts to wander off and I find myself curled up with the dog again; waking up to friends laughing at me for being such a wussy. Hey, I didn't make me. I just experimented to the point that I realize through trial and error (mostly error) where I am, who I am, what I can and what I cannot do. At least I'm honest. (Oh, but I'm bold in my writing aren't I? Hardcore, tough, on the edge, and over the top friend.) I'm...I'm...a lightweight.

Now beer, that's another story. I can't do one without putting it down because of taste. I reserve the right to have as many 1/2 beers as I can take - after 1/2 I'm looking for something to get that taste out of my mouth fast. Beer is for boys; that's my new motto. Beer is for boys!

Midwest Myth Meets California Cuisine

This is funny. I was having dinner last night in Los Angeles with a friend of mine who like me, is from the Midwest. (Well, I'm from Oklahoma, more of the Northeastern portion of the Southwest, or the Southwestern portion of the Midwest, but you understand.) We were having a home cooked meal (me cooking, him standing around the crowded kitchen pouring more wine because I answered in the affirmative when he asked I you "cook with wine", silly me.) We had plans to invite his kid over so we could meet, apparently his son (who has a very strange name, so I'll call him Sid)is a MySpace friend of my daughter Caity's for reasons boys become friends with girls on line...he saw her pictures.

I purposely chose what I thought would be a great light and easy fix; I threw together a spinach and mushroom risotto - yes, I usually end up being the little Italian in my (or someone else's) kitchen because there is just so many choices and it always turns out good. You don't really use any meat with a spinach and mushroom risotto which was absolutely peachy with the boy, but the man, well - men like meat. He told me so. "Where's the meat in this thing?" he asked while he dug threw it with the end of the spatula...searching for sausage or maybe a little grilled chicken.

"No meat." I explained as I drank a little red reserve - trying not to make direct eye contact. This guy's green eyes orb through me and I can't stand up straight when he does that for much longer than a second or two. Telling him that there would be no meat in his dinner felt sort of like he was going to be staring for a while - waiting for me to either explain myself, or at least go back through his refrigerator to settle the matter before we actually sat down without candles; Sid insisted we do this without candles. Girls like candles.

Half way through the meal I finally coughed a little cough and looked up after feeling my foot being pressured from the other side of the table. The talk thus far had been coming from Sid, who not only loved the dish but wanted to know every minute detail about my daughter, who by the way is a vegetarian by choice but not fully committed as she has promised her Army-bound big brother that she will, in his honor, eat chicken once a month. Because my foot was being pinched I looked up to see two green eyes attached to a pirate's smile on a face I find too adorable to turn away from most of the time. "I made it for Sid." I answered. "Dad, chill out, you don't always have to kill something OK?" Green eyes shifted "I don't have to kill anything, I buy it dead and I happen to think children born in California may not have the full story; maybe they're just purposely depriving themselves for a cause that really doesn't make sense." I laughed at that one.

Pulling my feet under my chair I giggled..."I'll throw a piece of steak in the cake if you like." Midwestern man smiled, took a big meatless bite of his risotto and told me I was lucky he wasn't full Italian. I would live another day. This is good news...and when the boy isn't around maybe I will even feast on a little meat myself, and this time I'll light candles....girls like candles.

Rocks in my Pocket!

The Bible really is a cool source of information - even today in our altogether attitudes of "I don't need anyone, I can do this"; the Bible can show you something that you may never have realized was there in the first place, and it was there thousands of years before you. (That was a really long sentence, and as a professor of English I may need to revisit it to see if I could possibly shorten it.)

I have always been a naturalist and I have always believed in the power of nature. If you ask me, I think the Native Americans have a real connection with God through their worship; not so sure what we would call the pagans don't have one as well. They may have missed the mark by worshiping earthy things rather than using the Earth to worship, but they may actually be trying to do the right thing. I'll never judge them. I may try to guide one or two - but I couldn't possibly judge. Follow me on this one. When I was really very small, too young to read in fact, I was climbing over a fence about a mile from my house in order to look at dead bones and artifacts that literally lay around the land and in the sides of the hills that were near a creek bed. Later I was told that the land was an old Indian burial ground. It was a good thing I never took something from it; not that I would have been cursed, but I would have taken away from the glory of the land.

When the government took over the land and plowed up and under everything that was in it I felt sorry for the people who once lived there, but somewhat understood the need to move on. I don't believe all of them have moved on - the land was turned into a park which today remains virtually empty. No one plays there, no one picnics there, no one goes there - I think I know why. The land itself requires that. You have to know a place like that. Gettysburg is a place like that. Very quiet, but it's the silence that reverberates in your ears forever. The Bible says that "Even the rocks will call out to Him if we do not."

I began a new spiritual journey at the age of 6. I decided to listen to the land. I would sit for hours and listen to the area around me, being alone wasn't scary in 1968 - - I began another habit. I began collecting rocks. I would pick up a rock from a place that was special to me, a place that was unique, or a place that had a real meaning. I would leave the rocks where they were if the place was harsh, or if it held a bad experience for me. Something about having the rock with me was comforting if it came from a good place - frightening if it came from a sad or scary place (such as the courthouse when I lost my kids on an error of the court. I left the rocks where they lay.)

In my pocket I keep 5 colored stones for a reason. I don't always have them, so if you stop me on the street and ask to see them you may not be an audience to them, but I do keep them most of the time. I pray with them. If they're going to call on God's name and for His assistance I want to be there. These are very special rocks. I suppose if you were to go out and buy these rocks, as I did, you would spend only a dollar or two, but they are blessed and I chose them with care. Each rock is colored to meet the birthstone colors for my children and I, and there is one more. Because this man, this man that I love and chose to pray for, was born in the same birth month of my son, he also has a blue stone (March), but his is a deeper blue, he's much much older...oh, so very much older, he's so old...just kidding. I just thought I'd be mean to him for a second, but he's too precious - - my heartfelt apologies.

I hold the rocks, I pray individually for the person they represent. I start with me, the yellow stone. I was born in November and it was the closest to citrine. I need the prayers first and most as I am the one I know screws up the most, and I am the one I have to straighten out first before I can possibly ask God to help the others. I use my own words, but I also call upon God to remember Jabez and how he prayed, asking for blessings, doubled blessings, protection and for his (my) territory to be increased. I leave it up to God as to what He chooses to increase. If I asked specifically I could fall trap to conceit...I do that. I'm rather human at times.

After I pray for me I pray for the kids, and for their protection, their wisdom, their decision making, their blessings. I stand back and see where my prayers have been answered. For the man, oh, I take a lot of time praying over him. He will not only need to know he is loved, he will need to accept that. It isn't always easy for one to do and it certainly isn't human to just give in. God does a much better job at guiding than I do - I couldn't make a star to navigate even one sailor, He did it a few more times. Stars are rocks too.

I only mention the rocks because we need to be aware of them - we use them, discard them, mount them in gold and platinum. We throw them, sometimes back into the water from where they came from perhaps, and often times we blow up mountains and crush the rocks to make streets and bridges. Can you take one minute just one minute to think of the songs or the prayers that must be going on all around you? When you can, sing with them. Listen to the land.

Tastey! Just Kidding.

I had to laugh this weekend when a local popular Chinese restaurant manager stopped me by the cashier, pulled me to the side, and said that he had a picture of my dog on his office wall. One of his vendors, who apparently didn't know who Faith was, was upset because the dog in the picture didn't have legs - the manager of the restaurant had placed a little caption under Faith's picture that read "Great Dog". The vendor made an obvious connection given the often times misrepresented myths about cultural differences between American and Chinese eating customs. The manager didn't understand at first, but when the vendor threatened to never do business with him again he asked her why she was so upset. When she SCREAMED at him for what she thought was blatant he finally comprehended what would be so disturbing to her. He told me he laughed, and then explained to her that he was not suggesting that anyone had eaten part of my dog, but that she really was a great dog...to know and love.

I would have been upset with the manager too if I thought there was anything to it. Just a misunderstanding, but one he giggled about later when he saw me in his restaurant. He said he has posted Faith's picture and YouTube to everyone he knows in China to show them what it is like to show courage in times of hardness and what he called trouble, for that I thank him.

I posted this picture to show you that Faith is a bit on the spoiled side most of the time - if it weren't for her and her bravado I wouldn't be running all over the world hugging soldiers...I have the best job in the world.