Bring Out the Dogs!

(Not my photo or my dogs)


I was driving down I-35 the other day (as one often does in Oklahoma) and saw a very uncommon site: three police officers in marked vehicles (Highway Patrol actually) had stopped 3 separate trucks, one of which was a very large trailer without windows. The trucks were all very well kept, quite new, and stunning actually - very pretty. Outside of the trailer were two (2) K9 units both German Shepherds, both frantically hitting and barking at the trailer. Now, I'm no expert, but I don't think the dogs found Kibbles n' Bits!

Maybe it's just me, but I watch an extraordinary amount of cop shows. I'm so forensically educated that I could probably give a seminar while wearing a white coat so that the real geeks could take a well deserved break. My knowledge of drug sniffing dogs doesn't end with what I see on on CSI, no, I have a drug sniffing dog and I didn't even ask for her. We were flying back from Vegas when Faith (my little yellow mutt) decided to notice the guy behind us - closely. She began whining and sniffing at his cargo-pants pocket and he became a little nervous. Because we were about to land in Dallas I gave him a little warning. "Hey, I don't know about Texas laws and marijuana, but I can tell you that if my untrained dog can spot it, their experts can. Dallas security walks around with K9 patrol." He understood. He smiled, and to be honest I was a bit embarrassed about Faith's new habit.

It's always dogs isn't it? I mean, you never EVER see the Five-0 bringing out cats on leashes to find anyone or any substance. Cats aren't good at that sort of thing. Cats couldn't care less whether they pleased their owners...they don't work per se. Cats don't listen to anyone, and they certainly don't dain to lift a finger to secure their surroundings - that's YOUR job if you own a cat. Can you own a cat? Dogs are the worker bees - they sniff, they paw, they bark, they hunt, they chase, they secure. That's what I saw, I saw working, securing, barking, sniffing K9s doing what they do - no cats allowed.

When Matrix and I watch TV together and we see a cop open up the back door of his black and white to allow his K9 partner to join in on the fun Matrix always reminds me that the human has to cater to the dog. It's not the other way around. Never do you see the dog opening the door for the human - no sir, and it's the dog who has to come around and clean up what the human couldn't do - dogs are cool like that. Can you put yourself in the position of a cat owner at this point, coming to the realization that your fuzzy little monster is actually quite worthless in some situations? Brings a tear. Test my theory! Put a cat on a leash, take it out to the docks to sniff around - see where that gets you!

Bring out the dogs!

Someone May Shoot Me, But I Won't Die From Heart Attack

I wanted to test the theory that I wasn't readily losing the poundage as quickly as others do because my heart rate just doesn't get up there. It makes sense - physically speaking, that one must actually pump the heart and keep it going for at least 20-30 minutes a day in order to see the results they anticipate and/or desire in terms of weight loss. I'm just not a heavy beater. Try as I may, I can only attain an elevated heart rate of around 140 and I can only hold it for so long. Now, keep me around the 123-130 mark and I'm sweating like a pig - normal people stuff, but I just can't seem to break the high-profile exercise momentum that some say is needed to really get the fat off. No two workouts should be the same.

I decided to really spice things up. I downloaded a couple of hot videos from YouTube (and get this, I had to sign up saying I was over 18 before I could actually watch the Karma Sutra. My kid bought me the book when she was 14 because I was too giggly to pick it up from the shelf at Borders and pay for it!) I agreed, and yes I used a fake name because I'm silly like that. I said I was Caity!

I'm working out, I'm at the 123-130 range and I take a second to push the play button on the computer. There they are - experimenting and making all the appropriate noises associated with informational, educational, and instructural position training; that is what people use these videos for isn't it? I checked my heart rate...129. I watched another, and another. I can honestly say that without changing the pace of which I rode the bike, because that wouldn't be fair - I never hit any number higher than 132 tops...until.

Yes, I got really smart and decided to make the heart go back and forth. Back and forth is good when you're weight training, interval training, strength training, eating, anything - make it different, keep the body jumping and wondering what's going on. I drink hot tea and follow that with ice cold water to make my metabolism work harder. Hey, it burns 70 calories a day just trying to keep up with my mind.

Mind is a great tool too. I believe in mind. I believe that our (my) thoughts control our (my) experiences, and I know that when I'm working out I'm thinking about working out, so I have to stop that - get into a great trance of an awareness other than weight loss because the more energy I submit to creating actual weight loss vibrations the more I will bring about the NEED for weight loss - are you following? It's the Law of Attraction. What you think - you create. It could be beneficial or not, but it is what it is. If you think about weight you'll get it. I try harder to think about joy, happiness, peace, and fulfillment - not security. If you think about needing security you'll be insecure....Laws are laws.

So, video number 4 did it for me. I found a few (OK hundreds) of still shots of a particular green eyed, turtle-smiling man from the greater Chicago area and BAM...141, 142, 142, 144...you get the picture. My problems are all but solved. I threw in a few photos of my kids, my dogs, ravioli, bread sticks, pictures from the zoo to bring the beater back to around 110-120, and then momentarily back to the naked man standing in the snowy river with just his socks and maybe boots, I never really paid that much attention to "Mother" Wilkins attire....Midnight Clear; good film.

Needless to say, this method may not work for everyone trying to pull that last 25-30 pounds, but for me it's a keeper. There will be a few more dishes of beans and rice, a few more stems of broccoli - and a lot more mind-games. I might add it burns more calories when you smile too.

I'm a visual learner - whatever works.

2008 NFL Draft - My Date for the Weekend

I actually DO have a date this coming weekend. I will be glued to the television and on the phone with perhaps (no, with the actual)the best looking man on the planet. Date wouldn't be the right term since the man is my son, but we have a TIME SLOT that we will be together - All day Saturday. I know the boy will want me to follow up with him on the 2nd day of the NFL Draft, but I want to go to church and then catch up with friends at a BBQ later on Sunday. I'll have to prepare myself for the multi-hour phone call which will inform me of the whys, the whats, the who's, and the forever "could-have-been-better" and/or "damn-I-don't-get-it" conversations which will surely be the Sunday follow up call.

Saturday will be the longest day of my life! The only thing making it tolerable is the love I have for the blabbering boy on the other side of the phone. He's mine. He's precious, he's full of football, full of stats, full of strategy - about the only thing he's not full of is himself. We leave that one up to Caity, where if you look up the word "narcissistic" you will see her smiling face. Reuben's genuine concern has always been for others. In this case the others consist of the Green Bay Packers. Every year we go through this Draft thing. I must go through this Draft thing. I am forced to understand rankings. I am led down the road of what will become the Rookie Year for every man on the list. I am asked, and usually politely, to do my homework. I must know and understand the players - it is my assignment.

As a teacher Reuben isn't half bad. I know the names of the top 20 draft choices. I know the difference between John Harrell and Greg Olsen from last year's Green Bay fiasco. I know that Green Bay has the #30 pick, and that we, we as in Reuben and I, want them to pick Reggie Smith from Oklahoma, but I also know that he's expected to go later in the draft - around #40. I also know that Howie Long's kid is Chris Long, not Jake Long. I know how to pronounce some of the stranger names up for the show this year and I wonder where the hell their mothers came up with these names!

My "Date" or "Time Slotted" has actually already begun. I have been on the phone with Fairbank's #1 PFC for several conversations involving the two of us sitting at our computers going over sites and stats. One guy says this, another says that, but Reuben doesn't trust him because he thought Eli Manning would stay with the Chargers. We all KNEW that wasn't going to happen - apparently a good choice was made by Manning to leave. EVEN IF...even if...Manning's Giants kicked Green Bay out of the National Championship, but what we, we as in Reuben and I, don't understand is why the Patriots have a 2nd pick in the First Round! They lost their pick when they "spied" on the Jets...or so we thought. There they are.

Miami gets the first pick. We know that too. We're thinking Chris Long - good weather, good location to start and maybe make a difference. He certainly couldn't harm the team's reputation; nothing could harm the team's reputation at this point. But the question for us, as in Reuben and I, is "What about Malcom Kelly, what about Reggie Smith, and what about Curtis Lofton?" I don't think Green Bay could swing that one - but wouldn't it be great if they did? Oh and then Adrian Petersen could leave the Vikings as a free agent and go to Green Bay. And, and, and, then Tommy Harris and Dusty D. could leave Chicago and move up the pike! Hey, we'd have another Oklahoma Sooner football team up in the Cheeseland of Wisconsin...that (for Reuben and I) would be the ticket.

I have to get off the blog, the phone's ringing and I haven't had my 2nd cup of coffee yet. I'm sure he has something really really really important to add to what he JUST told me five minutes ago.

Red-Headed Celtic Scorpio Woman

I suppose I intimidated him. I was asked out this weekend just as I was returning from a trip to St. Louis. Apparently a man from the area was on the plane with Faith and I traveling to my city to do a little convention or something having to do with being a doctor. You'd think after going through what doctors (especially all the resident years of past) go through to become a physician that he'd be a little stronger in his countenance...oh, but it must have been something I said.

I will admit I was wearing a t-shirt with the zodiac symbol for Scorpio on it, and the picture did have a rather seductive looking scaly insect about to mystically and forever sting her prey into submission. I think it was a Piscean fish. I'll have to look. Nevertheless the man was brave enough to approach me. After finding out that my sir name is Scottish he nodded his head and added his summary "Wow, you're a red-headed Celtic Scorpio woman. Don't tell me you're wanted in several states." My retort was "Only Arkansas, haven't been caught in any others".

He asked me out in a way that was somewhat benign but led me to believe he was looking for a little convention company. Man just traveling through the greater area sort o thing. When I asked him about his profession, about his politics, about his belief systems, and about his stand on military and immigration issues he backed off the invite. Something about just wanting to keep it simple. Hey, Mr. Traveler, I'm no simple woman. You said it yourself - I'm a red-headed Celtic Scorpio woman. Perhaps he expected a little light-heartedness or a few drinks at the pub. Sorry, I don't date. I talk. I discuss. I even debate, but no thank you on the sucky-face, BS time spent between two people who have no intention of getting past the first few layers of interest. I don't need it, I don't want it. I don't have time for it.

When I sat down and asked God to provide for my heart I left it with Him. I guess the next man to think he'll be getting past the belt line will have to remember where the soul sits; firmly in the hands of a God too intense to be seduced. I'm just a human, I went for the true "body" guard this time. I guess it's just the woman in me, but I could go another 9 years without a man if that's what it took - I've got my mind made up, there's only one man for me, and I don't know who he may be. I gave that to God too. It is what it is. Good thing we're both Christians. I can chase him throughout eternity - without all that stupid sex stuff to get in the way. LOL (Shame on me, I'm all but negating my Scorpioness when I say that sort of thing.) *grins

Go away Mr. Traveler - kiss someone else. It's not your body I crave sir, but your mind. Give me something to sink my intellectual teeth into before I sink the real ones - there we go, found the Scorpioness again...felt good too!

Dreaming of Ladders and Being Barefoot

You know you'll sense the meaning of this dream the instant that I tell it to you. You won't have a problem whatsoever figuring it out - - and that's a good thing. You're becoming the great dream interpreter (like me), and that can be handy at the office. People will begin to respect you, fear you, laugh in your face - but they will do something.

I was in a building, a big, pretty brick condo or apartment building and I was in downtown Manhattan, probably around the Tribeca area, something flashy, something solid. I was walking outside the building using the revolving door, and I noticed that I wasn't wearing any shoes. That didn't seem to be a problem for me, it was almost as if it was a blessing. I COULD walk around NYC without shoes; I think that was the important part of the first act in this dream. My dreams have several connections to stage performances. I usually dream in color, I always dream in detail, and there are words in my dream too. Sometimes the words are written and sometimes they are just spoken out loud. I love it when that happens. I can try to read the signs of whatever it is my subconscious is trying to tell my heart.

Act Two: I'm going back into the building (perhaps to get my shoes) when the elevator isn't where it used to be. I'm asked to use the stairs. I live on the 8th floor, but decide what-the-heck, a little exercise is good for the body right? So off I go, but I'm not using stairs I'm using ladders. At first the ladder is plastic, then wooden. I think that means I go from the temporary to the permanent. Anyway, I'm climbing the 3rd ladder when I see 2 little girls climbing in front of me. One is older than the other and they are cute together, just sisters being sisters. They are talking to each other and carrying dolls in one of their hands while using their other hand to hold onto the ladder. I pick the smallest one up and I take her up the ladder with me as if she is my little doll. (Gotta be Caity, I see that she has her doll in her left hand.)

Act Three: I'm in my apartment or condo now, and I'm not with the little girls. I'm standing in my new yellow sports bra and showing off my rock hard abs...and my giant gallbladder scar. My sweat pants are orange and change colors as I walk. I'm sitting on the bed talking on the phone, clicking the remote, and watching something about nature all the while putting on my left shoe. Can we say "multi-tasking"? I woke up with a satisfied sleep, a good rest, and a great outlook for the day. I knew straight up that the building was solid, it was brick, it was big, it was strong, it was steady. That's ME! I'm thinking of myself in those terms. Buildings are often a way that we reflect upon ourselves and how we feel about ourselves. There was construction going on outside the building - and I'm working out nowadays! Making my structure fit my expectations.

The real meaning behind the bare feet is simply this: Freedom. I know I have time to waste right now. I'm working on my body, I'm working on my 4th book. I'm relaxed, not traveling for 3 weeks, just putting my time into me. The ladders are great too! They symbolize climbing or achievement. They're always good, never risky, never unstable, and they show a willingness to work on my own issues myself rather than expecting them to be handled for me. The little girls are most obviously my own little girls, and I do pick Caity up a lot in terms of support and love more so than I do Laura right now because Laura is actually employed. Laura was in the lead, and she had her little doll secured while Caity was about to lose grip on her doll. I had to pick her and her doll up for a few of the steps.

The girls weren't with me in my apartment and they don't live with me now either. I am on my own. I do multi-task, and I do have a yellow sports bra! My scar showing is just as important because it means I don't mind the world knowing I have flaws and that I've been hurt but have survived. That's so me. I want the world to see it. I think that even after I get my bomb-body, the one you never thought you'd have again, that I'll get a two-piece swimsuit or wear my sports bra with low-rise sweats and let the scar be seen. It's ugly sure, but it's beautiful too. It holds so much power and strength for me. It screams "I made it".

A good dream I think.

Broccoli Please

Apparently I am still fat. I am not in denial - I accept that fact. I guess I'm on the "I-Keep-Seeing-Myself-on-YouTube" diet. I have been working out, fighting the odds and really doing such a bang up job in the numbers of it all, but it's just not working. I complained about it to my svelte son today, who used the U.S. Army diet for 16 weeks and went from 6'1" 240 pounds to 5'11" and 190 pounds. I think it had something to do with regulations for driving a tank that he lost the height. I don't want to lose anything in terms of tallness - No, that would make the fatness fatter. I don't need that. The solution that Reuben came up with was a 3 part diet. Chicken for protein, broccoli for fiber and rice to fill me up. Rice has too many carbs. I'll do 1/2 the rice and add a lot more beans. Beans fill you up and they have more fiber than the broccoli. I love broccoli. I could eat it solely, but you do actually need protein and a few carbs too when you're working out. After all - you have to have energy to burn off energy don't you. I'm thinking of going on the "I-Paid-the-Surgeon" diet to be honest with you. It's faster, less painful, and the results are usually good. Today was a bike-riding day. I pumped it up to level 4, burned over 400 calories in 40 minutes. I wore 5 pound weights on each ankle, 3 pounds on each hand, and I did a little running, flying, dancing, waving thing with my arms for 20 of the 40. I dropped the weight to 2 pounds on the wrists and finished with a jogging, boxing sort of thing for the next 10, and after 30 minutes of arms flapping and moving around I dropped all the hand-weights and pushed the legs to level 5 for the last 10. I have to tell you - I'm doing the right things. Water is important too you know. I wouldn't even recognize a Coke or a Dr. Pepper. I haven't seen one in over a year. I don't eat fatty foods. I don't go to greasy spoons, and I only every once in a while eat reduced fat ice cream or something to shake up the metabolism. You can't starve yourself, you'll end up just spinning your wheels. I'm not exactly frustrated over the non-weight loss...I'm pissed. I'm actually mad about it. I'm about to ground my body until it produces the results I think I should have. What would that be like? I'm doing what Reuben said. I'm working out in the morning with jumping jacks and running in place. I can't do the over-the-top impact things. I broke my neck (C5-C6) in 1992. I can't even really jump rope, but I can slowly do jumping jacks without too much impact. I just have to get that pulse going. Jeanie (bf) tells me my pulse is the problem. I've never had a fast pulse or higher blood pressure. I was 110/60 when I gave birth to my son! I remember the day my doctors couldn't find a pulse and asked me to stop holding my breath - I had stopped my pulse without much of a problem. So, if the pulse isn't raised for a while it makes it difficult to lose the weight. It's a cardio thing. OK...a bout of 20-25 minutes of calisthenics in the morning, riding the bike in the afternoon, and every other day I do the ball while weight lifting. I eat the 3 foods over and over. I drink 80 ounces of water (I'll still do the high fiber intake of figs, prunes, pears, and Fiber One cereal). This better work! I can't join the Army, I'm too old; and I better not lose 4 inches in my height either. I'm hoping for a loss of 15-20 pounds over the next 6 weeks....or 40 pounds, I don't care. I really don't. Next time I see myself on YouTube I want to say "Hey, where did that fat belly go?" That's the goal...that and the fact that I want to wear Laura's jeans! Hahaha Right!

Naked In the Midnight Sun

We all knew the good snowy cold weather in Alaska just couldn't last, and sooner or later (this case SOONER) there would be nakedness on base at Ft. Wainwright. And there's something inside of me that knew that the first reports of nakedness would be reported to me - involving my son.

It's true, the boy sleeps naked when he's in the tank, his Stryker. Something perhaps the United States Army doesn't want the entire world to know, but the inside of a real live Stryker vehicle gets hot enough in Fairbanks, Alaska to warrant men taking off all of their clothes. Mind you, most men I'm told only strip down to their underwear, but being the light-hearted, air-headed Aries that he is, my son goes the full monty whenever possible. He and Caity have that in common, something Laura and I have never understood - so I guess we do actually live in a house divided, and it has nothing to do with rival colleges now, does it?

To be the most obnoxious brats and com padres that they are, the other men inside the boy's Stryker were hangers on, they weren't crew members of Reuben's, but friends. They woke up a little earlier than the boy and decided to play a little trick on him. Finding his skivvies on the floor of the machine they promptly pulled on their own pants and flung my son's undergarments in plain sight up on top of the Stryker, and just over the gun-thing - or the radio antenna. My son was laughing too hard when he told me the story via cell phone out in the field - WHERE I MIGHT ADD, they ordered TACO BELL and an actual employee brought it out to the field to them! I think that was a completely separate issue from the underpants on the radio thing, but you may actually be getting the gist of this blog - Our Army has far too much fun!

There he was on the tank-like vehicle, bare-butted, I think he said he had socks on; and he was reaching up to get his panties off the radio thing when he was spotted by a few men who were (like my son) on field exercises. They nodded, laughed, and gave him a few words, but for the most part just thanked God they were born into families that actually finds that behavior to be absurd. My son just popped back into the Stryker and drove the boys home. When asked about the whereabouts of his uniform, his helmet, his shoes, and his weapons he told the C.O. "Oh, I have my weapons Sir, there's no way I'd let them take those. I have my weapons, that's for damn sure." You know my kid, he has his priorities.

Now, I ask you - where was CNN all this time? Somewhere in Texas filming the white chapel and overtly religious families. Thank you God, thank you for the timing. I can just see my Oklahoma Sooner son with his big mouth smile saying "Howdy" in his birth date suit to the all-seeing cameras of the Associated Press. (Boy, do me this: please tell me they were clean. That's all a mother can ask for.) Love ya.

Book #4 is Being Written NOW

HOW CAN IT BE TRUE? Yes, you too can pick up your own copy of my 4th book titled "Jude's Almost Daily Blog" at Amazon.com sometime around October 1, 2008. I'll be putting the blogs together over the next week, and then sending them off to the publisher (Xlibris), where they will formatted and completed. I will of course be in charge of the editing, as I'm the picky one. The first book was such a disaster regarding errors - had to make a 2nd Ed. just to correct the problem, and wouldn't you know it, I missed a few anyway. I swear I'm a great teacher...I just can't read my own stuff well enough at times.

My fourth published book. Sounds like I should be out there doing book signings and all that, but to be honest the book publishing business isn't all that easy to break into. No, no it's not. I'm self published today, hoping that someone picks up one of my books and says "WOW...we need to be her publisher!" That would be nice. This book is so much different than the others - you're actually reading it now. I'll be gathering up 170 to 175 of my 405 blogs and forcing them to sit side by side in a real live book. I'm binding them together forever! Then, because I'm cool - I'll probably do it again in a few months with another 175, then another, then another. I'm sure that by this time next year I'll have 4 more books out there, and maybe with any luck - someone will say "Wow...we need to be her publisher!" (see a pattern?)

Blog 1 will be the best I can find about my family, the Army, dogs, love, laughter, and maybe I'll throw in a blog or two about Gary just to shake his world up a little. The busy man needs something to peak his interest from time to time; nothing rowdy, just a little pinch. I do have some really nice fantasies, perhaps I'll wake one of them up from napping in my brain long enough to dress itself in veils of sweet romantic humor - - only to reverse the process with a pyrate's smile. I do well actually. If there is one thing I do it's pretend well on paper. (Oh, and I make some damn good looking kids! Yes, I do.)

So that's it. I have one week to compile 175 of my favorite blogs from the 405 that are sitting on the site today. Call it the first act of a very long and drawn out play of words - poetry will abound as well as laughter, giggles, weeping from the emotional heart pulling that occasionally hits the screen, and of course...there will be silly and stupid things I've done that make me who I am. I never blame someone else for my mistakes - Billy Joel says our mistakes are the only things we can truly call our own! I believe that. I also believe that a heart is never closer to breaking than when a fool realizes her folly a minute too late. I've done that.

Wish me luck; soon I'll be able to sit down and write out the 27 Opinions book. That will be a blast! I can't do it until I get rich enough not to have to look for money to pay the bills - so please be patient...these things take time. Good thing I'm a Christian huh, I have eternity! LOL

The Only Acceptable Fur Coat

(Carol Guzy photos from the Washington Post April 2008)

If your fur coat is able to bark on its own, it can be worn. That's my opinion, and I hope you agree with me. Faith often takes a ride from me or from her manager Mike Maguire, who she can manipulate far easier than she can anyone else. Mike is just such a softy! I love the way Faith sits (like a rabbit). We actually taught her to sit like this because she had to get off her chest when she was little. My son Reuben was into sports, mainly football, and he'd stand in front of Faith and do his jumping jacks, bends, and push ups. She began to imitate him from a sitting position and it helped to strengthen her legs and abdomen muscles. I'm so very jealous of my dog's 8-pack.

Maguire and I take turns helping Faith whenever she gets tired when we're on the road. Faith has had a number of good dog handlers in the past as well. She loves her Uncle Lenny (Petlane.com be sure to buy everything from Leonard Slape!) and her Aunty Niki from Oklahoma City. I drug Niki to Vegas with me when we did the Spanish TV shoot. She was a great companion and assistant to us both. We teased Niki about being good enough to pour Faith's Evian water in the marble bowl - the Four Seasons Hotel went WAY over the top for us. The hospitality industry loves my dog! We thank you all.

Most of the time Faith is content to lay under the bed and watch life passing by - but when you say the magic words "Let's Go Faith", she is up and ready to roll. No matter where we go she's happy. She gets antsy when we arrive at the airport, but she's settled into her chair and comfortable the next minute. The flight is usually her chance to catch up on a sleep before she begins her inspirational journey - wherever that may be. She lights up the world when the plane lands too. Mostly quiet on the plane, people forget there's even a dog on board - but when the final bell rings, she's up out of her seat and gives a little "Let Me Off Now" bark! Every once in a while she's delayed for photographs from the crew - but we thank them. We fly American, and it's been a really good venture for both I think. We can show that we put "faith" and "Faith" in the carrier.

Faith does get tired on her back legs, but not in an airport! She's out running us all - hanging a left, then a right, she's the first to the baggage claim area and on her way to the show! She understands we'll be stopped a dozen times. She understands that she's suppose to lay down to be petted by everyone, and she understands that she's going to be able to manipulate at least one or the other of us to pick her up and carry her soon enough - - Mike rocks her like a baby. I've heard him singing in her ear! She loves her Mike. I hoist her over my shoulders and let her rest as long as she can before we go to our next destination. Yes, before you ask, she gets heavy! 27 pounds of dog on your shoulders can build character! LOL

Faith and I hope to visit as many as we can, and if you see her in the malls, Time Square, the DC memorials, or the hospitals - and she's on my shoulders, please don't think she's in any pain; that would be me. She's fine. She's accustomed to simply draping herself off to the front and just snoring away...when she can.

Perfection!

(Neither of these pictures are mine)

If perfection came in a cup - it would look like the sunshine face of a cappuccino! It would look like the vision I imagine when I climb out of bed and peer from my penthouse hotel/castle (image shown) and I would be sipping and smiling...just simply enjoying the life that God Himself has intended for me. Am I alone? Well, of course not. I can't roll over and call to the man since I wake up a good hour later than he does (dreaming again, the only ones I sleep with bark). He'll be out jogging I'm sure, probably picking up some flowers for me. Orchids are nice, but daisies are fine too honey, whatever you're in the mood for.

The day is bright, my cup is getting emptier and emptier with the foamy frothy edges of the sides of the cup filling in at the bottom - reminding me to start up the new machine again! I did say this was perfection, right? OK..so the laundry is done, the dishes aren't an issue. My mail has only good news, and of course my address is Edinburgh, Scotland. I don't need to live in a castle, but as long as we're going for perfection, the castle has a stable with at least 10 horses, maybe a garage for a truck to pull the trailer.

Perfection would look something like this: Men and women in Iraq shaking hands with men and women in Israel. The sight of Old Glory being packed away in a suitcase coming home. The sound of silence in the Middle East would be overwhelmed by the sound of children playing outside - without fear. It would be girls holding hands with other girls, their best friends without being called names. It would look like the inside of a sunrise, where you can't quite tell if the hues are melting or bouncing. It would feel like the air behind the rain in my nostrils just before I suck up that last sip of my little sunshiny faced cappuccino...and oh, there he is, he is in my bed after all - he didn't go running, so if the flowers don't get bought today they don't get bought...I'll even postpone the 2nd cup for a while (grins).