Canadian Geese - Strange Bird

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You cant' call them Canadian Geese anymore. Someone up that way took offense, or perhaps it was someone here in Oklahoma who noticed that they don't actually live in Canada, they poop their little green mess right here in the Heartland, so they could and should be called Okie-Geese. I think it's funny to see the masses increase in the area that is my "backyard". I claim it although its a commons area, it's MY backyard you know. The geese are growing in number, and they never leave. They don't vacation - they don't wander. Then my daughter Caity pointed out that they might, but we wouldn't know if they did...they all look the same. So, if 100 or more geese trekked down for the summer and another 100 or so ventured up North no one is going to figure that one out - ever.

I say you can't tell one Canada goose from the next, but they can. I wasn't watching all that closely, but I could sure hear the honking. Honking and blasting of horns going on right behind my head - loud enough to make a girl turn and ask "What are you doing on that pond? STOP!" One goose wasn't happy with another goose and it begs the question - HOW DO YOU KNOW IT WAS HIM? Maybe it was that one over there? They bob and they dive, which is fun to watch. One tawny black mass will go under and then pop up under or behind another one, setting in motion that "Oh, pardon me, I simply didn't realize that was your feathery ass I was coming up under, my bad." Right..good move if you can make it, but again, HOW DO THEY KNOW which butt to pop up under. No wonder the boy geese get a bit bent out of shape. You can see them pointing their wings at the girl goose just in front of them - "HER, she's over there, get her butt, leave mine alone you idiot!"

They make lines. They line up and line up, and follow suit, and get in place as if they have a pecking order - I guess maybe they do. One goose may accidentally get in front of the one he's suppose to be behind and they start at the wing flapping, head butting, bobbing their little mouths open and shut over and over at each other. One group of 10 or so will try to out-line the other group. Calling out something in Goose like "Our line is better than yours" - and just to prove it that it's not, the second group of 10 or more will line up, honk and pass the first group - with that last little guy always struggling to bring up the rear - paddling his little goose butt off to make the train. Makes you wonder - are they really this boring or is it just me waiting for that next gig assignment and I've been reduced to standing at the pond in my backyard staring at the backsides of identical birds that won't leave the premises.

What's really funny, and I should get up at 7:10 in the morning and film this for YouTube, is that around the time that traffic is just beginning to get heavy in the morning, these geese, all of them, come from one side of the street to the other. Crossing over the little runoff that is on both sides of the street so that the pond can flow into the creek which is directly to the East of the backyard pond, it also flows into the creek which is just West of the pond, but a beaver lives there with his den, and the geese stay clear of him. The crane is another story, but we're talking geese for now, so let me get back to it.

When the geese are crossing the street the traffic on both sides must stop. The CITY put up a Duck Crossing sign, which OK,technically we have 11 ducks in the mix, but we have more than 60 geese crossing at that time. NO, you can't just drive through them. People stand outside EVERY DAY watching the crossing, and if you did drive through them and harm even one tiny feather on the big brown beautiful babies, you would be hunted down before you made a block! You'd be turned in, turned out, turned over, and ripped to shreds by all of those who do actually get up at 7:10 in the morning to see this event on a daily. I don't know how the geese (and often the 11 ducks)know when the time is right, but you'd think the drivers would find another route. This is not going to stop.

This past June when the ends of our street were closed off to fix a water main the geese quickly spotted a few suckers on the construction crew. They lost weight giving up their sandwiches...or made more sandwiches and brought them for the geese. City workers don't usually need much of an excuse to stop working. The march of the geese was just another way of putting in a good day's standing around - why not, it pays the same. I have to get a hobby!

I Met Billie Letts!

I love Billie Letts!

What Billie doesn't know is that I have been living somewhat parallel to her for years. That's probably why I like her so dang much. I am an English Professor, she is too. She calls herself an instructor because she didn't get the PhD, but she has a Masters in English like I do, and we both taught composition in colleges in Oklahoma. She taught a few more years than I did - I have to give her that. We're both writers, and we both love Tulsa. If someone asks me where I'm from I usually say Edmond, although I was born in Oklahoma City, raised in Bethany, and lived in Tulsa just as long as I lived in Edmond. Tulsa just has a better grip on the cosmopolitan lifestyle I think - Oklahoma City seems more like a laid back cousin to the girl uptown.

I was so excited to find out that Billie's new book "Made in the U.S.A" was on a book signing tour, and both times I meant to bring the book with me to be signed and forgot. I'll have to make a trip to Tulsa when I know she'll be home. Besides, we didn't get our chance to have coffee today and I want to do that too! I'll take the trip up the turnpike soon enough when she returns and we'll just sit and talk. I love this woman.

Now, for those of you who don't readily recognize Billie or her name, shame on you, but nevertheless, she's an author of more than just a few books. She is the best-seller author of "Where the Heart is", and though she is often referred to as the Wal-Mart author, because the store plays a prominent role in at least in two of her best selling books; you may remember her as the mother of the man who wrote "August: Osage County". Tracy Letts is the playwright and author of that and other great stories. "August: Osage County" won so many awards this year it would be impossible to mention them all. It was played both in Chicago at Steppenwolf, and then in NYC by the Chicago company! Billie joked that the "woman who played me in the play deserved a special award for all her gymnastics". I'll have to track him down as well and do my best to get a good picture of myself with him - I love Okies who have come out on top!

I'm not all that happy with my mug on this one. I think I was talking when Caity took it - probably, I do that. I love Billie's smile though. She's just adorable, and she's always funny and fun to be with. Last night when she was giving us a little read from her new book at the Barnes & Noble a lady's cell phone went off in the middle of her speech. Normally, when that happens to me I kind of pause, regroup from the distraction (sometimes giving the person a little smile and nod as if to say "Yes, you should have turned it off") she said out loud "If that calls for me I can't take it right now, I'm a little busy". Perfect answer! I love it, and yes, I'm going to steal it Billie.

Well, I won't go on - Google Ms. Billie Letts. Find out all about her and her beautiful actor husband Dennis (d. 2008) and find out about their love, their travels, their family - and most of all, their devotion to each other. Billie's other books include: Honk & Holler Opening Soon, Shoot the Moon, and now a new novel titled "Made in the U.S.A." is just out, and promises a great deal of success. Look for Billie at book signings, and hug her for me.

I Love This One

I can't add much to that one.

I remember thinking to myself I need to get a new hobby - kicking people is just getting old and you really can't do it in public anymore without people filming you and getting you in trouble at the school board meetings. This is a bad habit for a teacher anyway. Damn kids! LOL

Actually, I don't like to brag - but OK...I do have great legs for a woman my age, and one of the reasons has to be all the horseback riding, but it could also be a contributing factor that I was in gymnastics forever and ever. I managed to do most of my work with my butt and my legs. I didn't do the bars, the bench, or the beam as well as I did floor. I did so well on the floor because I was one of those new and innovative gymnasts (80's) that didn't use her hands much...I threw myself over and over without the use of my hands into what we call whippits; something like a back-hand spring but you don't actually land on your hands. I kept my hands in a cross on my chest, but others put them to the side. I could do 8 or 9 without a problem - by problem I mean landing on my face.

There was this guy one time - and yes, I was publicly kicking the boy. He jumped me from the side and began pulling on my arm to get me into his car. I'd say he wanted to date me, but I think he wanted to kiss me in private first to see if I would be a bit more submissive. I have authority/response problems when it comes to men sometimes - I just don't give in that often - I have this stubborn thing goin' on. So, he's pulling on me, asking me to get into the car with him. He's pretty adamant about it, but I wasn't playing that day. I kicked him so hard in the upper chest that I broke two of his ribs just below the heart and I swear I thought I killed him. I could have used this bumper sticker on my t-shirt that day! Sorry Mr. Cop, I swear I was just Riverdancing...yep, just practicing for the play officer! He got in the way.

Oh, and there was this other time - speaking of horseback riding. I was on a big horse named Clyde and we were riding along, but he decided to roll with me. That pissed me off. I got out from under him and without thinking I just round-housed him in the mouth! I think he got it. I climbed back on his back (no saddle that day) and just rode the damn horse back to the barn where he belonged. We didn't speak for a while - - sometimes I look at Laura, she's 19 now, and I think "I remember you" talking to myself that is....I remember 19. I remember the angst, the 10 mile a day run/walks and the horses. I remember gymnastics, I remember being in love with John Love and walking 25.6 miles to see him run a 800m dash. (No car that night and I didn't think they'd let me bring the horse to the stadium)

Wow...Bumper Stickers on Facebook. This one brought it back.

Things My Son Does to Scare Me - Do Actually Scare Me

Cute huh? We had long hair together, and now we have shorter hair together - but he's still taller, and probably weighs less than I do at this point now that he's spent the last few weeks in Death Valley, CA in the summer heat, in a tank!

My son gets the last laugh - if it kills him, he has to have the last one. He'll plan something for months and months, just to pull it off perfectly, and then just roll over laughing. He doesn't even care if you douse him with a fully charged fire extinguisher afterward - which is what I did to him when he got me last time. I was so mad! I don't even remember what that time was, but let me tell you what he did on September 12, 2001. Remember 9/11? Surely you remember that day right? I was staring out the window thinking I can't go to work again, I work on the 28th floor. What if a plane comes through Oklahoma City, what if they do it here too? I was just a bit on the nervous side, and I did not...did NOT need my son screwing with me like he does from time to time. I grounded the boy when he was younger and he climbed out the window and went to the store to buy me a chocolate bar. I thought he had run away and called the police. They found him and brought him back - he was happy he didn't have to walk the mile home...sweet kid. Right.

On the morning of September 12, 2001 - just after the bombings, just after the mayhem, I couldn't find my son. I was scared to death! It was too early for him to have gone to school, it was only 6:00 a.m. We lived in a mid-rise on the 10th floor, and the locks were locked from the inside. The locks on the front door were locked from the inside. You can't get out his window, it only opened 6" or so - a safety thing since we lived above the 2nd floor. He wasn't in his room. He wasn't in my room. He wasn't in the bathroom, and the little living room and kitchen were open. The closets were jammed with boxes, and I was just standing there crying - bawling my eyes out. Reuben! I began to cry out. REUBEN! Oh my God, my baby! Baby! I was really upset and decided I would go out on the balcony, but he couldn't have gotten out and then relocked the doors. I was literally thinking he was abducted by this time....but couldn't get it through my brain because I didn't (and don't) believe in little green men, but I do believe in transporting if God wants to do it!

I sat on the couch and rocked back and forth screaming into a little brown pillow my mother had made for him to sleep with. I was just unnerved....then he came out of the bathroom - a little scared of what might happen. HOW IN THE HELL could I have missed him? I looked! I was in the shower, I was in the tiny bathroom a dozen times. That's just it. When I was in the bathroom he was hiding behind my door. When I went to his room he went to the bathroom. When I went to my room he went back to his room and hid behind the door. This went on for several minutes, and somehow he was able to hold in the gut and not laugh at me.....until I began sobbing so uncontrollably that even Reuben had to stop laughing. "Mommy, I'm sorry" he began, and I just pounded and pounded and pounded on him. He was 15...he could take it.

He decided to cancel school that morning and just hang out with me. I called into work and my boss understood. No one above the 4th floor wanted to go to work anyway downtown. I just sat and rocked on the couch crying and hitting my son, until he had the great idea to go out and get pizza for breakfast. Hot pizza for breakfast? OK, usually it's cold...so that's what we did. Damn kid!

Reuben has been used at least a half dozen times now in the Army role-playing as the enemy. He's stealth, he's scary stealth, and he's really very good at masterminding these sorts of scare-tactics....spooky scary, and it just kills me. At least I know he's not going to do that one again to me. He pinky-promised and he and I both know you go to HELL if you break one pinky promise! LOL

Men Pissing In My Bathroom Freak me OUT

I was so scared - you have to remember, I live alone and I'm not dating. I don't date. I don't have any reason to - so when I was standing in my kitchen this morning making coffee and heard the VERY distinct sound of a man with a full bladder pissing in my bathroom, lid up I hope, going and going and going - I freaked! I nearly threw the coffee pot to the ground and charged toward the back door. Naturally I had locked it with the bar last night; so there I fighting with that, and trying ever so desperately to save my life - - all the while I'm fumbling with the bar I'm still hearing the man relieving himself. This actually gave me a good feeling because, I validated in my mind, that if he's standing there pissing I have more time to get out - he really had to go! Maybe that's why he somehow broke into my little apartment/condo and found my toilet so useful.

I called for the dogs, I'm literally outside in my jammies this morning calling for my dogs to hurry outside - before he killed them too! That's when it hit me. They weren't barking. My dogs were NOT barking at this unknown man, at this free-spirited person who obviously drank 3 gallons of beer just before making it to my condo! Oh, then the thought came to me that it could be my son surprising me - it would be JUST LIKE him to take a 5 gallon water jug into the bathroom and pour it slowly through a funnel into my toilet to scare me to death...but the dogs would still have barked at him too..I know my dogs.

I came into the house after several unsure minutes. I found what I never expected to find - a large wet puddle in my foyer just under that never-before-unscrewed-door-flap-thing that is hinged to the ceiling. It was leaking, draining really - onto the carpet - naturally missing the tile, of course water was missing the ceramic tile and going through the carpet - I wouldn't have it any other way! So no, no one was standing in my bathroom. No man...no one. Just the AC leaking and freaking me out to the point that I had to go to Starbucks rather than use my coffee pot for fear of dropping it - my hands were shaking. I was thinking "OK, my gun is in the bedroom. I can't get to it without passing the man in the bathroom." Then I was thinking "No, my bullets are in the drawer and my daughter has my keys to that cabinet. I can't get to them, I can't get to anything. Why do I have a gun again? Oh yes to protect me should some MAN come into my house unannounced!"

Well, you can call me paranoid, I don't mind - I would rather be standing outside in my jammies screaming for my dogs to run for their lives than to be married to a man that drinks 3 gallons of beer in the morning and breaks into unsuspecting women's apartments at 7:20 in the morning and pisses in their - hallway. I called maintenance at 9:00 when they came in and told them - they laughed. "We know, we saw it on YouTube" was all Miguel had to say - he teases me like that. I'll be outside writing on my new book (I always have one going) and he'll say "Oh, you can stop. I took photos of your writings and sent them on YouTube, now four authors have that same idea."

I love this place!

Vegetarian with Benefits

Hey - a girl's gotta eat right? (right!) I don't call myself a vegetarian because I do actually eat chicken about once every 10 days or so, and I'll eat a tuna sandwich from time to time. I just gave up the other stuff about 4 months ago and it hasn't been long enough to call myself anything other than healthier. I'm not one of those all the way girls anyway - well, not that it would necessarily be a bad thing to go all the way mind you - I mean, I might! I just might do it, and if I do I don't need anyone judging me on my choices OK? Hahaha...we are still talking food right? OK, anyway, I gave up beef and pork just because I wasn't getting the nutrients I needed but I was getting the bloat, the weight, the poor digestion, not to mention it was eating through my pocketbook! Wow! I have actually saved a lot of money, enough to buy the fruits and vegetables I needed to juice and dice up anyway.

I have another really interesting bit of information to confess too; now remember I'm not a Catholic, so if I confess I am apt to do it openly and you can forgive me if you want to. I found that not eating beef and not eating pork has allowed me to have even more lucid and vivid dreams - if that was even possible! I have colored, story-dreams complete with plot, dialog, starring roles of course belong to a very select few - OK two, but they're really wild now! I love the way I feel in the morning barring the kinks in my neck from the rock-climbing, sky-diving and the criminals I chase down on the streets of New York with Det. Mac...he's hot I have to give chase when I can.

This morning I was pouring my daily 8 ounces of fruit juice (always mixed with prune juice, aloe vera, and usually carrots) I noticed that the normally browny purple colors had all turned more browny brown so I was thinking to myself that my liver should have no problem helping me out a little - it may think it's been liquefied, but I'm just getting too healthy here...my flabby mid section had better start paying attention to the stuff going on in the inside of me because I'm coming after it! I'm calling for a war, and I'm bringing the big guns - - exercise and diet! We're going to do this damnit, we're going to fly the flag, sing the song, and dance the dance!

I never in a million years would have thought that I, Jude Stringfellow, would be considered a vegetarian - with benefits of course, I do the 5-8 ounces of chicken and a little can of tuna you know - I do keep the path open for some sin. I think the best two or three things about going green (red, orange, yellow, you name it) is that you don't have to go all over the supermarket to get what you need. You don't have to rush home and throw them in the frig. The kids don't eat them as quickly, and I save enough money to buy really cheap CDs on Ebay. My iPod has close to 3000 songs downloaded and most of that music came from my 1 cent madness buying online. I will however tell you that my latest music came from the internet! I downloaded (sorry if I'm not allowed to guys) songs from YouTube. I have Tainted Chains 4 songs that they have uploaded, and 3 from the Funeral Chasers. I'm into young punk indy people - always have been, I was one - I just refuse to give up the tag! I'm old, but I rock! Deal with it.

My Best Friends Love Me

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Prune Juice (Sun Sweet Pictured) and The Balance Ball (This one Giam)

I have to say that my butt gets so much of my attention that I really have to ask myself why I'm so biased toward it. I think I should be giving my stomach equal time, and in some ways I am; after all the prune juice I'm drinking is actually causing the belly to decrease but my belly and my bum have an agreement that the waste which is being attracted and called down by the prune juice will actually exit me through the other side...thank God, He's the designer not I.

I have been using the balance ball (mine is silver and made by Reebok) for a chair now rather than using a computer chair. Something I saw in a magazine I think really, but the picture of the ball on those glossy pages was actually a part of a chair, it sat up a little higher - no problem, I just lowered my keyboard. I bounce and roll, sitting a bit off balanced and "unstable" at all times gives me the edge in my exercise program - - I like to throw that in, I like to say that I have an exercise program. It makes me sound like I have all the kinks worked out, and that maybe I have a really good plan to get rid of all this flab while working on my lazier muscle groups. I guess I do, I mean I have a personal trainer at the tips of my fingers when I pick up the phone and call him. I just don't employ him. Truth is my personal trainer employs me! He's Ryan of Annie Pooch Pops and he and his partner Brian are going to be working with me and Faith on the boxes I've shown you in other blogs...how's that for backward thinking? My personal trainer is available by phone and he pays me! I like that arrangement. Now, if I can just get the butt to cooperate a little faster.

Being from Oklahoma I have always been around horses so sitting on the ball as long as I do makes a lot of sense that way too. I can actually straddle the thing and pretend it's Rebel, shorter of course, a little thinner even, but I can grip him (it) nicely and ride well enough like I used to - imagining of course a trail or two, perhaps a race track if I'm not typing. I've taken to riding the ball when I'm watching television and notice that I stop or slow down just before someone gets hacked or murdered to death. Commercials are nice I time myself and see how fast and how far I can go on my imaginary pony....pretty soon I'll be ready for the Kentucky Derby, me and my butt...my thighs too, yes, my thighs are really enjoying this new chair they're not talking to each other nearly as much as they used to.

My son broke his ankle this past winter and when he wrote to his friends at church he explained that "I knew there was a problem when my ankle met my shin for the first time. Although they had actually known of each other for 21 years or more, they had never properly met - they should not have." I think of my thighs in the very same way - mirrored sisters perhaps, not kissing cousins! I don't need that, I don't want that, but speaking of mirrors, I am actually looking forward to the times I catch myself looking at my backside - right now I only glimpse...looking forward to the day I stand there and just love what I see...maybe take myself out on a date I look so hot!

The future is there, the juice is working it's best to help me too. I make my own trail mix, and it rotates often from heavier on the raisins to heavier on the almonds, but there are always nuts, fruits, oats, and chocolate chips in the mix - much like the juices I blend. I can get a bag of carrots, quart of blueberries, six or seven pears, plums, peaches, and/or apples, but there's always going to be a little prune juice and a little Aloe Vera juice in the canister waiting on the remains to be blended in - it's just the way it is. Friends talked me into buying a Rubbermaid BLUE pitcher so they didn't have to see the browny/purple/orange mix in the refrigerator every time they came over and opened it - stay out!

My friends search my frig for the strangest things too; they can't find beef, chicken, cakes, milk, white eggs, bacon, anything really other than loads of vegetables, fruits, jams I just made or curds I bought for the peanut butter I just made...I'm sick I know. I use sesame oil rather than peanut oil, and I use avocado oil rather than corn oil - olive oil is used for salad dressing and oh yes, you'll find six different varieties of olives in the frig, and probably a dozen types of cheese - and wine. If it has fiber in it you can find it in my cupboard - if it doesn't...go to the store and buy it for yourself. The change I made a few months ago is real and its for life, not a day, not a month, not until I get thin, it's who I am and how I eat - and you know what - it hasn't made me any more sane than I wasn't in the first place, but I feel better and I hung the mirror up just in anticipation of the day I stop in front of it.

My best friends love me. They hope the best for me, they know they have a battle to win, a war in fact, one that has been going on for years and years - you can't expect immediate change to take place, but the more troops you use, the more planning and diligent attention given to the details as well as the maintaining of the plans and diligent work - the better the odds. I don't mind gambling a little, not when I'm the prize!

Hookahs!

No, I actually don't own these two pictures.

My good friends just bought themselves a hookah...for the family! I had to die laughing, that's just not what I would think of as a gift that the kids and I could sit around an enjoy, but I'm sure if I thought about it we probably would. I called them to talk and found out that Niki had been trying to search the internet for ways to load the phunnel bowl on the hookah - correctly. Me, being the closet conservative that I am, would have found a number of health reasons not to allow a hookah in the house when I was at the mall and found a hookah store.The main reason I would never buy the family a contraption like this would be the overall temptation for the need to find a friend on the street with something more interesting to smoke than the Shisha! I've been rolling and smoking Earl Grey tea for years mind you, it smells and tastes remarkably like the "green leafy substance" often written up on police reports after a raid...not sure Earl Grey would taste the same in brownies, but it might be a good joke to pull at a church event! (Oh, I am just so bad....sorry Trudy, I promise, I won't do that! Well, yes I will, but only at John's house, I swear!)

I'm just sitting at my house tonight thinking how fun it would be to have a few cop friends stop by the Bauers and knock really hard on the door in about an hour or so! It would be so much fun to see them scatter around the house, and put their bong up - but the thing is, they're really only smoking the legal stuff - we don't break laws, but Niki would still be running around the house frantic thinking the smoke was somehow going to be grounds enough to put her away for a year or two...maybe I'll call Eric and set it up, he can blow a little Earl Grey just before the cops arrive....I'll video.

I'm forever telling the Bauers to wait and hold off their really good family fights so I can get my Sony out and record it. With their son Eric's mean commerce streak and my eye for good photo angles, we could clean up on the reality show sets on YouTube. I know our sites would be hitting in the millions over and over, and Niki with her Greek ancestry coming out, Big Eric's Boston fisherman's echo - sheer ecstasy in the virtual world...I'd even insight a fight just to get the best of them. It would be several minutes before they realized they'd been set up. Hookahs blowing, smoking up the place, Big Eric wielding his cooking spatula and knives in the air trying to get even ONE word in but having to fight the higher squealing of little tiny Athena over there pulling up the vivid past and how its been a factor in every decision she's ever made and had to live with - - then they'd laugh. They'd both join forces and meet together to stone me....and my camera. I'm sure that part could be edited - unless we're going for the R-rating.

Do you see the tattooed back? That's what I would look like after a few puffs on the hookah! I know I would. I think they say the hookah's smoke is like 10 times stronger than cigars or something. I smoke cigars, I do. I don't mind admitting that. I'm all for a good Pyrate's night of it, rounding out the midnight hour with a few toasts of wine, a little loud hillbilly music (thanks Dwight!) and a good cigar, I do that - but that hookah just ... I don't know, scares me. It looks so devilish. It reminds me of the ancients and their libations as they swear to their gods and ancestors that they'll make a pact to the death to do something remarkable or die trying...or is that just me? I think the whole concept is meant to put one at ease...I'd be the only highly strung hookah blower out there, wondering when the effects were going to hit and if I'd be in control of myself if they did.

I think I almost bought one for my daughter but remembered she had asthma. I thought no, I'll let her die on her own. I won't help - but now give me a good Chablis, maybe a box of rum runners and a dancing pole in the living room. I'm...almost....there - - crank up the stereo, turn out the lights (you don't to actually SEE me on the pole yet...best left up to the ears than the eyes at this point) I'm good. Have fun Bauers...call me if you need directions to load the phunnel bowl again, at least I was successful at Googling that.

Spies, Radars, and Ranges! (A Stringfellow History)

Stringfellows have been in the U.S. Army, the Marines, the Navy, and the Air Force for years and years, wars and wars. I'm not sure if they've been in the Coast Guard, but I know they've been just about everywhere and on both sides of the big pond for that matter. The name Stringfellow can be traced back many centuries actually, even as far back as the 13th century and was called Strongfellow as well as Stringfellow. Stringfellows (as far as my dad's line anyway, came from the Lowlands of Scotland.) The main branch of our name has been categorized, challenged and meticulously researched by my big sister, she's the genealogist in the family - I just gave birth to the last Reuben in a string (no pun intended) of more than 17 of them...that's a lot of Reu. The Civil War hero you see before you in this blog is not a Reuben, but his father was, and his brother was. He is Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow, who was a Confederate Spy and he worked directly under and for J.E.B. Stuart. Stringfellow was from Virginia, and had cousins (Pleasant and Robert Stringfellow) serving in the Union Army, and his own brother was serving in the South.

I've actually stood on a piece of ground just inside the forests at Manassass where both the Union and the Confederate Stringfellows hugged in a brief reunion of sorts before returning to their respective sides to continue a battle that raged - interestingly, B.F. made sure the meeting took place as he was busy pretending to be a Union sympathizer and gathering more information for the South, but he is the one credited with the intel as to where the cousins should meet safely to say what could have been a last-goodbye. Not much is known about Frank except that he did survive the war, and moved further south afterwards. He lived his life out with his family, and died a Confederate hero.

My father is a Reuben. He's pictured there - a Navy man, he wired things and still does. He's not much for words, but ask him something about a circuit and he won't shut up! My daddy served on a ship in Korea from 1950-1955. All of his brothers served in that conflict as well. Upon leaving the service he made the fatal and life-sentencing mistake of attending church one Sunday at the Fortieth Street Baptist Church in Oklahoma City where his family lived - we think he meant to attend Crown Heights but got lost and just sat down in the pew - what happened next was history! Mom tripped the man on his way out the door. He was trying to leave before she could have a proper introduction and she had already set her mind to marry him upon seeing the back of his head when she walked into the back of the sanctuary - see, it comes naturally for me. I know what I want and I do what I can. Like her I scheme, I admit it, but I also smile and through that Southern charm so deeply embedded within my spirit and my soul, I usually get what I aim for....with or without the rifle.

Reube is what they called my grandpa, R.J. was his father, and as it goes up the line it must come down the line as well. My father did not name his son Reuben, but I picked it back up. My brother was not old enough to join the military, but my son picked it back up. There has been a Stringfellow in every war - every conflict, and with both pride for my family and my country, I do wish at times that I had volunteered but I was told I was too skinny to join in 1979 when I tried to join - - I got over that problem fast enough, huh? Oh to be too skinny to join today! Now I'm too old and broken...hahaha

With the history of our family being able to sneak up and capture, wire things and talk through them, driving over mountains and shooting something a mile away, I think I can safely say that I have a few things to write about...let my pen (or in this case my keyboard) be my weapon of choice. I keep both fairly close 24/7. I may never serve in a real uniform, but my heart is often camouflaged in various shades of red, white, and blue.

5 Second Rule for Coffee

Is there a 5-second rule for coffee like there is for food? I mean, if coffee beans or grounds hit the floor or the sink, can you scoop them up and use them anyway? I've seen people at McDonalds pick up burger patties off the floor and put them back into the bin - hopefully they were fired soon afterwards, but I don't eat at Mc's anymore, so I don't care. I do care...I mean, it's nasty, but I encourage as many as I can to stop eating at fast food restaurants, all of them. I ask the question about coffee because I grind my own. I buy a pound a week and I seem to be using about a pound a week - just under, and there's that factor of dust coffee that lands on the counter top and in the sink, or on the floor when its early enough and my hand-to-eye coordination if off a bit. Can I just pick it using a clean paper towel and use it? Maybe use the dust that falls and throw out the dust that stays on the towel - the ultimate dirty coffee, not the slightly maybe dirty coffee that was in the middle of the mix that got wiped? I wouldn't think of using a bleach towel wipette, nor would I ask the question if I were scooping it into my maybe not washed morning hands - so the paper towel thing? Its good right? 

 Is it feasible to think that I wouldn't be serving my dirty coffee to anyone? Not likely. I have surprise guests all the time. I could get a separate little canister for the dust coffee. I could be the only one ever subjected to it - is this even a real issue? Am I really thinking about saving it? OF COURSE, I want to save it, it's coffee! I don’t buy silly cheap coffee. I buy the good stuff. Black Rifle Coffee, Peets, Caribou, maybe Kicking Horse.  Yes, I want to save it - dust or bean! I want to use it; I want to smother it in water and drink it, caress it, I want to bathe in it - not really, I said that for shock value - how are you feeling?  

Believe it or not I'm not going to tell you (I'll tell Tex if I ever meet him in person and he comes over for coffee, he deserves to know whether or not he’s drinking 3, 4, 5 second coffee and hopefully he won’t be too offended. Lord knows, I don’t need him calling me “cheeky” again.) you don’t need to know.  I won't apologize...I'm only telling Tex because he’s foreign and he may not be familiar with Oklahoma food rules.  His mom may never have told him it’s OK to dust off the candy or cookie if it only hit the ground for a second or two.  Now, back to the coffee and the rules, my cereal is suffering while I write this. It's all steel oats, so it'll be crunchy tomorrow no worries. I want more insight as to what is moral, what is ethical, what is right and proper on the coffee hitting the floor, counter top or sink issue. Feel free to write me.  

So, you know, and so you can make an informed decision, in my house the floor may be cleaner than the counter top.  My sink could be the poster child for gnarly at times, and other times smell of Clorox! The sink is out, we'll agree to that now. No cereal, spaghetti, or soy bacteria on my coffee, and certainly no bleach...but the floor? Is that so bad? FINE. I'll throw it out...no really, I swear I will. I'll be more careful when I transfer it, maybe I need a bigger grinder I don't know.... I'll throw it out now even before I take another bite of my wonderful molasse infused oatmeal. Let me go, I have to get up and grind something...something less dirty.