Sleeping is NO exception when you're a Sooner. You are a fan at all times.
I was sleeping, I was dreaming, I was singing "Boomer Sooner". I don't remember all of the dream, but for the most part I was in Los Angeles the 1st weekend in October, as it was just too expensive to fly back to Dallas to see the OU/TX Red River Rivalry game. I remember thinking "this is a dream, I could fly if I wanted to. I don't need a plane!"
In the dream I was at a party and of course, because I'm a dedicated Sooner, even though I couldn't be at the game I was listening to it on my iPhone. I had the ear plugs firmly in place, and could see myself sitting in the corner talking to myself. I wasn't REALLY talking to myself. I was talking to Head Coach Bob Stoops -- I do that. I stand up and scream at the man through the television set when he does things I don't agree with, and I nearly chest bump the flat screen when he does listen to me...but we won't go there, in the dream I was half way behaving myself because I was in public. I was at a party! NOT AN OU PARTY, it was some sort of a get together for the book or the movie...this had to be a dream, because in reality, I can't think of much of ANYTHING that will keep me from either sitting in the stands or staring at my TV on that hallowed autumn Saturday morning. NOT MUCH could stop me - - it never has.
WHAT should happen in my slumber, but in walks no other than TEXAS fan Matthew McConaughey! I couldn't believe my eyes. This guy is usually not only at the game, but making such a burnt orange nuisance of himself on the big tron....singing, dancing, getting crazy, saying things like "Hook 'em horns" please! LOL
I asked my new friend why he wasn't at the game and he saw my shirt - - my OU shirt. He rubbed his non-horns chest and said "I know! I KNOW! I had to be here today! I can't believe it!" Well, you know I did the right thing, I let the man share my ear buds....he may be a Texan, but he deserved to hear the game too. That's the Boomer Sooner spirit - - right? This way when we scored and beat their Longhorn butts he'd be there to see me celebrate! LOL (Some Texans would tell you that after the last game or two, that I really must be dreaming...this year doesn't hold much more promise, but WE ARE SOONERS! We will believe!"
At least I woke up with a smile on my face.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Wicked Whirlpool - - But I am Still Standing
It's not like fighting authority, with the washing machine you have a chance. There I was minding my own business because that is what I do, when I heard a noise coming from the laundry room in my little house. Currently I "stay" as my friend says, in Ardmore, Oklahoma, a town of about 30,000 people, so it's not a dot on the map, but it more like a smudge. I was listening to the crazy noise this way before dawn moment of the morning, trying to determine if it was animal, plant, mineral or some kid that had snuck in the side door unannounced. I thought long and hard about it because it was dark outside; it was just before sunrise, so what, maybe 6:30 a.m, and I wasn't quite sure where I had put my Kabar. For those of you who don't know, a Kabar is a long sharp military blade. My son gave it to me for protection as he knows I don't do well with hand guns.
The noise was thrashing, it was thumping, it was terrifying, but the most I could do at that point was to conjure up something wild in my mind. Because I wasn’t really awake yet, and because I’m a writer, I imagine things that aren’t even there. Suddenly in my head there were now images of some sort of killer stalker guy who had managed to get into the side door but didn't know where the light switch was on the wall, and he must be falling over the Bissell steam cleaner trying to find the interior door. Oh, that's right, the interior door, I have one...was it locked? I couldn't remember? I was just in there too! I was trying to get the stink out of a comforter so I threw it in the washer with an extra bit of Oxy to do the job right. Did I forget to lock the door? Did I even need to lock it?
Shoot, if it was open the guy could eventually find it and open it. He'd make his way through Reuben's nasty bathroom and then find me on the other side staring at him with a potted orchid in my hands. (Raised over my head of course, for better leverage in times like these) Where the hell did I put my stinking knife? The noise stopped. I rushed the interior door before the bad guy could find it and I locked it. I locked the damn door! Then, because I'm that way, I went outside in the dark through the back door, pushed open the gate, went around to the side door and pushed the heavy deck table in front of it! Ha! I trapped the bay guy now! There! Now the guy was trapped in my laundry room and I could wake Reuben up to deal with him. Then the thought occurred to me, that if he were really small enough, he could crawl through the dryer's vent, and maybe escape, but I doubted it.
Me and my overworked imagination had tricked this S.O.B. so now there was only one thing left to do, and that was to taunt the guy. I called out to him, but you know they never answer. Laura was asleep of course, she slept through last week's tornadoes too - - it's like her to be unavailable in these stressful situations, but at least at this point, standing on the side of the house in my night shorts and tank top, I had a clear mind as to of where I had put the damn knife. It was under the bed between the nightstand and the bed frame. I remember now! The orchid wasn’t going to do me much good at this point, so I did put it down knowing I could wake Reuben up and he’d be all over the guy with his bare fists if he had to.
Back to the bad guy - - he still wasn’t answering me, he didn’t say anything and I wondered if I should call the police at this point or let my kids loose. What would they ask me, what would they think about me pushing the table into the door rather than leaving the house with my cell so I could call them? I hadn’t alerted my kids yet, and you know what, the dogs weren’t even barking. That’s really weird I thought. The dogs are not barking at this intruder! My dogs don’t pass up an opportunity to shriek at a random squirrel crossing my back yard, what’s up with them not bellowing like crazy right now? They were in bed with Laura sleeping! They were still sleeping! They didn't even get up when I went outside. I think Matrix followed me out of loyalty, but he wasn't really thrilled that he had to. He waddled back to bed!
After a few clear minutes of going over it in my mind and conversing with my Guardian Angel Sam who never ever leaves me, I went back inside the house and opened (cautiously) the interior door leading from Reuben's bathroom to the laundry room only to find that there was no bad guy - - unless he really was that small and had crawled through the dryer's vent. The washer however, had managed to find its way closer to the middle of the room and I think I heard it bitch about something being inside of it that wasn't fitting correctly...oh yeah, the comforter. I thought it needed to be cleaned after Reuben used it when he went camping last weekend and I could smell pizza, beer, and the distinct odor of my gloriously wonderfully masculine son who could stink up a room just by walking into it.
Yeah, well, OK, no bad guy - - just an overloaded washing machine that didn’t agree with my load choices. Nothing to see here folks, nope, just ah....yeah, you know, go back to bed and tell the dog good night, again. I know I could hear Sam laughing at me, he does that from time to time, but hey, I’m deadly with an orchid; at least I have that. Next time I’ll wait for the dogs to sound off before I potentially moon the neighbors or strain a muscle pushing the damn table up against the side of the house. Yeah, that.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Notorious Nick Posh
I went to sleep last night after waiting up past eleven for Bryan (my personal Starbucks Shift Manager) to bring me a grande java chip frappucino. He had asked me if Laura wanted something before she went to bed, and had offered to bring her old mother one as well -- nice kid. So I said yes, and then started the clock. I won't say yes next time. It was a great and wonderful (as well as generous) offer, but waiting up to drink a fatty caffeinated drink may have led to this extremely interesting dream and I'm not really sure I'm cut out to be a detective novelist.
The Notorious Nick Posh appeared prominently in my slumber. I'll consider this writing proof of my copyrights, and therefore if anyone comes along and steals my idea I'll sic Posh on them immediately. Posh, in his day, had been credited with killing upward of 10 people over the past 12-15 years. He was hard to pin down has he'd been laying low after the Maguire brothers beat him senseless for the attempted rape of their sister Kate. That had been over 30 months, and since no brutal mutilations had taken place in Chicago's east side that could be nailed to Posh, the detectives of the XX precinct were all but convinced the brothers had scared the polecat into hiding for good, or maybe he was still floating somewhere on the banks of the Michigan looking like fish bait.
Here's the deal; Posh had an MO. After reading about a bloke in Guthrie, Oklahoma back in the early part of the century (20th)who had been shot during a bumbled bank robbery and having been over processed with the undertakers formaldehyde, Posh cooked the idea to intentionally use the stuff to stiffen up the stiff so tight he couldn't break, but he could be cut up cleanly enough. Posh then took several of the pieces that could be recognized, the head, the hands, and even the belly and mailed them to himself outside of Chicago -- to post boxes in post offices all around the area like parcels. From there he'd chop the pieces up using difference wood choppers that he borrowed or rented from locals. He even went so far as to go to Gary, Indiana once to borrow a farmer's combine tools to destroy evidence. Who cared if the other parts were found right, in 1939 it wasn't like those forensic experts of the future were going to catch Posh. He had it made.
Without more than a few words Detective Tom "Buzz" Irwin found himself back at work. Retirement wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and California's Malibu beaches wasn't any place for a Chicago native cop to hide out anyway. The chill of a hard Chicago winter hadn't gripped Buzz in two years but with Posh making a possible return, this time in the uppity Gold Coast, there was no one else qualified to go on the hunt. Chicago had a way of always seducing him. Always bringing him home.
That's when it happened -- I woke up. DAMMIT, I woke up. Now I have to sit down and write out some cheesy old period 20th Century serial killer novel with bad plots and sleazy evil characters oozing from the pages. It's either the Sherlock Holmes shorts I've been reading or my love for a hot, middle aged, raspy voiced, square-jawed detective that gives me this push - - can't simply be the frappucino. Wait, I hadn't actually described Buzz to you - - had I? OOPS, my bad.
That's my dream. It had all sorts of other details, places, people, action -- shouldn't take me too long to write it. I love writing in overt simple terms that can be read out loud and made fun of. Think Dragnet meets Dick Tracy meets me at the airport after too many cups of coffee. Should be fun.
The Notorious Nick Posh appeared prominently in my slumber. I'll consider this writing proof of my copyrights, and therefore if anyone comes along and steals my idea I'll sic Posh on them immediately. Posh, in his day, had been credited with killing upward of 10 people over the past 12-15 years. He was hard to pin down has he'd been laying low after the Maguire brothers beat him senseless for the attempted rape of their sister Kate. That had been over 30 months, and since no brutal mutilations had taken place in Chicago's east side that could be nailed to Posh, the detectives of the XX precinct were all but convinced the brothers had scared the polecat into hiding for good, or maybe he was still floating somewhere on the banks of the Michigan looking like fish bait.
Here's the deal; Posh had an MO. After reading about a bloke in Guthrie, Oklahoma back in the early part of the century (20th)who had been shot during a bumbled bank robbery and having been over processed with the undertakers formaldehyde, Posh cooked the idea to intentionally use the stuff to stiffen up the stiff so tight he couldn't break, but he could be cut up cleanly enough. Posh then took several of the pieces that could be recognized, the head, the hands, and even the belly and mailed them to himself outside of Chicago -- to post boxes in post offices all around the area like parcels. From there he'd chop the pieces up using difference wood choppers that he borrowed or rented from locals. He even went so far as to go to Gary, Indiana once to borrow a farmer's combine tools to destroy evidence. Who cared if the other parts were found right, in 1939 it wasn't like those forensic experts of the future were going to catch Posh. He had it made.
Without more than a few words Detective Tom "Buzz" Irwin found himself back at work. Retirement wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and California's Malibu beaches wasn't any place for a Chicago native cop to hide out anyway. The chill of a hard Chicago winter hadn't gripped Buzz in two years but with Posh making a possible return, this time in the uppity Gold Coast, there was no one else qualified to go on the hunt. Chicago had a way of always seducing him. Always bringing him home.
That's when it happened -- I woke up. DAMMIT, I woke up. Now I have to sit down and write out some cheesy old period 20th Century serial killer novel with bad plots and sleazy evil characters oozing from the pages. It's either the Sherlock Holmes shorts I've been reading or my love for a hot, middle aged, raspy voiced, square-jawed detective that gives me this push - - can't simply be the frappucino. Wait, I hadn't actually described Buzz to you - - had I? OOPS, my bad.
That's my dream. It had all sorts of other details, places, people, action -- shouldn't take me too long to write it. I love writing in overt simple terms that can be read out loud and made fun of. Think Dragnet meets Dick Tracy meets me at the airport after too many cups of coffee. Should be fun.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
So Not Easy Being Me in the Third
I'm trying to finish a book I'm writing with the fantastic Seattle based author Rudy Yuly. In the narrative we are writing in third person, which means instead of saying "me" or or "I", which is so ingrained in all of us when we talk about ourselves, I am being forced to say "she" or "Jude". I call myself "Stringfellow" when I think I've used my first name too often. This is not easy.
For the first few days I couldn't get it done at all. I forced myself to think outside of my own head and my own experiences to try and relive or visit the stories that I was telling the world. I tried to get inside my own head as it were, and tell the story from the point of view that would seem personal to the character in the book, but not necessarily so to myself, or the co-author. It helps that I'm not the only author of this book -- it helps that he's there and he's able to see things from a more pure and clean perspective when it comes to retelling a story that didn't actually take place in his life. It's like a dream for me. I'm trying to remember the events, but they don't seem all that real anymore.
When I go back over the things that have happened to me and to my family since we've had Faith it just seems like a bunch of made up stories - - like Forrest Gump or something. Oh wait, if it's Forrest Gump I may actually get a shot at Lt. Dan! Oh, how fun would that be? OK -- here's my dilemma, should I travel down this fantasy road for a while, or get back on the reality train and tell the blog as it was suppose to be? Oh, I hate it when I'm obedient. LOL
Back to the blog we go.
Authorship is a gift I believe. I know it can be learned, akin to playing the guitar, a piano, or even learning the basics in a game of baseball. If you are bent on writing you will write. Some of us are given a gift for it, and other work at it. Like me when I'm picking at my guitar - - I can't for the life of me remember the keys and I don't hold the chords correctly either. I love the instrument and I want to play it more than anything - not actually more than anything I suppose, because I'd rather write. I find that writing is a more natural event for me, and even if I don't have much to say I still talk. I still tell, and I still show off. If I were a classic guitarist like my good friend Edgar Cruz I would be strumming right now and you'd never be able to read what I write, but you could at least hear what I play.
Writing in the third is so hard for me. It's the equivalent of picking up that six-stringed instrument and trying to make it talk to me. Trying to make it tell me what I'm suppose to do to make it sing. I no longer write my fantasies or my dreams out in a journal before I key them into a computer. Times have changed and I have obeyed the times. However, being able to write and feeling comfortable with a new method are two completely different things. I like the challenge - - it makes me realize I'm a bit vulnerable; but at the same time I know I'll often slip right back into the woods I am familiar with and hide deeply beneath the foliage I have lived in and with all my life. My pen is my sword and I am not willing to lay it down just yet -- not when the fight is in me and the need to protect ME...well, her...if we're talking in the third.
I am the only me I could ever be. This remains constant. In every point of view.
For the first few days I couldn't get it done at all. I forced myself to think outside of my own head and my own experiences to try and relive or visit the stories that I was telling the world. I tried to get inside my own head as it were, and tell the story from the point of view that would seem personal to the character in the book, but not necessarily so to myself, or the co-author. It helps that I'm not the only author of this book -- it helps that he's there and he's able to see things from a more pure and clean perspective when it comes to retelling a story that didn't actually take place in his life. It's like a dream for me. I'm trying to remember the events, but they don't seem all that real anymore.
When I go back over the things that have happened to me and to my family since we've had Faith it just seems like a bunch of made up stories - - like Forrest Gump or something. Oh wait, if it's Forrest Gump I may actually get a shot at Lt. Dan! Oh, how fun would that be? OK -- here's my dilemma, should I travel down this fantasy road for a while, or get back on the reality train and tell the blog as it was suppose to be? Oh, I hate it when I'm obedient. LOL
Back to the blog we go.
Authorship is a gift I believe. I know it can be learned, akin to playing the guitar, a piano, or even learning the basics in a game of baseball. If you are bent on writing you will write. Some of us are given a gift for it, and other work at it. Like me when I'm picking at my guitar - - I can't for the life of me remember the keys and I don't hold the chords correctly either. I love the instrument and I want to play it more than anything - not actually more than anything I suppose, because I'd rather write. I find that writing is a more natural event for me, and even if I don't have much to say I still talk. I still tell, and I still show off. If I were a classic guitarist like my good friend Edgar Cruz I would be strumming right now and you'd never be able to read what I write, but you could at least hear what I play.
Writing in the third is so hard for me. It's the equivalent of picking up that six-stringed instrument and trying to make it talk to me. Trying to make it tell me what I'm suppose to do to make it sing. I no longer write my fantasies or my dreams out in a journal before I key them into a computer. Times have changed and I have obeyed the times. However, being able to write and feeling comfortable with a new method are two completely different things. I like the challenge - - it makes me realize I'm a bit vulnerable; but at the same time I know I'll often slip right back into the woods I am familiar with and hide deeply beneath the foliage I have lived in and with all my life. My pen is my sword and I am not willing to lay it down just yet -- not when the fight is in me and the need to protect ME...well, her...if we're talking in the third.
I am the only me I could ever be. This remains constant. In every point of view.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
20 Innings - - Are You Serious?
April 17, 2010 - - St. Louis, Mo! WOW...the Mets went to the Show-Me State and put on a show -- but it was matched. EQUALLY matched infact! The Mets went scoreless for 18 straight innings as did the Cardinals. Can you believe it? I turned on the television to hear the announcer say it was the bottom of the 19th, and I thought he was crazy!
Reuben and I sat down to watch the last 1.5 innings of a really interesting game. I tried to figure out how long that would take to play -- turns out it takes just under 7 hours. OMG - - 7 straight hours of playing baseball. I'm a Cubs fan, I would have probably stayed through the 20th, but to be honest if I was expecting to ride the bus home I would have had to count on my friends to take me home if I lived in Chicago. If we were at the opponent's home who knows - - we may have had a flight to catch, dinner plans, anything!
Laura is a Mets fan. She'll be thrilled to the outcome - - Oh, I didn't tell you. The Mets won the game in the 20th. It was the longest game in St. Louis history since 1974 and I believe I heard the announcer say the Mets had actually gone 25 innings before - - back in the 60's. Nope, it would not be an easy thing to sit through.
The two teams used 19 pitched. There were upward of 660 pitches, only 3 runs total as the Mets won 2 to 1, and the crowd had dwindled so far down that the only seats occupied were the first 10 rows. Of course those sitting up top came down during the mass exodus around the 12th inning - - I would.
So, that's the thrill of the day I guess for us - - we live a rather mundane life here at the Stringfellow house. LOL....and if you believe that, maybe you'll believe the Cubs can take the pennant this year! We'll see. We're only 10 games in and we're holding well so far! Go Chicago!!
Reuben and I sat down to watch the last 1.5 innings of a really interesting game. I tried to figure out how long that would take to play -- turns out it takes just under 7 hours. OMG - - 7 straight hours of playing baseball. I'm a Cubs fan, I would have probably stayed through the 20th, but to be honest if I was expecting to ride the bus home I would have had to count on my friends to take me home if I lived in Chicago. If we were at the opponent's home who knows - - we may have had a flight to catch, dinner plans, anything!
Laura is a Mets fan. She'll be thrilled to the outcome - - Oh, I didn't tell you. The Mets won the game in the 20th. It was the longest game in St. Louis history since 1974 and I believe I heard the announcer say the Mets had actually gone 25 innings before - - back in the 60's. Nope, it would not be an easy thing to sit through.
The two teams used 19 pitched. There were upward of 660 pitches, only 3 runs total as the Mets won 2 to 1, and the crowd had dwindled so far down that the only seats occupied were the first 10 rows. Of course those sitting up top came down during the mass exodus around the 12th inning - - I would.
So, that's the thrill of the day I guess for us - - we live a rather mundane life here at the Stringfellow house. LOL....and if you believe that, maybe you'll believe the Cubs can take the pennant this year! We'll see. We're only 10 games in and we're holding well so far! Go Chicago!!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Good Golly Miss Molly!!
Well -- Good Golly! He went and did it now! Reuben went to the Ardmore Animal Wellness Center and he adopted himself a best friend. Molly is a full blood Basset Hound and everything that implies. You can hear that girl howl from two city blocks away, but today she has something worth howling about - - it wasn’t always that way. Molly is a rescue in every sense of the word. Thing is, we don’t know if Reuben rescued Molly, or if Molly rescued Reu. Maybe a little of both.
Reuben had just come back from his first tour of duty overseas, and from the active part of the active duty he had signed up for with the regular Army. He still had a bit of time left on his contract, but he was homebound at this point; and with Ardmore, Oklahoma having an Oklahoma National Guard base, he didn’t have to go too far to check in with the military folk. Reuben didn’t seem all that happy to be home though, and I could tell there was something in the back of his mind showing through his pretty green eyes – he had left a great part of him back in Alaska, at the duty station. I think she was his first real love; if I had to be honest with myself. I suggested to Reuben that he might want to volunteer at the animal shelter here in Ardmore, it may give him a bit of happiness to love all over kitties and puppies who were feeling trapped and a bit lonely. He could maybe even pick one out and bring it home if he had a mind to. We Stringfellows are not in the habit of limiting our animal intake; we can always add another one if there was a distinct and utter need; which it appeared there was one.
My son took me up on my suggestion, but not to volunteer, just to go see what was out there at the shelter. You know, just go out and look, and see if anything popped out or stood out or jumped out at him. You never really go to these sorts of places expecting to come home empty handed, do you? We don’t. You may, but we don’t. At least in the many years I’ve been alive it’s never happened. We arrived just before noon, and checked in, washed our hands, put on visitor’s badges and made our way to the cages in the back where all the dogs were kept. Though Reuben is actually more of a cat person, he felt it was better to get something he could train, be a friend to both during the day, and something to sleep with. Cats tend to wander off and don’t always appreciate cuddling.
We started out looking at the first few locked cages, each about four feet by four feet, maybe six feet tall, some had back doors so the dogs could share space, share food bowls if they needed to. We went from side to side, front to back, just looking - - thinking. Reuben and I separated, he went to the right, I went to the left, and we just walked around quietly as the dogs barked and tried to vie for our attention, one at a time, most of them sat in the corners of their cages, laying on the hard concrete floors with super sad faces and forlorn looks; sometimes I hate these places and most of the time I love them because they do save lives. One of the reasons we volunteer so often at animal rescues is for that reason only; to bring joy or happiness to the animals, knowing full well that when they are happy, they bring it in spades back to us.
I don’t know what kind of dog Reuben was messing with, but I found myself at the back of the intake cages watching a dog whose cage plate said her name was ROSIE. According to the plate she was about 18 months old, that she had been a rescue from a local puppy mill just a few days back, she had been recently spayed, and she would need to be adopted by a family with other dogs because she loved attention from both humans and other animals. No problem there, if there’s one thing the Stringfellows are good at it is collecting both humans and animals. I called out to my son to have him come over to where I was; he wasn’t set on looking at a Basset Hound, but OK, he decided he could at least look, right? He was thinking about a Pit-Bull Lab mix male, but then again, he knew he would be moving out on his own soon and some places didn’t take bully breeds no matter how sweet they were. He saw Rosie, and he fell in love instantly. She took a solid 10 seconds before her heart was lost; she wasn’t sure if she should whimper at me or him for attention - - his squishy face must have appealed to her; she chose Reuben over me.
Within a few minutes they were both in each other's arms and paws, rolling on the floor, laughing, hugging, kissing, and making life long decisions regarding their new bond. It was decided; Rosie was going to be a Stringfellow today, and her name would be changed to Molly because Reuben’s favorite actress at the time was Molly Ringwald; she was a red headed woman, the dog had red patches; it was decided. If the dog had a problem with it, she never said a word.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Open Invitation To Take a Bath With Me.
If you're a dog and you live in my house it is apparently an open invitation to jump right on into the bath while I'm my most vulnerable. I know why I usually leave the doors closed now. With the kids away I thought I would leave the bathroom door open so I could hear the music from the living room drifting its way into my dimly lit bathroom...I was wrong.
First Teagan (a little yellow and white Jack Russell) decided she needed to drink the water -- it was hot and bubbly, but she didn't care. Her attention to the water caught King's attention - - he didn't hesitate or even leave skid marks, he just plopped right into the tub with me. Teagan followed.
King is a mix-breed St. Bernard/Dane and to be honest with you he's a bit clumsy too. Having him push and turn around in the water while I was trying to sit up to assist him was certainly worth a YouTube but there are some things just best left to the imagination. King really (and I mean really) wanted to take a bath.
I decided that since Teagan was so small she could be bathed faster and the sooner I got one of the dogs out of the bath tub the better -- that was my thought. As soon as I did manage to get Teagan out another dog made his way through the door. It was Yuki. He hadn't been in the room before - - unless he was being given a bath, so he was quite sure of what to do. He just leaned over the edge and joined us. Teagan proceeded to get away from me and then dry herself off on the sofas and when that wasn't sufficient she took off for my room to crawl and twist around on the comforter.
King sat down and kissed me squarely on the face. He wasn't in any hurry. It was almost as if he was saying "Go ahead, bathe Yuki, I can wait." So I scrubbed on the little Chihuahua-Dox for a while, found a towel, managed to get on my knees to get Yuki out and even dried him before he took off. Then came the fun one!
King just sat there with his back to me -- laughing. He was loving every single minute of it and the thought occurred to me that he may be part German Shepherd. My mom's dog Lady would kill to get into the water - even the garden hose was a source of joy to her. Who knows, a mix is a mix is a mix at this point. I haven't officially tested King's DNA -- I'm just sure he's a big 100+ pound dog with pretty long brown hair and bright big blue eyes. He's a ladies dog for sure.
After the tub was filled with dirt and hair I managed to climb out of it and dry both of us off...but the comforter still got used the second I released him. All those towels I washed and dried today - - getting it again tonight. I had to use 3 just to clean out the dirt and mess he left. Hey, at least my dogs are clean, right?
Matrix, the only dog NOT to get bathed was found on the bed too, but very safely under the blankets where he would be very difficult to grab or wrangle should I decide he needed to be cleaned. He lucked out...or I did, I don't know which!
Next time - - I close the door.
First Teagan (a little yellow and white Jack Russell) decided she needed to drink the water -- it was hot and bubbly, but she didn't care. Her attention to the water caught King's attention - - he didn't hesitate or even leave skid marks, he just plopped right into the tub with me. Teagan followed.
King is a mix-breed St. Bernard/Dane and to be honest with you he's a bit clumsy too. Having him push and turn around in the water while I was trying to sit up to assist him was certainly worth a YouTube but there are some things just best left to the imagination. King really (and I mean really) wanted to take a bath.
I decided that since Teagan was so small she could be bathed faster and the sooner I got one of the dogs out of the bath tub the better -- that was my thought. As soon as I did manage to get Teagan out another dog made his way through the door. It was Yuki. He hadn't been in the room before - - unless he was being given a bath, so he was quite sure of what to do. He just leaned over the edge and joined us. Teagan proceeded to get away from me and then dry herself off on the sofas and when that wasn't sufficient she took off for my room to crawl and twist around on the comforter.
King sat down and kissed me squarely on the face. He wasn't in any hurry. It was almost as if he was saying "Go ahead, bathe Yuki, I can wait." So I scrubbed on the little Chihuahua-Dox for a while, found a towel, managed to get on my knees to get Yuki out and even dried him before he took off. Then came the fun one!
King just sat there with his back to me -- laughing. He was loving every single minute of it and the thought occurred to me that he may be part German Shepherd. My mom's dog Lady would kill to get into the water - even the garden hose was a source of joy to her. Who knows, a mix is a mix is a mix at this point. I haven't officially tested King's DNA -- I'm just sure he's a big 100+ pound dog with pretty long brown hair and bright big blue eyes. He's a ladies dog for sure.
After the tub was filled with dirt and hair I managed to climb out of it and dry both of us off...but the comforter still got used the second I released him. All those towels I washed and dried today - - getting it again tonight. I had to use 3 just to clean out the dirt and mess he left. Hey, at least my dogs are clean, right?
Matrix, the only dog NOT to get bathed was found on the bed too, but very safely under the blankets where he would be very difficult to grab or wrangle should I decide he needed to be cleaned. He lucked out...or I did, I don't know which!
Next time - - I close the door.
Almond Butter vs. Peanut Butter
Wow - - can you even compare the two? Let's see, orgasm v. "Well, that was nice." That seems to be an adequate comparison between the two. Let's go with that.
It hasn't been that long since I went to the health food store in Oklahoma City where I decided to buy as many good and healthy things as I could afford. I promised myself that I would not spend ungodly amounts of money on pills, vitamins, minerals and supplements - - all of which are readily available, but I also promised myself that I would try to find the right balance of good food at a reasonable price. Then it happened -- I found the almond butter.
Everyone knows that peanuts are really cheap and that almonds cost a bit more. I don't do anything roasted, toasted, sweetened or shelled so buying the natural nuts was at least that much cheaper buying them in bulk rather than in prepackaged cans with logos and labels. I probably warranted myself another 100 nuts just for being the frugal Scots girl that I am.
Almond butter just made sense to me. I buy almonds to munch on, I should at least try the butter too. I can spread a little less and make the small jar go further than maybe I would the cheaper peanut butter -- even the organic brand, and I could maybe, I don't know, by sparing the amount also spare some calories, some fat, and make myself feel a little better for doing it - - that was the argument I needed and you bet, I bought the expensive jar of almond butter. I will say this, I had a choice of 4 and I picked the least expensive one. (gotta keep a sane mind somehow)
Well, I know this: I won't be going back to peanut butter anytime soon. Why would I? The overall taste, texture, and aroma kicks peanut butter in the nuts. Oh, I so meant to say that...I really did! It was tacky, but I said it anyway. If I had to pick a perfect food other than raw honey or maybe black beans it would be almond butter. You can think of a few ways to use it if you get really creative. I haven't actually tried mixing the almond butter with the black beans yet, but I have put a bit of raw honey on the other piece of 12 grain bread and let me tell you - - it's, well it's, it's a party in your mouth is what it is.
Someone out there in the almond growing world deserves a big thank you -- and maybe even a hug. Let me know if you find them, I'd like to shake their hand. Oh, before you go, could you turn out the lights? I think I just had a vision of Spc. Agent Seely Booth on the edge of the knife I just used to spread the almond butter - - I can dream right?
It hasn't been that long since I went to the health food store in Oklahoma City where I decided to buy as many good and healthy things as I could afford. I promised myself that I would not spend ungodly amounts of money on pills, vitamins, minerals and supplements - - all of which are readily available, but I also promised myself that I would try to find the right balance of good food at a reasonable price. Then it happened -- I found the almond butter.
Everyone knows that peanuts are really cheap and that almonds cost a bit more. I don't do anything roasted, toasted, sweetened or shelled so buying the natural nuts was at least that much cheaper buying them in bulk rather than in prepackaged cans with logos and labels. I probably warranted myself another 100 nuts just for being the frugal Scots girl that I am.
Almond butter just made sense to me. I buy almonds to munch on, I should at least try the butter too. I can spread a little less and make the small jar go further than maybe I would the cheaper peanut butter -- even the organic brand, and I could maybe, I don't know, by sparing the amount also spare some calories, some fat, and make myself feel a little better for doing it - - that was the argument I needed and you bet, I bought the expensive jar of almond butter. I will say this, I had a choice of 4 and I picked the least expensive one. (gotta keep a sane mind somehow)
Well, I know this: I won't be going back to peanut butter anytime soon. Why would I? The overall taste, texture, and aroma kicks peanut butter in the nuts. Oh, I so meant to say that...I really did! It was tacky, but I said it anyway. If I had to pick a perfect food other than raw honey or maybe black beans it would be almond butter. You can think of a few ways to use it if you get really creative. I haven't actually tried mixing the almond butter with the black beans yet, but I have put a bit of raw honey on the other piece of 12 grain bread and let me tell you - - it's, well it's, it's a party in your mouth is what it is.
Someone out there in the almond growing world deserves a big thank you -- and maybe even a hug. Let me know if you find them, I'd like to shake their hand. Oh, before you go, could you turn out the lights? I think I just had a vision of Spc. Agent Seely Booth on the edge of the knife I just used to spread the almond butter - - I can dream right?
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Stepping Through Different Doors
I was sitting at the computer a minute ago eating my egg-omelet sandwich, when it occurred to me that I'm actually in the middle of a huge transition in my life. I'm going through different doors than I have been going through - - and I'm OK with that.
I'm backing off some of, if not all of the speaking engagements with Faith. I'm giving the stage over to Laura and over to Caity. I'm letting them have the fun of doing the shows, and the fun of handling a mischievious dog that does things on center stage when you least expect it. She will invarably walk off when she decides to and it may or may not be at the right moment in the speech! She just makes up her dogged little mind and does what she wants to do - - and that can be both challenging and unexpectedly humorous too. I've found out EXACTLY how witty and clever I can be when it happens! Faith is the source of many new thoughts and actions when I've been before a live audience. The girls need to experience that for themselves.
Before Faith and I hit the road I was a professor of English as well as a full time employed High School English teacher. I worked a great deal, studied, graded papers, taught people how to write and how to comprehend what they were reading. It was a great profession for me; I hated to give it up, but I did because I felt a calling. I had a mission and now that that mission has been met I am giving the reins of whatever it is that I've created to the next generation to create and develop it into whatever it is that they believe is best for the future of the mission with Faith.
That being said, I am still writing the definitive book on Faith. I am writing a series of children's books, and possibly creating a 501(c)3 non-profit wherein I may develop workbooks, and do workshops with kids to teach them about acceptance of themselves as well as others with special needs. It's a door that was opened by the work I've created with Faith, one I will be proud to be a part of. I am also embarking (no pun intended) on a sales and marketing position with a great dog food company - - Precise Pet Foods. Faith eats Precise Pet Food. It only stands to reason that if I were to become involved with selling or marketing a dog food product it would be the one she enjoys. It's another door she has opened - - well, Jesus opened it, but He used Faith to nudge the hinges.
The past four years of being on the road with Faith have been rewarding. I can't imagine where I will begin when I start telling the stories in the final book - - it will be a wonderful journey through my heart, through love, through struggles and through grace. God has been so very wonderful to both of us - - but there is another set of doors opening right now for me and I do have to walk through them.
Keep your eyes open. Faith will not stop her mission; she's bound and determined to be the best U.S. Army Sgt Dog out there, to visit more soldiers, to kiss more kids, and to be the one dog everyone remembers forever and ever. I won't be too far behind the scenes watching - - afterall, my babies are out there in front now. I have to keep my momma eyes open for them.
To all who love Faith and her message: THANK YOU...she's not going away, she's really just making a change and change is good.
I'm backing off some of, if not all of the speaking engagements with Faith. I'm giving the stage over to Laura and over to Caity. I'm letting them have the fun of doing the shows, and the fun of handling a mischievious dog that does things on center stage when you least expect it. She will invarably walk off when she decides to and it may or may not be at the right moment in the speech! She just makes up her dogged little mind and does what she wants to do - - and that can be both challenging and unexpectedly humorous too. I've found out EXACTLY how witty and clever I can be when it happens! Faith is the source of many new thoughts and actions when I've been before a live audience. The girls need to experience that for themselves.
Before Faith and I hit the road I was a professor of English as well as a full time employed High School English teacher. I worked a great deal, studied, graded papers, taught people how to write and how to comprehend what they were reading. It was a great profession for me; I hated to give it up, but I did because I felt a calling. I had a mission and now that that mission has been met I am giving the reins of whatever it is that I've created to the next generation to create and develop it into whatever it is that they believe is best for the future of the mission with Faith.
That being said, I am still writing the definitive book on Faith. I am writing a series of children's books, and possibly creating a 501(c)3 non-profit wherein I may develop workbooks, and do workshops with kids to teach them about acceptance of themselves as well as others with special needs. It's a door that was opened by the work I've created with Faith, one I will be proud to be a part of. I am also embarking (no pun intended) on a sales and marketing position with a great dog food company - - Precise Pet Foods. Faith eats Precise Pet Food. It only stands to reason that if I were to become involved with selling or marketing a dog food product it would be the one she enjoys. It's another door she has opened - - well, Jesus opened it, but He used Faith to nudge the hinges.
The past four years of being on the road with Faith have been rewarding. I can't imagine where I will begin when I start telling the stories in the final book - - it will be a wonderful journey through my heart, through love, through struggles and through grace. God has been so very wonderful to both of us - - but there is another set of doors opening right now for me and I do have to walk through them.
Keep your eyes open. Faith will not stop her mission; she's bound and determined to be the best U.S. Army Sgt Dog out there, to visit more soldiers, to kiss more kids, and to be the one dog everyone remembers forever and ever. I won't be too far behind the scenes watching - - afterall, my babies are out there in front now. I have to keep my momma eyes open for them.
To all who love Faith and her message: THANK YOU...she's not going away, she's really just making a change and change is good.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
I Have a Few Children
Matt (Clark) is one of those kids of mine that I didn't know I had until after he was born, after he was raised, after he joined the Army and ended up my son's little brother. There's no changing it, it's just done. I have another son. This time I'm lucky to get a kid that has been potty-trained and he's been educated. That's good, because the sheer size of this one warrants that if I had actually had to feed him and Reuben at the same time I'm pretty sure I would have not been able to do it. I've seen them eat!
Matt and Reuben were in Iraq together albeit with different locations, different experiences, difference jobs - - they were thrown together by chance, but became brothers by choice. It was a no-brainer when Reuben got out that Matt would want to be with his brother. He's in the process now of getting released from duties, his time is up, he's ready to start all the crazy plans they've schemed up together over the past 3.5 years together - - plans like: taking a month long road trip and seeing America rather than the ice and snow of Alaska where they were stationed. Making plans to become co-mayors of a small town somewhere and just running the show - - everyone has to exercise, everyone has to work, everyone has to be squared away. That's one city I will try to avoid early in the morning.
Yesterday was the first time I got the chance to hug my 22 year old son. He calls me "Mom", but I know and am told that he has another one too - - a real one that really loves him and keeps a watchful eye as well. You can't ever really have too many moms I guess - - as long as Reuben understands he can't replace me, I'm good. The second he thinks he can I will have no other choice but to take out the other woman and show her what's what....does that sound possessive because I was thinking it did, just as it came out of my keyboard I thought...no, never mind. He's MINE, MINE!!! I'll share Matt.
This was Faith's first time to see her other boy too - - she and he had talked on the phone and had gotten to know each other through stories and through Reuben's mutual recommendations; but it was great to see them together and wow, she loves him. He was even out of uniform!! He must be family.
So, it's hats off, rifles down, and out of the Army for my other son - - remind me to tell you about Jonathan when we get the chance. He's even bigger than Matt! How do I do this? How do I find these guys? (Jon and Reu met in the 4th grade.)
WELCOME HOME SON!!!
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