I Am Benjamin Franklin - Stringfellow

Ha! I knew it!  OK, if you ever had a chance to read my blog  https://judestringfellow.blogspot.com/2008/07/spies-radars-and-ranges-stringfellow.html you would know exactly who Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow was. He is in fact one of my ancestors and looks nearly identical to my father Reuben Wayne Stringfellow.  Pictures posted. 

I took a test online called "Which Founding Father are You" and it turns out I am like the actual Benjamin Franklin. I laughed when I saw the results because I've often referred to myself as a "bit of a Benjamin" meaning I take risks, invent things, experiment openly, and take charge of any situation that needs to be wrangled (without asking or being asked to do so).  I am the type that will go out into the rain with a kite on a string with a key attached and just SEE what would happen if I just flew it a bit higher! I'm the type that would (and do) engage in philosophical conversations being held by others, inserting my opinion(s) and fully expecting to be invited into the mix. I don't know why I'm so forward and direct. I don't know why I think it's allowed, but there I am, nearly every time - - butting in where I don't necessarily belong. 

Last night my son, his wife, and myself were at the Gameday celebration of the opening game for the Oklahoma Sooners 2020, on Campus Corner in Norman. People walking by, hustling and bustling by, some with beers, some with water, some just trying to take in the smells and sounds as they passed each other -- all of us wearing our beautiful crimson and cream! (Boomer Sooner!)  Along came a few girls in short skirts and cowboy boots; I asked them if I could take their picture and they all giggled and said yes. I didn't expect them to say no, otherwise I would not have approached them.  I asked clowns, men with beards, police personnel, security, workers, anyone and everyone who was out and about just having a good time. My daughter in law shook her head in amazement and asked why I thought I could just interrupt a gathering (or five) and take photos.  My answer was "People like to be remembered. They don't mind." She said she would have told me no. I reminded her I didn't marry her, my son did. 

Benjamin Franklin was an awesome founding father, but he's not the Benjamin Franklin I think I associate with the most. Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow would have to the man I find myself most likely to be related to in more ways than one. A Confederate spy from before the Civil War, Stringfellow was assigned to the 43rd Virginia Cavalry. According to Wikipedia: "When war broke out, Stringfellow sought a commission in the Confederate Army. Despite four denials due to his fragile health (and 94-pound weight),[3] Stringfellow eventually secured a commission as Captain in the 4th Virginia Cavalry (his brothers also served the Confederacy, although his cousins Pleasant and Robert Stringfellow served in the U.S. Army). Stringfellow rode with General J.E.B. Stuart at Seven Pines, Cold Harbor, and the raid at Catlett's Station. Stringfellow also rode with Colonel John Singleton Mosby of the 43rd Virginia Cavalry, most notably in the raid at Loudoun Heights on January 9, 1864."    
 
 In 2008 I traveled to Manassas and literally stood in the forest at Bull Run where Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow had arranged for a meeting between himself and his cousins who fought on the Union side. For them it may have been their last meeting on Earth; at least at that time they believed it may be. I found the very tree where he placed a metal marker. The cousins were to walk 100 feet to the west and 20 feet south to their actual meeting place where Stringfellow had forged a little hidden "fort" where the three could bow and pray together for God, country, and family.  I knelt there on the ground holding my cell phone in my hand with my son Reuben on the other end of the phone; he was in Alaska, serving in the 180th Cavalry. We prayed and we cried a bit too. 

I will admit that from time to time I would love to have my face on the 100 Dollar Bill, that would be really cool, but if you gave me the option of being known for being one of the forefathers of our great nation or the descendant of a brave soldier, it's a no-brainer.  I am always going to pick the soldier every time.  When I took the test, I thought I would end up being like Thomas Jefferson, a writer, a critic, a philosopher, a person who sees both sides of the story before making a decision. Turns out I'm more pragmatic. Turns out I place value on the masses being held accountable rather than trying to persecute the few for their injustices.  I see that. It's just funny how a bit of reflection can bring back a flood of truth. I am my father's daughter.  We are Stringfellows through and through. 

The Written Word - The Hidden Truth

 So, I am a graphologist. ("But of course, you are." you say.) It's true. From my early years of education I have been interested in the way people write so I began studying it. Remember, I'm a thinker and thinkers think. People who tinker will always tink, people who write will always write. People who choose to watch birds have probably done so since before they can remember, and I (Jude Stringfellow) study words.

WHAT is a graphologist? Well, it's not the easiest thing to explain really. The best short answer would be that a graphy will look at what is written and then determine the mood, attitudes, hidden thoughts, secrets, even overlooked details of a person's life and habits just from what or rather HOW they wrote out the letters of their words. I said "HOW" because it really isn't about "WHAT" the person wrote, it's the way they literally form and construct each letter of each word. You'll never ever ever never write the same thing the exact same way twice no matter how hard you try. There will always be a small distinction. Therefore, a graphy looks at the entirety of the sample for characteristics which are mostly similar and forms an opinion (and it is only an opinion) as to what lies beneath the scratched ink or pencil marks. You could write the same sentence over and over intentionally if the graphy needed to see a particular letter for further examination; for example, to determine if I believed you were hiding a secret I may ask a you to write the sentence "I am often able to analyze art" so that I may see the way you form your "a" on a consistent basis. What I do then is look at your "a" and "o" to see if they are open at the top or not. If your "o" is LOCKED and your "a" closed, you may very well be holding an enormous personal secret. 

Over the years I have used my skills in positive ways only. I don't believe in parlor tricks and abusing the skill by making money off the handwriting of others. I have literally given away my opinions about others' handwriting(s) so as to help others who may need to seek help with their mental conditions and/or prisoners in jail be examined who may otherwise may simply be ignored when they have bottled up anxiety or are in severe needs they may not be aware of. Yes, I can see manic behavior in a person's script. I can tell if a person has recently been fighting with their significant other, as the curve of the "y" will point downward or be completely non existent, straight, and short rather than the loopy type of a "y" that we were all taught to write in grammar school.

Remember, we were all taught to write pretty much the same way, there was a WAY to write. We were taught to write in cursive at about the age of 10, and it is the cursive word that I study. The worlds of graphology took an enormous hit when teachers failed the world by refusing to teach children to write in cursive. The cursive word is an art form.

We were taught to WRITE not print. Printing was the start of our education regarding writing. We practiced it, we began our cursive training, and we all came to a means and way of our own after years of writing. We created within ourselves what would become OUR handwriting. It could be neat, it could be sloppy, and still have the same characteristics that a graphologist will seek out to determine what is hidden behind the word itself. The slant matters, the height, lack of height, roundness, even the density or the hardness of which a person presses the pen or pencil to the paper counts. The neatness isn't all that important to me when I read a writing - I'm looking for secrets, of course I'm going to look beyond the wrapping paper to find the prize!

In your writings you hold your life. In your hands script you hold your past, your present, and often your hopes and thoughts of the future. It literally changes nearly on a daily basis in some cases. There will be permanent markers of course, the height of the strike in your "d", "h" and "l" will remain similar, but the day to day differences in the way you form your "g", "y", and "p" will tell me how you are/were doing on the day you wrote the piece before me. Let's look at your capital "I" for example. Do you put a top and bottom strike on it? Do you print it instead of writing it out in cursive? If you do print it out, and there is no top or bottom strike, either both of your parents are deceased or you have been detached from them for quite a while, and STRIKING it out on your own. (again, it's conjecture, not actual science based)

Holding your emotions in may seem like a good thing but when you write anything out they all come flowing out of your head, our of your stomach, out of your soul, and onto the paper through your own hand. I wouldn't say your hand is betraying you. I would say, as a graphologist, that your hand is helping you cope with the realities that are occurring in your life and just maybe you're asking for help or letting the world know how happy you are if that pretty "y" has a big fat loopy bubble and a distinctive swirl at the end!  If you're having vivid dreams, lucid dreaming, I would be able to tell. If you're angry and just want to punch something, yes, I can tell that too.  I catch myself analyzing my own handwriting most days and then asking myself why I'm rushing, why am I in such a hurry all the time? I know the answer. I think the rapture is coming and having to get everything done NOW!  Before time runs out for good.

Why would it matter to you, the reader, if some obscure woman in an average little life of her own would be a graphologist? It may not matter one tittle to you, but if I am one you know there are others who also read your life in the words you produce. It's rather like throwing out the trash in some ways. Once you've thrown it out the trash becomes public property. Did you know that? Anyone can go through the trash you threw out once you discard it. Likewise, anyone can read your writing(s) and know what you're thinking, feeling, needing, wanting, dreaming, acting upon, etc.  It took years and years to perfect this skill, so it's not something I take lightly or throw around easily. I use it when I teach to see who I can trust, who will lie to me about doing their assignments, who will be a stand up student, and who may choose to slack off or need extra help. It can be pretty darn handy I may add when determining how to approach a class of 30+ people who come from every walk of life.

If I were to ask you right now to write out on unruled paper (because I can see how your letters relate to each other better if there are no lines to guide you) and your words are running close together from line to line - you are trusted. If your words are spaced evenly one right after the other, you trust others. If your words are far apart line by line but close together word to word, you are not all that trusted by others to complete a task or carry out a promise, but you do trust others and perhaps you trust too quickly.  It's an art. It's a science. It's an opinion, but one that has been proven worthy of my examination for years now.  You may never ask me to read your writing. You may be afraid to ask me now. You may think I'll make something up (parlor trick) or say something I already knew about you, such as your parents being divorced.Yes, you'll reveal that in your capital "I" as well. There are just too many things you let out without even knowing it - - so don't worry about it. Don't let it stress you. If you do your slants will change! LOL

Relax. There aren't many of us out there. Only a few of us, and most of us don't really look that hard anyway. When people think of handwriting analysts they typically think of the people brought in to determine if a check was actually written by the person they believe it was written by, or some letter being presented in court. The expert is also a graphologist, but their reputation is on the line when they go to court and they study an entirely different thing than what I study. They study consistency, size, angle, slant, density, patterns of loop, etc. in order to compare the likelihood of a document being written by the same hand. I look to see WHAT the person left in terms of their life's experiences inside those letters. Hope that clears things up!

Pyrate Flag's a Flyin' Again.

 Oh, if you only knew! Those of you who do know -- Arrggghhh!  Keep your whiskey close to ya and your women at home lest we come for them for a battle royale of the pen and parchment. Let there be laughter. Let there be fun. Let there be ladies with imaginations far too brilliant to be cooped up!

I'm thinking Friday, September 18th when the dusk gives her skirt over to the night, ladies. I'll bring the rum! (There will be cigars, but don't laugh at me if I cough my fool head off for not having smoked one in 12 years.) :)  FLY THE FLAG LASS!  Remember, poles are for more than dancin'.

No men allowed! (If you dare show up you may regret it fiercely. 

My Mommy!

 Rebecca Ruth Edwards was born an Aries. She was born in the afternoon I was told, on April 5, 1935, and that makes her 85 years old at the time of this writing.  Becky, as she was always known, is my mom. We don't usually call her "Mom", "Mommy", or even "Mama". For years she's been "G'ma" (pronounced G-ma) to my kids and myself, and Gramma to the rest of the grandchildren. My siblings do actually call her Mom, so she has a few names. Daddy used to call her "Sweetheart" most of the time.  I like that.

G'ma has lived almost three solid years without Dad now, and you can see it in her eyes just how sad it makes her feel to know she's still on this side of Glory waiting to see him again. Although we've both discussed that when they do meet again, they'll not be husband and wife, they'll both be in their new perfected bodies and possibly looking about the same as they did the day they met in September (this weekend actually, the first weekend in September) 1955. Let me tell you about my mom, then maybe you'll learn a wee bit about me in the telling.

E4 Navy man Reuben "Wayne" Stringfellow was just freshly out of his Naval duties. So fresh was he that he didn't even have additional clothes to change into really. He attended church in his sailor's outfit and if you're anything like me, which apparently she is, and that's where I get it, you'll understand what took place next.  There he was sitting in the church minding his own business. My dad was forever the unwitting one, the one who was continually taken off guard by Mom.  

Mom walked into the back of the sanctuary (it was her family church that he happened to pop into that day) as the back of the church had the entrance doors to the congregation. If you went around the front you'd head into the classrooms and offices. To enter the auditorium you came through the back door. There on that glorious September morning, Becky (red headed, sassy and green eyed) and her pretty younger sister Naomi walked through the back door just slightly late as to be sure and draw a little attention to themselves. After all, they were adorable girls, both single, and why not let the handsome men in the room see who was coming into the room. "You're late again Miss and Miss Edwards", called the pastor.  My mom and my aunt smiled and waved. One head didn't turn around to look at the two giggling girls - - only one head.  Guess who that was! Dad.

Seeing that the potentially handsome and possibly single sailor had not turned to see her, mom made a proclamation to her younger sister at that time. She said "That man, that sailor, I'm going to marry him! He'll look at me then!"  Naomi, who was busy looking at the handsome airman next to my dad, his brother Bill, merely waved her little wave, probably batting her eyes a bit, and agreed with her older sister that marrying the silent one was probably a great idea. She may have added that it would be best to introduce herself first, however.

Before the end of the service Becky looked up from her bowed head and noticed the sailor was gone. He hadn't stayed for Benediction. Who does that? She asked herself. That's not going to happen again she promised her heart. If I'm going to marry him I have to at least meet him!  A week passed and Naomi had managed to speak to the airman Bill and had asked him to bring his brother back to church the following Sunday, which he did, and there they were again - - intentionally late by just a few minutes. Again, my dad did not turn around to see the girls coming in. Not having a place to sit with the boys, the girls sat behind them. Again, as before, just before last Benediction, my dad decided he needed to leave. He's not a public man, and not needing to go down front to pray or wait on others he simply left the pew and turned into the aisle. (Not so fast SAILOR BOY!) 

With an extended foot to the aisle just in front of him, my father literally tripped and fell on his face in the middle of Benediction, in the middle of the far right aisle. The culprit? You know it, Becky. "OH, dear, I'm so sorry" she said to the man, "I hope you're alright!"  He stood up and a bit embarrassed because others were looking, she helped him scoot in out of the aisle and of course, next to her. "I'm Becky Edwards" she said. "Wayne" he answered.  "Does Wayne have a last name?" she asked. "Yes" he answered. "Stringfellow".  Mom tells me that upon hearing the name Stringfellow she began wondering what her name would sound like spoken out loud...Becky Stringfellow. Becky Stringfellow. She liked it.

It may have taken 3 entire months but the woman was in fact successful at both convincing the man to marry her and to live the rest of his natural life with her. On December 3, 1955, they married and they remained married until October 5, 2017, when my dad decided he simply had to go see Jesus. It was a Wednesday. I was born on a Wednesday; it has always been a bitter sweet day, and now it is even more so. Mom (Becky) is an Aries; flirtation comes natural, ramming things with her strong head ways is just what she does. Can you guess what Dad's zodiac sign may be? Let me help you out. He's stubborn, seems cold, but in reality just isn't all that into things others are into. He's not easily moved, but once tripped and trapped feels that he has no real choice but to fall in love and stay in love because there is really no reason to not love this adorable woman.  He's a Taurus. 

Being married nearly 62 years taught dad a few things about women. Having three daughters all completely different from each other kept him guessing about what he probably thought he knew. Giving into Mom wasn't hard; she had his back. He knew it. What Becky wanted Wayne delivered. This was the plan, and it worked for 62 years.  We children said it out loud at the funeral in one way or another, each of us mentioned it; it was best that Dad go first. He could never have survived without his Sweetheart. I love that green eyed lady. 

I'm the Only Me I Could Ever Be - I am ENTJ.

 

You've all met them (us). You know we're out there. Though the Myer Briggs Personality traits offer 16 different types of people, those of us who are forever deemed to be ENTJ make up only 3% of the entire population.   ENTJs make up ONLY 4% of the entire population, but get this, female (me) ENTJs only make up 1.7% of the same worldwide population. Male ENTJ outnumber the female by a ratio of 3:1 making the female ENTJ the rarest of the 16 types; so of course, I am one of them. I have to be unique (she giggles). One does not simply choose one's personality traits nor does one choose which Myer Briggs personality one will be saddled with.  This being said, I am absolutely satisfied and content being an ENTJ and welcome every bit of criticism anyone and everyone can bring to me due to this fact. (You can't see me smiling right now, but that's what I do when someone inadvertently tells me I need to stop this or that behavior, or that I need to be more like so-and-so. I am NOT so-and-so. I am me! I am Jude. I am the ONLY person God Himself determined to make when He made me. God doesn't make mistakes. 

I don't know when the Myer Briggs test was created or even why really, but I do remember the day I had to take the test to find out exactly who I was and why I was behaving the way I was behaving. Apparently, my behavior was upsetting my divorce judge to the point that every time she tried to sanction me, I would correct her either with the actual law(s) or what I logically perceived the law(s) to be. She had basically had about enough of me when she nearly held me in contempt for speaking out of line. I remember her saying "Are you an attorney? Are you a judge? Do you know the law?" My answer was swift, hard-hitting, and deadly accurate, I forcefully pointed my index finger at her and retorted "NO, but you are the judge and SHOULD know it. I shouldn't have to tell you what it says!"  (By the grace of God, I was not thrown in jail.) With that, she ordered me (and my ex-husband for that matter) to take the Myer Briggs test before she would proceed with the hearing.  

Eleven days had to pass before I was scheduled to take the over four-hour test. I remember there were more than 500 questions asking the same type of questions over and over in different ways to see how you would answer and it really pissed me off. I remember thinking that I had already answered these same questions and once should be enough! This too, is part of the personality trait of the Commander, the ENTJ. It brings to mind the saying "Dammit, I told you I loved you once, and if that changes, I'll let you know!"  I remember another issue I had with the test being so long and drawn out; I remember thinking I could have created a more effective and efficient test. This too is a trait of the ENTJ. A trait I apparently have - in spades. 

So, what then do we know about the traits of our own personality? We know enough to answer questions that will lead the "experts" to tell us precisely which personality we are. Being born a Scorpio in the Year of the Ox doesn't make me an ENTJ, but there has to be a bit of an influence in there somewhere because as a Scorpio woman who tends to be earthy, stubborn, and traditional, I find that commanding those around me, those in need of assistance and mostly those who seem lost, just comes naturally to me. I have always been a leader and I have always been outspoken. I am not going to shy away, back down, give up, or quit because frankly, I don't think I should and I never truly put much stock in those who do. I am beyond stubborn at times, in fact, it's senseless to argue with me because I won't allow myself to be wrong and therefore any attempt to prove I am mistaken could be devastating to the person trying. I can concede that I may have come to the wrong conclusion, but it was probably brought on by false intel due to the fact that I just couldn't possibly be mistaken. (Are you beginning to understand now?) 

Being an ENTJ has opened so many doors for me; by that I mean I am not afraid of opening locked doors.  I will step up and take charge if needed and I will follow anyone who knows where they are going, but the instant they show fear or doubt I am likely to ask them to step aside until such time they can either regain their confidence or become a good follower. I won't be misled because it leads to trouble I can't afford.  I am (because I am an ENTJ) quick to make decisions and loyal to the bone. I won't have an enemy because they are needless, I either slaughter them or walk away from them, not keeping them around to be a problem. I defend to the end and I sacrifice everything for others because that's what a good leader does. We don't lead ourselves! We lead OTHERS! We lift up others. We push others. We create good for others. Doing so for ourselves is a given, it's service to others that make us get out of bed each day.  

Are there good points to being an ENTJ? Sure!  We are HIGHLY creative and organized. We take care of business like no other. We train better than most and can see far enough into the future through using logical predictions to know what to plan, how to plan, why we plan, and then we decide on a plan just before we implement said plan. There will be a plan. There is always a plan.  We also count our blessings. We are the one trait that realizes loss is inevitable and we will suffer it. We try to limit said loss, but we are quick to evaluate and restore ourselves after a great defeat.  

WHAT made me want to share this information about myself? Because there are those who see us (ENTJ) as people who can change and we cannot. We are mostly immovable, but that's a good thing. This means we will be quite predictable in our behavior.  You'll never have to wonder where you stand because we will flat out tell you. We will be sure you understand where you stand at all times. Devotion, love, protection, and loyalty are our gifts to everyone else. We may not seem flexible,  but we are certainly dedicated and forthcoming. You want to do something, get something done, be at the top of YOUR game? Find an ENTJ to help you.  

Now, how may I serve you today? 

 

Fitbit Versa 2 + Me.

 If you know me, and by now you should know a little bit about me, you'd know that I suck at all things electronic. I don't mind saying it. I don't mind admitting defeat even before opening the box, it's an inevitable truth that just is and there's no use fighting it. Hello, my name is Jude, and I am electronically challenged. 

So, if I know me and I know I suck, why did I buy myself the Fitbit Versa 2? Simple answer? I need help. Long answer? Best Buy was out of the Versa 1 and this one was pink, so there you go - - but I really do need help. I'm on this last stand of mine where I'm not about to lose another weight battle. I will win it and with the help of my new friend Alexa, the demon that apparently lives inside the Versa 2, I will be svelte and gorgeous in just under 6 months. (At least that is what the beast is telling me.) Believe me when I say I am NOT a fan of Alexa or anything like her. I have enough fears and wondering having to deal with the fact that my iPhone will send me recommendations for saddle soap, dog treats, and/or anything else I've been looking at or thinking about recently. I don't want Alexa waking me up in the middle  of the night to suggest a new REM session so I can get a deeper more satisfying sleep. I will however, possibly, (no promises) ask her to interrupt my dreams just to see if she's any better at it than I am myself.

Apparently, the Versa 2 has a 1000 new features and it's easy to use. The word "easy" is relative of course, and should be prefaced with the disclaimer "for anyone who may be able to actually understand charging, pairing, registering, and conducting what most people consider blase average set up routines. Me? I get frustrated and and tend to throw things across the room if I can't get one or all of my kids to do the set up for me. Tonight's challenge will be to get Laura off her VR headset long enough to hook my new Versa 2 up to our WiFi. The connection seems to be giving me problems already and I haven't really started! I've made the conscious decision to put the Versa 2 back on the charging cradle so I can at least get that much done while Laura winds down to a point where she can leave her fantasy world without dropping her friends off cliffs - - her words.

I have a steps counter on my phone of course, but I can't always have the phone on me. I stand up more than 6 hours a day now at work and want to be able to count calories being burned and any other goals Versa 2 may be able to assist me with. I've been shamed and embarrassed by answering her questions honestly about my height, age, weight, sex, and goals.  I should let her know I prefer dark chocolate over milk chocolate seeing how she's asking personal questions even before I've touched  her! C'mon Versa 2 - - I realize it's 2020, but I'm the old fashioned type. Talk to me first! (I say that, and just as soon as I type it into this blog you know Alexa is somehow connected and she'll start TALKING TO ME!) DEMON!!

I'll be OK. With Versa 2 I think I have apps at my disposal, and I may even be able to call for help if I pass out from over kill and exhaustion. I know me, I do tend to go one step further than I should, so it may be a good thing that Alexa is hanging out with me. At least she's pretty in her pink band and black face - - She may even be Rose Gold; now that I look at her really closely. Hello pretty girl - - let's do this. Let's make all of my new dreams come true. I'll let her keep track of habits, my work outs, my sleep, my interests and etc. Maybe I'll learn something else about myself if I give it time. Maybe I'll find out what makes me tick. Maybe I will be able to glide through the mountains of information on the internet about these new Versa 2s, but I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. Nothing is simple anymore, there has to be too many features and functions! I think my best friend may have one too so she can help me.  I just really want to count my damn steps! (sigh)

The Semicolon and Me.

If you know me, and you should by now, if you've been reading the nearly 700 blog spots that are on this blog, you would know that I am a writer. I am an English major, I hold a Masters in English, but also another Masters track in Writing.  When you write you find yourself using several different punctuation marks to help your readers better understand your message; we all know this.  One of the most misunderstood, misused, and misplaced punctuation marks is (the) Semicolon.  I really shouldn't even have capitalized it just now, but because it is going to be referred to as a proper noun I will do so.  

 

Semicolon can be a little tricky bastard at times. Webster’s Dictionary says (and I quote) “a punctuation mark; used chiefly in a coordinating function between major sentence elements (such as independent clauses of a compound sentence)” When I teach my English students, I tell them that Semicolon (not capitalized) is not two words but one. They argue, I prove, we move forward.  I also teach them that Semicolon was not introduced into civil language until the mid-1500s in the Italian language, but because it is the very same symbol that the Greeks used for their question mark, it is considerably older, and it enjoys a dual responsibility.  Semicolons separate clauses rather than introducing them. Semicolons are meant to be yield signs, if you will. I tell them they can use it to replace a comma, they can use it to separate independent clauses, and they can use it to separate dependent clauses from independent clauses. It’s usually about that time I tend to lose a few kids; only the strong minded will survive.  

Today, Semicolon (remember, it’s a name now, not a mark) is being utilized once again as a means of recognition or awareness for various mental issues, depression, or even suicide awareness.  It’s for this cause I’ve decided to add Semicolon to my wrist as a way to show the world that I too am standing with them in their struggles; I want to yield to their needs. If I can be a better servant to someone I want to be, and if they can glance over and see that I have Semicolon prominently placed on my left wrist they may be brave enough to reach out and speak to me about whatever it is that haunting them. Maybe I can answer a question for them. Maybe I can give them a light to take down their path. It’s worth a little ink and pain to be able to help a would-be victim of mental anguish. 

There was a time I would say that I don’t get depressed; I get angry instead. For the most part this statement is true. I just simply never have had the time to be depressed and I was one of those jerks who would say “Get over it”, “push through it”, “stop whining” and so forth. I was always quite capable of pulling myself out of a funk by either working out, writing, going horseback riding, or just being bull-headed enough to force myself to stop feeling sorry for myself. I had things to do, I didn’t have time to sit around moping! That was me. Jerk.  

As an adult I have worked with the mentally ill at the state level through an agency job that led me to a new level of understanding. I know there are still those who just don’t want to recover and prefer to stay under the pressure; the pressure is familiar to them, and whether or not it is a good thing it is a familiar thing; therefore, they accept their fate with it. I want to be able to change that for even one person who chooses to believe in themselves or will choose to allow Jesus the opportunity to change their fate for them. 

So, there it is. Maybe 2020 sucked for the most part for most of the people I know, but it’s made me more aware of the need to be ready and willing to reach out to try and help. Next week I’ll try to find a tattoo artist who can dot me up and give me the all too powerful Semicolon (again, no capitalizing. I don’t want one of my students saying it’s OK because I did it!) Let’s do this.  

Blueberry Avocado Smoothie - - Yes, Please.

 I already know what you're thinking....you want me to come over to your place and make you a blueberry avocado smoothie like the one I am drinking right now, right? Oh, if you only knew how amazing they are you wouldn't wait on me to drive my happy self over there. You'd be all up in your kitchen dancing around the Nutri-Bullet with a purpley-heavenly twinkle in your eye!  It's that good. 

I don't know who it was that introduced me to avocado smoothies, I'm just going to go ahead and give the credit to one of my California friends because avocado trees sprout up just about everywhere in the Golden State. It's next to impossible to go a day in California without someone offering you an avocado. They chop them up for dips, add them to salads, make sandwich toppers of them and even yes, blend them in smoothies to make your drink not only rich to look at, but oh so creamy to drink. Doing it! Just, DOING IT!

OK so you start out with about 10 things to make this great drink. You'll need a high speed blender thingy of some sort, I prefer the Nutri-Bullet because it's been so good to me in the past. I've never once had a issue with it other than maybe one blown gasket - easy fix.  You must have the following: a medium avocado, about 1/3 cup of frozen or fresh blueberries. I use the frozen so it's like an actual smoothie when I'm done.  You need heavy whipping cream and milk, honey, chia seeds or flax, and I add probiotic liquid and a raw egg.  After adding everything together in no particular order, I blend it for about 30-40 seconds and take the canister off the Nutri-Bullet to shake it up before blending it 30-40 more seconds. I just want to be sure it's completely blended. 

When you screw off the blade you make a determination of how thick you may want your smoothie to be. You may love it, or you may want to add more milk. Either way, you'll have a really nice thick, rich, creamy, lovely drink before you and when your tastebuds reach it you'll know why they choose to stay with you a little while longer. OMG it is soooo good. So so good. If you don't believe me, well, you're loss not mine, because I'm doing this a bit more often now that I remembered I loved them years ago. When I messaged my best friend about it just a few minutes ago she asked me if they were another one of those Celtic weird things that I found online that I decided to try. I reminded her that I've been eating avocados since we were in high school together, and that no, it's a thing! It's a real thing! (But if it doesn't have the words Dr. Pepper in it Jeannie may not really be all that interested.) 

Just looking at it makes me happy I remembered it. My brain must have been doing some mental push ups trying to bring the thought from the back of my memories to the forefront of my skull tonight. I haven't had an avocado smoothie in forever it seems.  Well, it won't be the last. Nope, tomorrow I'm off to the store to buy more fruits, different types of frozen things such as strawberries, peaches, mango and pineapple and maybe even some cherries! OH WOW...cherry avocado smoothies sound even better than blueberry avocado smoothies. I could even add a bit of super greens to them and have a really powerful drink - - maybe even a "Send-Ya-To-The-Moon" type of drinks! Where's my spacesuit? Will it still fit? I hope so, I'm taking off, this stuff is awesome.

What I really like about it is it's not too sweet and it's not boring. It's thick enough and has enough protein to be a meal replacement; that means it can be....DINNER!  Done!  God, thank you for your perfectness. Thank you for your willingness to share a wee bit of Heaven with us here on this Earth. I am in awe of your splender.  (sighs a good sigh) :) 

Hurricane Laura - - SERIOUSLY? LAURA?

 OK, OK, OK, if they wanted to call the Cat 5 storm Caitlyn or Caity I would completely understand. I would be the first to tip my hat and say "Yes, you've got that right!"  Caity (though amazingly stunning to look at) can bowl over anyone and everyone either who happen to simply be in her way, or by her personal choice. Why do you think I've always tried my hardest to be on the good side of my wee child? She's a FREAKING FREAK OF NATURE at times, but NO, now they've gone off and named a larger than life monster of a whirl with my 2nd child's name - Laura!  How in the world can anyone be afraid of Laura? No one would take it too seriously if the storm would actually act like Laura does. EVEN when she's mad as hell she's apologizing to everyone and though she may be cursing a blue streak she would be courteous enough to do so in her own little world as to not truly do any real harm.  Laura!  I am just sitting over here shaking my head laughing. Who names a storm LAURA?

If you're going to name a spontaneous natural weather event after Laura Stringfellow it would need to be more along the lines of a sweeping wind with a little rain thrown in, maybe two bolts of lightning for effect. Of course, you'd want those lightning strikes to remain in the air and never actually aimed at any thing in particular. If there simply HAD TO BE damage, it would maybe take out  an already dead tree standing in a field so that IF it caught fire nothing could be devastated by it. She'd be sure and rain a little extra over that said dead tree before striking it to be certain there was nothing to be afraid of. THIS is Laura!  

Laura isn't without her strong points, no, believe me, she's as tough as nails and stronger than whiskey when it comes to training horses. Beasts over 1200 pounds will scamper to it when told to do so by the boss mare, but to try and pen a natural disaster on her is just ludicrous.  Maybe an exceptionally hot day in May or a colder night in October - for a few hours just to make a point! (and then, the apologies for having inconvenienced any of you.) 

NOPE...it simply won't do. Perhaps when they get around to the C's again they'll name a storm after the Queen of wrath, CAITY. Of course, if they do they'll need a new category level to ratchet it up to, 160 mph simply will not do! Nothing less than 300 miles per hour could truly capture the force that is my baby when she's been pissed to the point that she feels you need to be shred slowly over a churning endless spiral of wicked beating hail and torrent rains.  Poor Laura, her friends have taken to calling and messaging her to give her a bit of grief over NOAA's choice of names for this 2020 hurricane to end all hurricanes. I am NOT kidding you, I hear her apologizing to them online - - as if.  So funny, what's next? Will someone call an unseasonably mild day "A Reuben"?  Please God, no. He'd own that! He would SIMPLY OWN that.

Wrong Number Friend.

 Back in 1986 I had a phone number that when you spelled out the numbers on the dial pad was 728-PRAY. I can't tell you how many times I was woken in the middle of the night with calls from people who truly needed someone to pray for them and with them.  We had the ability to put our phones on silent even back then; all you had to do was leave the receiver off the hook! (I know I just lost about 2000 kids on that one..."What's a receiver? What's a hook?")  I don't recall any one particular call that was made, but I can tell you that God blessed me at all hours of the night with new experiences, new prayers to share, words of comfort that I didn't come up with myself, but that the Holy Spirit through me could be blessed and Jesus glorified. It was an amazing thing really - and I don't know if I would have changed my number even if it had become obnoxious. 

Today, basically 34 years later, I find myself in another odd and fun situation via the telephone. About once a month someone will misdial on their end and end up texting me. Most of the time it's just a simple "Hey I'm on my way home", but because I don't recognize the number, and their name isn't popping up on my little flat screen I text back to let them know they may have reached the wrong person. Now and again the person ignores my response and either texts back to say they can't text because they're driving, or they ask me what I want from the store before they get home.  LOL...I always answer that one. In my best sweet text style possible I add "Oh you know, my favorite candy and maybe you'll get something sweet after dinner."  Then I smile to myself, knowing I've possibly helped a poor soul in their stagnant relationship.

This afternoon a person texted me from an area code very close to my own. When that happens I know they were trying to reach the person with my actual number, but with another area code probably. I typically let them know, but again, as mentioned before, the person ignored my response that could have let them off the hook - - I said hook again -- and they began texting rapidly asking questions about dinner and whether or not my new DVD set of Game of Thrones had arrived. I answered in the negative regarding the GOT as I was never really a fan anyway, my kids love the show, but it's far too bloody and gory for my tastes.  Because I could, and because I had already crossed the line with my GOT answer, I decided to let my new texting friend know that dinner would be a la carte, we could go through the fridge and try to find things to piece together. She/He wasn't having it and insisted on ordering Chinese food.  OK, texted back that it sounded fantastic, and they knew what I liked. (I assumed the knew what I l liked)

Nearly 18 minutes into our conversation the man/woman on the other end asked me what I had been doing all day.  I decided to tell the truth.  "Oh, (I said) my Scottish New Testament came in and I've been reading it. I'm just blown over that John the Baptist et locust and bumbee hinnie!"  There was silence. No more texting. I assumed that my new friend had finally figured it out and that he/she would either bow out graciously or say something like "Why did you let me go on this long?"  Neither of these two things happened.  Instead the person texted again saying "Bumbee hinnie? Is that the same as bumblebee honey?"  I rolled over laughing. 

I answered my friend in the affirmative, then began rolling off one-line passages that I felt were just too hilarious in the Scots language to pass up. I wrote out a line and to my ultimate surprise my texter wrote back what he/she thought it said or meant. Often times the person truly inspired me to find more challenging passages - - I felt a pang of guilt having developed a new relationship that was never mine to begin with. I decided to tell the truth.  I said and I quote myself now, "Friend, I have to be honest with you, this is not who you think it is. My name is Jude, I live in Oklahoma City, not Atlanta. I think you mistakenly typed the 405 rather than the 404 area code. I have had fun however and I hope you have a safe drive home."  Again there was silence.

About 11 minutes later I received another text from the same number. It read (and I should post the actual photo of it from my phone, but I don't want to give away their identity) "New friend, I think I am the one who should apologize to you. I knew in the first minutes you were not my dad, but I let you go on to see how long you would. I really think I want to go to Barnes and Noble and buy a Scottish bible."  My answer was simple "Do it".  I have no idea if my texter will call back, if we'll ever find out who each other really are, but one thing is for sure, you can never know who is on the other side of the wire even if you felt you dialed the right number and realized you did not. There's a world of people out there who may just need someone to listen to, to talk to, to share with, to be a good friend.  DO IT. (I double-dog dare ye!)