Acquiring Children

     It happens now and then; I'll be minding my own business, because that is what I always do, and my life is turned upside down, sideways in less than a second's time. There was a moment in my life when I was not the other mother of about 13 young people, all of which hung on and clung to me as if I had actually given birth to them.  One of these graciously sweet, rugged, and oh-so needy children is my boy Jonathan. How I obtained Jonathan was right out of the pages of a Stringfellow novel for sure; he's more of a victim than anything else -- Reuben happened to him.  Reuben's happen.  I tell people all the time, "Be careful, Reuben's happen!" Sometimes they listen.  I didn't have the opportunity to warn little Jonathan, he was unceremoniously dragged home from school one day by my son; I think they were in the 4th grade.

    "Mom!" came the bellow of my oldest; a 4th grader who was big, bulky, and brilliant of course; "MOM! Where are you?", he continued.  "I'm on the couch Baby Boy", came my answer, and as I began to straighten myself and get ready to welcome my children back home from their 2nd day of school, I noticed there was an extra kid standing before me, this one a boy, and he was a bit taller, more bulky, brawny even at the age of 10, and he was dark complexed.  We live in the Southwest part of the U.S. so I made an assumption that so many people probably make; I assumed our new visitor was Mexican - he was not.

    "Mom, can I have a Mexican friend?" asked Reuben. I know my eyes popped right out of my head at the sheer rudeness of the question, even for a 10-year-old; I thought I had raised my kids to be a lot more respectful of people and their cultures than that! Before I could answer my wayward son, the boy himself retorted with a quick scolding to my son saying, "I've told you, Reuben, I'm not Mexican. I'm Puerto Rican on my dad's side and my mom is from El Salvador."  My nod toward the bigger kid was genuine; I wanted to thank him for helping me straighten my own flesh and blood out, and help him to understand we have friends, not Mexican friends, not Black friends, not White friends, not Asian friends, we have friends. I continued nodding, and I gave my answer to Reuben as well as to his new friend, "Yes, you may have any friend you wish, but you can't call them names or use words that may seem insensitive at best, and racist at worse."  I asked him, "Remember when we lived in Arcadia, and you and the girls were the only white kids in the area? How would you have felt if Tyrelle had asked his mom if he could have a White friend?" To my shock, Reuben told me that's exactly what Tyrelle had asked his mom when the opportunity presented itself.  Just, wow. "Yes, " I said, you may have any friend you wish."  I then turned back to the bigger boy and asked him what his name was. He told me it was Jonathan Rios. From that day, that wonderful end of a summer day, I've been Jon's other mom, and it's been a tremendous pleasure.

    Jon's family is the family that gave us Faith!  Jon's dog Princess was Faith's mom, and though Princess was a full black chow, and Faith a yellow short-haired mutt, Princess was not the motherly type. Reuben literally had to rescue Faith from out from under Princess as the mother dog was trying to smother the little deformed puppy - - but that's natural; I mean, it's not cool, no, but it is natural.  Besides giving us Faith, Jon has given me a grandson as well, little Jasper is almost three, and he couldn't be any cuter. Before Faith, before Jasper, before most of the grown-up adult things that Reuben and Jon have been through; standing with each other at weddings and formal occasions come to mind; Jon and Reuben have been on the raw side of trouble too.  I think I recall a time the two of them and their friend Crayton found a real dead guy at the park near our home and rather than calling the cops they poked him with sticks and ran home to tell me about it.  They've walked the wrong way to a school event and ended up needing a ride home from the other side of town. They've partied at places they had no invitation to be at, and again, ended up calling me for a rescue! 

    Today, standing just over 6'3" and about 240 pounds, Jonathan is still a bit bigger and bulkier than Reuben; but their smiles compete with each other, neither boy (man) can stop laughing once the giggles start, and you know, you just know something happened - - but no, neither of them is going to be willing to squeal on the other; so, yeah, you just have to walk away shaking your head sometimes.  I think one of the funniest "Jonathan" stories I have now took place at Reuben's wedding to Josie in April 2019.  Jon of course was expecting to be Reuben's best man, though I don't know that it had been discussed; Jon made the assumption that he would be, and then when Reuben's good and close buddy from Indiana showed up, a man Reuben had hung with during the four years (more recently) that he lived in the Hoosier state, Jon began the whole I-May-Have-to-Pee-on-You thing; something men do I guess to show both dominance and possession.  Sizing up J.J. wasn't that difficult for Jon with his bulk, it was the subtle moves that J.J. was making, just sort of flanking around, moving into position at the right time.  I, of course, knew the outcome; you don't spend years and years camping with, bar-b-queuing, fishing, racing, hot-wheeling, playing ball, beating each other up and/or out doing each other for over twenty years to be 2nd man...no way!  My champion! Jon walked straight up to Reuben at the service, head held high, chest out, arms pushing J.J. to the side almost - - it was epic, just EPIC. 

    Last night Jonathan posted on his Facebook that he had a hampster to give away to someone who could take care of it. I think it was on his wall about three minutes before Laura was knocking on Jon's door with her hands held out. "Why didn't you call, Bro.?", she asked. "You don't have to post it, I'll take it. Is it a Dwarf?" she asked Jon?  I loved his answer, he said, "Laura, I'm surprised at you; you know your mom raised you better than to be rude like that, the hamster has feelings you know."  I swear, sometimes I just want to smack them all, but Jon is just a bit too tall for me to reach now.  He gives great hugs though!  I love my boy.

Why Don't You Act Your Age?

 Act my age? What the hell does that even mean? Who would want to act like an old woman even if they were in fact (as told by the calendar anyway) an old woman? Hell no! I mean heck no! I shouldn't be cussing this much; I'm old. I blame my kids - - I'd like to say I blame them for most of what takes place to me and I'd be 48% correct if I did, but I have to at least admit from time to time that my antics are in fact my own. Today will not be an exception.

I bought an LED light mask to put on my face to use every single day. You hook it up, rev it up, pick your colors and set your timer, and BAM! You're 30 years younger in just 40 minutes. Well, I mean, you are if you believe the advertising and the photos plastered on the brochures.  The company knows the product is catered to the older gals, those of us who refuse to settle down and accept that we may soon be comparing walkers and lift chairs. We're the ones who refuse to accept the fact that time slipped not only out of our hands but right past us; leaving us to wonder where all the cannolis went, and whose dog is under the table anyway? Does anyone remember picking this one up at the shelter or did he just walk in the door on his own? Can someone go look at on the poles to see if he's officially missing? Is anyone even listening to me? No, they are not! No one is in my house, it's just me, and me alone with my new LED light mask - - and someone's Beagle. 

The light mask was told to have great healing abilities, and the low low price of only XYZ, it was going to change my life! I was going to be able to literally watch the wrinkles and fine lines in my face disappear, but wait, if I used their special, handy-dandy collagen serum on my face and neck before I subjected myself to laying alone (with some random dog on my bed) for the next 40 minutes, I could not only see the changes, but I could feel the changes too - - the tightening of my skin, the closing of my pores, if that wasn't enough, I had seven (count them, seven) colors of lights I could choose from; each with their own healing promises and properties.  How could I possibly resist? I mean, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't say to myself "Gosh darn Jude, I wish you looked 30 again instead of 32"  You can't see me laughing, I'm 59 at the time I'm writing this, but dammit I look good! (smiles)

It's not just the LED light mask. For the past several months this old woman has been working out nearly every day at the YMCA, losing weight with diet and exercise, riding my bike, riding my horse, walking the parking lots (I'd say the streets, but that carries with it an entirely different connotation you know) and I've been doing the best I can to not only stop the aging process but to ward off all the would-be suitors who find my new skinniness and tight-pants wearing self to be a bit more attractive than I was when I was really actually old; last year.  I'm not going to lie, it's rather curious to me how men will write to me without knowing me and ask me not only where I'm from, but if I'm married, what I do for a living, and if I'll hang out with them in various chat rooms - - I know the new me is so freakin irresistible, I get that fellas, but no, I'm the same ol' me when it comes to wanting companionship. If I want it, I'll go to the shelter and .... wait, I don't even have to do that anymore; apparently dogs just show up at my door. Does this Beagle like me now that I'm 30 pounds lighter? What?

I dance at home too; and I dance in public, which absolutely embarrasses my kids. If I can embarrass one or the other of them at least once a week I feel I've done my duty; dancing helps me keep my glutes in place and someday very soon I'll be stealing all of Caity's clothes and because of my new light mask she'll think it was Laura who took her things - - Ha! That's the real plan, right there. Just 30 more pounds and about 100 wrinkles to go and BAM...yes, BAM...I will be ready to be a Barbie model for Mattel! They can call this one the Boomer Barbie; she can wear an Oklahoma University t-shirt and really be sportin' because that's the only BOOMER we know; I'm not about to admit I'm aging not when I'm having too much fun flirting with this Beagle from behind the red flickering light of the LED mask.  It's a thing, it's a real thing. I'm going to have to post pictures to prove it, but it's a thing.

George.

     The most perfect dog almost ever had just passed away of cancer; I was devastated by the loss of my best friend Matrix.  He was around 12 years old, not nearly long enough for me, but because he was in fact my best friend, I let him go see Jesus when it became obvious that he couldn't stay with me and not be in pain.  I have Caity and Brandon to thank for being so kind as to take him into the vet's office for his one way ticket to the Rainbow Bridge. I just couldn't do it. I had done that so many other times for my own dad and for friends, this time it would have been too hard on my soul.

     As I lay on the couch in my house on that cold, cold, cold, Indianapolis evening, praying and crying, thanking God for my Mr. Matrix, I got a text from my good friend Gordon Dean Flick; I have to say his full name because there's another Gordon Flick in my life, believe it or not, a Facebook friend in Oklahoma, but this text came from my good Confederate buddy GDF, who lived just a few miles from me in Indy, and he and I were going to discuss a particular event that took place during the Civil War (he doesn't call it that; he calls it the Northern Aggression.)  The text started off with a sweet condolence about my friend Matrix, and Gordon's recalling of a dear memory that swept across his mind when he last saw my dog during the filming of a Australian animal show with Faith. Gordon had been invited as part of our family for the shoot -- he was in charge of wrangling Matrix so for Gordon, Matrix's passing was a moment of sorrow too.

    Later that week, not long after the grieving began, I got another text, and I thought it was from Gordon, but it wasn't. It was from a woman named Gordy who lived in Ohio, just over the Indiana border. She ran an animal rescue and wanted to know if I could help her out. Apparently, she had seen the Australian animal show, she had seen my name, recognized it on her Facebook home page, and decided that I may be able to help her since I had posted about Matrix's passing.  Seems she had a little weenie dog that was about to be put down due to his food aggression, but she swore up and down that he really wasn't like that, he just decided to be a boo-bear during the intake testing.  He was literally on death-row!  Could I help? 

    Gordy explained to me that the way it works in her county and her state is that when a dog comes in there is an intake, he either passes the test or he doesn't. If he doesn't pass the tests he could be immediately put down, or they could post him in another jurisdiction, but it had to be one that crossed both the county in Ohio, and the state line if the dog was to be retested and given a chance. She wanted to know if I would foster the dog for a week and then she'd come back to collect him, retest him, and if he passed the test this time he could be adopted.  I told her no. I would not foster the dog for a week. I told her I would take the dog.  I had no idea.  

    The snow was ONLY a foot deep outside, it was not quite a full on blizzard, so yeah, the girls and I decided to drive sixty miles to the East of our little house in the center of Indianapolis and meet the unknown, aggressive dog I was about to give the next several years to; why not? We're brave and adventurous souls; we can do this. We rescue horses in worse conditions, why not a dog? He was, after all, a weenie dog.  Weenie dogs get a bit more leniency in my world - - OK, they get the entire world, we'll go with that. They get whatever the heck they want -- before they even ask.

    We met around 11 p.m. and it was cold; did I mention it was freezing cold? It was OH MY GOSH cold, and it was dark and there were virtually no lights to light up the grocery store parking lot we had decided to meet at; it was just miserable and there we were with our smiles and our hopeful faces waiting for Gordy to pull into the parking lot with an untamed maniac with a short legs, a long body, and probably an attitude the size of Godzilla; he was, after all, a weenie dog.  She pulled into the parking lot next to my car, and we said our howdy-dos, we hugged even though we didn't know each other because I'm from Oklahoma, and it turns out Gordy is from Southern Mississippi, so yeah, we're gonna hug, it's a Southern thang; it will be done. We talked for a minute, we exchanged vet information, and the moment she opened the little cage door to retrieve my new friend -- he bit me.

    Gordy's face sunk. She was not sure what to do; she was not sure what she would say, but she knew that this meant the immediate end for the little dog.  She hadn't met the Stringfellows before, so she had no idea what to expect.  Laura grabbed a blanket from the back of the car and wrapped the little shivering brown Dachshund in the blanket so tightly he had no choice but to settle down; and his muzzle was not free to make a second dig at my hand.  "Thank you" Laura said to Gordy, as she loaded the new dog into our car without his kennel.  She decided she would hold him all the way back to our home and if he bit her she said she'd just bite him back! That's my girl.  Gordy cried, then she laughed. We're still good friends all these years later.

    What are you going to name him, Mom?  I looked at my daughter and said, "You remember the Bugs Bunny cartoon where the abominable snowman was holding Bugs and petting him?"  Laura said she did remember it.  "I'm going to love him, and squeeze him, and call him George."  Was my answer.  And that is exactly what we did.  He came home with us on December 31, 2012, and he was my best friend for about 8 years before he too made the decision to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For George it wasn't cancer, it was an accident that left his back end paralyzed.  Oh, I cried. Oh, I wailed and wailed. I only thought I missed Matrix. When we all see each other again, it will be a fight to the finish for them I'm sure to see which one I grab first; but oh, they don't know about Rover.  He was my first weenie dog; and he will be my forever right hand companion. There will be a few falling behind that dog, but I'm positive that Matrix and George are already deciding who follows Rover most of the time.

Preface to my Book

 Preface

Now, before we get started, there is something I need to do.  I need to tell you a little story about my three children so you can better understand where it is that I’m coming from, and why it is that I said what I said about each of them. Remember, most of the blogs were written years and years ago; my children’s lives have changed dramatically since these writings, but for the most part their personalities have remained intact.  This is a little story I made up to explain the differences in my children. This event never actually took place. 

******* 

One day I was sitting on the couch in the cold den because the heat had been turned down below 60 for some reason; no one really knows why, no one with three children in their almost teen years anyway. As I sat freezing under a couch pillow, contemplating getting up and finding a blanket, my son Reuben came into the house; big, brawny, bulky, he was covered in mud and had a really excited gait to his step, half breathing, half talking, he asked me, “Mom, where are the matches?  I want to burn the barn down out back behind our house so I can clear it out to play football?”   Did I just hear him correctly? If I did he’s not done it yet, and he’s actually asking my permission in his weird little way, letting me know both his intention, and saying he needs my help.   

As I was no longer sitting on the couch, but flying to the kitchen and over to the third drawer where I keep the matches, I blocked my son from taking them out of the drawer long enough to begin to explain to him why it would be that we should not, cannot, will not be burning any barns down any time soon!  Before I could finish my little mom-rant, my 2nd child Laura, cute as a button, never actually looking her age, and just smart as a whip, came walking into the kitchen with her little notebook. She always carried her little notebook so she could write out things she was thinking, or calculate things she needed to know. This time was no different. Her big brown eyes glanced at Reuben first, then at me, noting that I was blocking her brother from the third drawer she said, “Mommy, I took the matches. I saw Reuben coming and heard him talking to Jonathan outside, so I knew what he was about to do.  I hid them so he won’t get them, but here’s the deal; I made a list of all the reasons why Reuben should be allowed to remove the barn, and even made a chart with graphics to explain how it could be done without actually having to burn it down. Do you want to see?  To be honest, her actions even took Reuben by surprise this time, not me. She’s always been that way. 

Just as I was about to let Laura show me her drawings and have her try to engage Reuben into her means and ways of finding a better way to facilitate whatever it was that he needed or wanted to do, my ears were pricked by the sound of the city fire department’s truck and engines barreling down the side road behind my house.  Upon looking out the back window all three of us could see black smoke billowing upward into stark, twisted, dark plumes...it didn’t take any of us long to figure out what was happening. Caity found the matches.  

******* 

Enjoy your read. 

Been There, Done That.

 My daughter Laura and I own horses, the other kids don't really get into them, but Laura and I have been most of her life - - which as you may have guessed, is a really long time. My kids are so old, it's really sad how they've gotten out on their own and don't truly need Mom anymore. I keep Laura around for the simple fact that I don't want to ride by myself, feed animals by myself, train by myself, or just overall hang out with people I don't already know; been there, done that, it wasn't fun.  A lot of times when you have horses you'll see one for sale or someone wanting to buy one, and the language they have in the advert will say they're looking for a "Been There Done That" type of horse, meaning a gentled soul that isn't going to tear them apart, buck them off, run them over, kick or bite them, and they have been worked to the point of near boredom.  Well, I don't mind admitting I like that in my horses too.

Laura, besides being a horsey person, plays online games and I hear her from time to time playing with people from only God knows where, and they like to play the weirdest things too; one game is called "Never Have I Ever".   The game "Never Have I Ever" is a fairly simple one, you try to one-up someone by NOT doing something that most humans have done, and you get points for having never done it if they have. Simple, right?  Well, I'm listening to them play and I notice Laura over there in her room calling out things I've done that she hasn't done, to see if anyone else has done it, so she can get points. Apparently, she lived a rather sheltered life, and hasn't been caught making out with someone under a tree, she hasn't gone noodlin' for fish, and she hasn't stuck her arm fully up a cow's butt to pull out a baby that was turned around sideways.  I count myself a failure when I hear how many things Laura hasn't actually done, and it makes me wonder if Caity is any better educated with life experiences or if I failed both of them.

Reuben would be really bad at this game too; it wouldn't just be me losing.  He's been to several foreign countries because of the job he has with the United States Army and now the Oklahoma National Guard (He's in the elite 45th Infantry); he's been there a few times and done that a few times, I'm sure of it. One of the players called out from their computer somewhere that they had never driven a car! WHAT? Where are you? Who are you? Are you 10? Here in Oklahoma, we're driving tractors at 9 or 10, trucks and cars no later than 14, and on the roads by 16, most of us anyway.  Then another calls out, "Never have I ever kissed a pig", got me.  I've kissed pigs.  Another calls out, "Never have I ever sang on stage"; oops...that one took Laura out of the game! Boom!  I have sung on stage too, but Laura made money at it.  She was using the most interesting strategy for the game too; waiting until there were just a few left and then announcing (almost with pride) "Never have I ever skinny dipped"; NOPE...been there, done that...a few times. My good friend and director Michael Givens often tells me he can't wait to get to Heaven so we can do that again - - to which I laugh. I had my clothes on when we were in the ocean, now whether or not he did is another story and not mine to share. 

I guess there are times I wish I could say "Never Have I Ever " done this or that,  but there are more times I suppose that I would be lying if I said I hadn't.  I guess I can say I've never won the game "Never Have I Ever" that's a fact.  When we were kids we played "Truth or Dare" and I always took the Truth-telling because I didn't want to be dared to do something I would have to do considering I don't really ever back down -- I always tell the truth, even if it's brutal and too honest - - count on me to ruin your day in less than two seconds!  OK, here we go, "Never Have I Ever...parachuted".... ha! Reuben would so lose!  He's eaten camel spiders too -- I should remember that when I ask him to play; that may be a good match come to think of it. "Never Have I Ever played Never Have I Ever with my kids!" That may change.

Sailor Ellis Jayne Stringfellow

 How is it that this girl has made it seven long years without Gramma writing about her in a blog? No way!! I couldn't even believe it when I went through my blogs to find one just dedicated to her sweet soul. Nope, there wasn't one. I talk about her a lot in a bunch of other blogs, but I didn't even take the time to write one just for her, so that's what I'm doing right now!  Ode to my Sailor Ellis Jayne Stringfellow!

Sailor came to us on the morning of May 10, 2013, and she was one pretty baby, let me tell you -- not as big as her brother at nearly 10 pounds, but she was a whopping 8 pounder plus! She held her own, that's for sure, and she's never been the slightest bit shy about telling you just how to make things happen HER way. She's 100% her own, even at the age of two, we knew this when she took off running down the street diapered trying to catch a dog that had caught her attention from the interior window of my house! OFF SHE WENT - - opening doors, climbing down the porch stairs, pumping it down the road, foot over foot screaming "DOGGY! DOGGY!"  It wasn't long before her mom and I were able to wrangle her and bring her back to the world of obedient children; where moms and grannies aren't taken by complete surprise. The dog got away - - but only that one. Sailor is exactly like her mom Caity, if the animal isn't claimed she's gonna own it! That includes squirrels, deer, rabbits, ferrets, gorillas...no, she'll probably let the gorilla find its way back to its home base; maybe.

At seven Sailor has mastered gaming, basic computer skills in general, and is interested in programming. She's an artist, a writer, an actress, a painter, a cook, and she likes to dance and sing too. She's eclectic and has her own style.  Because her dad is so freakishly tall, Sailor is already a head taller than her best friends of the same age and class at school.  She's that one girl you always remember from elementary school that stood almost as tall as the librarian and could out-eat any boy in the school for sure. She's athletic and loves to hike, but that's where things can become tricky if you know what I mean. If you see her picking up a rock along the trail, don't assume it's a rock, it could have feet, a tail, a nose, and it may need a name soon.  

Like her brother Copeland, Sailor was raised by two overly active parents who ride bikes, hike, go walking, shop at new stores, vacation, go traveling, like to camp, and her gramma and aunt have horses, so you know she's gonna want a pony of her own soon as well.  Sailor loves games and she's not all that upset if she loses as long as she doesn't lose by too much. She's a good sport about it when it's a fair game. I've seen her walk away when things got too heated and she couldn't pull a rabbit from a hat to save her life, but she was pretty good about it; offering a cookie as a reward to her big brother for his win! He's the type to thank her, and even apologize for winning; she's the type that will let him apologize.  They make a good set. I like them both....ah heck, who am I kidding, I love them!

She's my girl.

Brandola! Brandola!

     When she came home from a weekend camping venture, all Caity could talk about was Brandon this, Brandon that; Brandon, Brandon, Brandon. OK, I get it, you met a new guy and let me guess, his name is BRANDON!  Most men were boys when it came to Caity's attention. She was entering her last teenage year when suddenly she switched gears like she was running her heart on a railroad tracking system, BAM! She no longer looked at boys -- they had to at least be over 18, tall, handsome, rugged if possible, and if they had a job she was all about that - - enter, Brandon! (Did I mention he was flat-out adorable, too?)

     Like every young man, Brandon had issues with maturity, trying to make decisions based on both his own personal experiences and those experiences he's been privileged to monitor throughout his young life. He hadn't been exposed to too many good examples when it came to male role models, and that bothered me, having raised the girls without their father for the past several years; his choice, not ours. My dad was a very positive role model for my girls, as was their older brother, who at the time Caity brought Brandon home to meet everyone, was just getting back from Iraq, having spent a year of his life in the sand.  

    Reuben's concerns about Brandon took on a more fatherly type concern than it did a brotherly concern, but to say he was impressed was more of an overstatement. He was never going to allow Brandon the opportunity to even glance at Caity as long as she was still his baby sister -- good thing his duty station of Fairbanks, Alaska was over 3600 miles away!  Brandon met Caity on a Friday I think and was living with us the next weekend. He never left. We still have Brandon; who I call "Brandola" because I can. He's 30 now, over 6'4" tall, fully bearded, working full time, earning his own, they bought a house for themselves about a year ago, and because he's the nicest guy in the world, he made me two grandbabies with Caity. I love the guy. I'm going to keep him even if I sell Caity.

    I can't say that I agree with everything that comes out of Brandon's mouth; he's a Virgo, he thinks he's correct when he should obviously realize that we Scorpios have that market cornered. He's brilliant in many ways, talented, quiet, respectful, engineering, quite attentive, well adjusted, and he still listens to those around him so that he can add to his own personal experiences. I don't think I've had a single argument with the man in over 11 years of knowing him - - interesting.  True fact.

    I could go on and on about the guy, talking about his love for MMA wrestling, how he likes to play competitive video games, but he's not so absorbed in them that he can't get off the chair to make his own dinner if Caity's too absorbed in her game to do it for the both of them. He'll even make hers too, and dress and situate the kids while she's destroying the worlds around her. He's been 100% supportive of Caity in her growing projects, always willing and able to put in the efforts necessary to pull off an impossible feat -- if possible.  He's had a few jobs, lost a few jobs, learned from his mistakes, made more mistakes, and continues to kick himself for some of the ones he and I both wanted to kick him for, but he's the best guy out there right now for my little girl - - and I thank God every day for my Brandola.  Everyone needs one. I have one. I'm blessed.

Gamer? Me? Sure Why Not?

 If I deign to walk past my roommate's bedroom door I would venture to see her (my daughter Laura) on her computer, headset on as she stares at two large monitors. Her fingers flying, her entire body leaning over, now forward, and the swearing - - MY GOSH, you'd think she was her brother! Every other word is unprintable unless you do print it and everyone comments on how you printed it; I won't print it here, but you get the picture.  She's a gamer.  Laura is one helluva horse trainer in real life, having the skills, training, and talent to heave 1200 pound animals around or make them do what she wants with only a stern look of her eye and a curl of her lip; OK, she throws in a grunt or growl type noise too, but they move!  She's equally vicious on the game(s) she plays and I can tell she's being murdered, slaughtered, killed, or otherwise destroyed by someone as equally creative in their own skills -- "Who are you playing against kid?" I ask. "Your damn daughter!" comes her retort - - my answer; of course she is. Caity is just a hair ruder than Laura; good thing I'm not over at my other daughter's house at this moment, and I'm sort of hoping the grandkids are either out of earshot or they are at school where they don't have to witness taking place.  I'm not going to lie, I find it fascinating that the two of them still "play" well together past the age of 30.

Let's see - - could I be a gamer? I've never been one. Even when Astroids came out and you could only play it on arcade games at 7-11, I never put in more than one quarter and played one time until I died, which didn't usually take very long. I just never cliqued you'd say, with gaming. I either felt that I was really bad at it or maybe I just didn't want to lose a quarter knowing it wouldn't last me more than three minutes anyway - - I'm Scottish. I don't spend money if I don't need to spend money. I will spend it, I do in fact spend a great deal of it, but usually on horse-related things - - or horses themselves. I'm not afraid to spend money.  

You know what I would spend money on actually? I would spend so much money on buying groceries! Yes, I would! I could and I would spend much more than a quarter at a time on a game that let me pick up and pick out various grocery items! Oh my gosh, I could walk up and down each aisle at the virtual store. I could see shelves and shelves of products, goods, and wares! I could read labels for extra points. I could price compare and if the gaming engineers were cool enough to add a few extras such as in-game demonstrators who passed out food items allowing me to test the taste, texture, and smell of different foods that would be awesome. I guess for the smell part you'd have to just take the word of the game itself since your monitor probably wouldn't produce anything close to garlic or cinnamon - - not yet, that's next, I'm sure. I would do that! Pick me!

For the most part, I'm just not a gamer; preferring to read, research, study, even pretend I'm buying a house in Scotland using the RightMove app on my phone or their website. I've probably purchased 1000 houses by now; terraced, semi-detached, detached, and some bungalows. I stay away from the flats usually as I want a backyard for my pretend dog. My pretend dog will probably be small like Ginger -- and who knows, maybe it will actually be Ginger if I do move since I can take her without quarantining her (a small fact you may or may not have realized). I could get into that game too I guess, and I could win it! I could shop for houses with great speed and efficiency. I'm really good at it now. I have got it down to science really.  If the house is not close enough to a bus stop it's out the door. If it's not close enough a good grocery store so I can pedal my bike a half-mile or so, it's out the door. If it has the bathroom (notice I didn't say "a bathroom" because so many of the houses I could afford have only ONE bathroom -- and some of them are showers only.) on the upper level, which they call the first level, we call it the second story; it would be out the door as well.  Nope, I'm pretty demanding on my house choices to be sure! I win at that one! Quarter or no quarter, I spend hours shopping for the right house I'll never buy.

To each their own.  I raised two girls that could spend hours beating each other up, crashing into each other, destroying one another's kingdoms or just creating things that blow my mind...all the while cussing at each other as if they were mortal enemies; and I guess they are to some degree, they are sisters.  My son plays games, but he's more of a football coach type on those sporting games where you create individual team players and play against others who do the same. He's good...during off-season I will literally drive to his house and watch a few games, eat pizza and feel pretty satisfied.  I wonder if my kids would go shopping online with me tomorrow and ... well, nevermind.

Big Bearded Beautiful Brutes

     Every woman has her preferences I suppose. I also suppose that every man has his personal preferences when it comes to who he may find attractive; by attractive, I literally mean who and what type of person will draw the attention of another person to the point of thinking "You know what, I like what I see". For me it's an easy fix; give me the big, bearded, beautiful, brute every single time. I don't know what it is about that "type" of man, but it is the trigger and I pull it every time - - at least in my head, I do.

    It can happen at any time too. I know I'm not the only one who is randomly caught off guard by the one thing that trips their mind's trigger. You'll be sitting somewhere, minding your own business, maybe thinking of going to the store and picking up a bag of bagels, when out of the clear blue sky he walks right past you! Who walks right past you? Do you know him? No! You don't know him, but he's THAT GUY! He's about six feet tall, give or take. He's about two hundred pounds or so, maybe a bit more. He's round, not thin, he's more or less marching, not simply walking, and he's got that face a grizzly bear would love! He is fully bearded, and that wonderfully draping beard is not necessarily all that closely shaved to the face -- you can see a bit of the blue sky through it when he passes you - - it's at least two inches long; qualifying this man to be THAT GUY!

    This exact thing, sans the bag of bagels, happened to me the other day while I was working out at my local YMCA.  The Y is just across the street from where I live, so giving in to working out is not an issue for me. I just trot over, swipe my card, and spend 20-30 minutes on a few machines working as hard as I can for the maximum boost for what my personal trainer (son) calls H.I.T.T., not to be confused with H.I.I.T. I do the High-Intensity Tactical Training - - and it sucks! I'm not that great at it, but I do give it a go, and that's exactly what I was doing on the crunch machine when I decided to change the weight from 130 to 150. In order to do that, I sat up, opened my eyes, and was instantly met with one of THEM....THAT GUY was also working out, not walking past me, but just gloriously picking up more than his own weight in a deadlift and he was just about at half squat - - he had THOSE LEGS that go along with THAT GUY. His longer than shorter, shorter than long legs with just about as much muscle as a man can pack onto said legs, and almost as fuzzy as his face. I stared for at least a full few seconds before increasing the weight on my machine. I may have drooled.

    Not being one to take one of these types home with me at first glance, I decided to incorporate him into my next fantasy - - probably worked out better for both of us if he was married with kids, or needed to know my name before marrying me and running off to Scotland. I think of these things. I think I should at least be cordial and pick my tongue up off the floor before I have to smile and say something stupid like "Excuse me, are you using this machine?" when you KNOW he is not using the machine that you pretended you wanted to use. I am so not going to do that - - so I left the gym before I did that. Self-preservation - - works well when you take the time to utilize it in your own life.

    All that being said, and I could go on and say so much more, but I won't; I prefer the hairy big bearded brutes to the skinny boys (or men) wearing tight jeans, scarves, polos, whatever - - crocs. Give me black boots on a man; hell, he can be barefoot as long as he's bare all over - - did I say that out loud? Stop already! OK, OK, OK...so he shouldn't be naked, he should have clothes on to keep him warm, and if he's at the gym or walking into the store he would definitely need to be wearing something so let me see, what on Earth could I possibly put on this new fantasy man that would make him more...ahh, I know, a kilt. That's it! He's ready to go!  I didn't say he had to attract you or anyone else did I? Nope, his entire mission today, tonight, tomorrow, the next day, and every day after that in my dreams is to attract ME and only me, and he can do that wearing his kilt...and black boots. I do like black boots, maybe unlaced, maybe holding a cup of coffee, but yeah....that.  So sue me, I have a type. 

Too Comfortable for Comfort

 Have you ever just sat and watched people interact with each other? It's a habit or a hobby of mine, I'm not sure which, but I will literally stop what I'm doing, and in some cases, I make a point to just sit in one spot (maybe at a park) and watch the way couples interact with each other. If they have children with them I could probably be arrested for stalking because I tend to watch, stare, and google as they cry out, bellow, holler, yell at, scream at, and otherwise berate and belittle the ones they love - openly in public.

How is it that two people who at some point were seemingly each other's everything can, in just a few years, turn against each other while remaining in a soured arrangement (I can't call it marriage if they hate each other). Are they just fulfilling their contractual obligation, or do they really think that the way they are behaving is normal? It may be typical, it may even be acceptable to most, but I wouldn't tolerate it for a day let alone years!  You may say, "Oh, you don't throw in the towel at the first sign of disagreement", but what I see out there is by no means the first event -- not by a long shot.  If people find themselves to the point of pushing each other's buttons for the sake of pushing those buttons, it's time to get help or cut bait.  I'm not one to advocate a divorce; believe me, I want things to work out for people, but if they simply can't find the love they cultivated at one point, they need to leave before it grows worse.

You hear couples who are in miserable situations say they are staying married for the kids.  Wait five or six years and ask the kids how that turned out for them.  I have never, and I do mean never, met an adult kid whose parents stayed married "for the sake of the kids" say that they were better off because mom and dad stuck it out only to divorce when the child was in college or struck out on their own. In every case it tends to be the worse years for the kids too -- they have to deal with peer pressure, puberty, grades, homework, and on top of all that they have to watch or hear their parents constantly fighting over things that more or less could have been solved if one or the other of them would give up their pride long enough to remember that love never fails -- so stop failing it! Stop failing each other, stop failing by trying to win the last argument. 

When I asked my good friend (We'll call her Jeannie) how she and her husband have managed to stay married as long as they have, she reminded me that Darin (her wonderfully sweet husband) is not her first husband.  I had nearly forgotten! She had been married beforehand -- that's right! So, I rephrased my question; I asked her how she had stayed married so long this time, to which she answered that she listens to him and he listens to her, and when they have an argument of any kind they decide to think from both sides and come to the best conclusion possible.  When she feels he is not paying attention she tells him, but she doesn't nag him. When he feels that she shouldn't do something, or buy something, he tells her, but he doesn't forbid her, or otherwise make her feel less worthy.  It makes perfect sense.

Being too comfortable around someone can lead to feelings of unworthiness or feeling of resignation. "Oh well, we're married, he'll just have to take me looking like this. I'm not going to dress up for him." This sort of mentality has always set me in a mood of frustration - - I want to ask the person, "So why did you dress up in the first place? To catch someone? To lure someone?"  What's wrong with dressing up, gussying up a little, and making a bit of a fuss now and then? What's wrong with going on a date, asking your lover out on a date, making a deal out of his or her latest creation in the kitchen, or even a wee compliment on something they'd never have expected you to notice?  ANSWER? There's nothing wrong with it -- do it, it actually makes life easier!

No, I won't do it again. If I ever marry again (I say marry because I have no intention of dating again, that's for the birds) I will not be the complicit and/or ordinary wife. I will not slough off, frump up, or become comfortable to the point of being uncomfortable in my own body or mind. I will not compromise my imagination in intimate matters -- going weeks without sex or lovemaking. I have never understood that aspect of marriage - - and I never will. I can honestly say that sex is not the most important part of a relationship by any means, but you don't schedule it for gosh sakes! You don't become acquainted with it to the point that you resign to a 20-30 minute routine every other Friday! If you get to that point there's a problem, and the problem could be YOU.  There are solutions if you'll just pay the least bit of attention -- there are ways to create new and exciting moments in an otherwise jaded relationship -- and if there isn't - - well, God knows there are ways. Ask God for help. 

That's my rant - - and it is that perhaps, a rant.  I speak from experience, and I know from my own past that I was the problem -- and I believe by leaving I made the right choice. I also know that I will never put myself in such a mess again. I will kick my own butt first.