Just Shoot Me!

So yeah, if I ever get to the point that I can't walk my happy ass over to the office next door to deliver a single piece of paper, but instead, I call in the receptionist who is busy mind you, to walk 100 feet to my office and then ask her to take the paper to the guy 10 feet away - - JUST SHOOT ME. Don't even be nice about it; I mean, yeah, aim correctly, but don't be sweet, just put me underground and send me off to Jesus. I do not want to be so freaking arrogant or wrapped up in my own self that I can't take a note that I wrote, over to the guy I wrote it to - - just 10 feet away. SIDE NOTE: I'm not saying if I am unable to do so, I am talking about arrogance.

    That was me yesterday (the receptionist) just smiling, laughing under my breath, and thinking to myself and to God, "THANK YOU for not bringing me into this world with both a silver spoon and a gold key in my mouth!" I, of course, graciously took the paper to the man next door to the boss, and even announced my entrance - - he loved it. He thanked me, and he said to me, "Yeah, Bob can't be bothered sometimes." Wow...no.

    I often take temporary assignments outside the house to make a little money I can squirrel away for whatever it is that I'm saving up to do; this time, it happens to be my move to Scotland. I took a small short term assignment that we all knew would be around two or three days tops; and I guess the "Boss" just thought he could train the new girl in just under that time frame to maintain his level of inept spoiling that either his parents endowed on him, or every other underling he's ever hired. I wanted to laugh in his face and say, "Yeah, no Bob, you need to get up, walk over to Richard's office, hand him the note, and maybe, Oh, I don't know, just ASK HIM if he wants to play golf on Saturday.  Maybe you could have at least added a little box or two to check yes or no!"  I didn't say that, I like being entertained by the very rich. I often think I'll honor them by writing them into my next novel - - as the victim.

    This week I accepted an assignment for a non-profit foundation, and if you know much about non-profits here in the U.S. (Clinton Foundation and the like) you know that most of them have a ton of money! They are absolutely for profit, they are holes to throw money into and lose for others, they are perhaps, in my opinion, the one thing that really should be audited by the IRS and every other agency known to man, but their saving grace there would be that most of the Board members of these foundations work for those agencies and they both turn their heads at misappropriation and at straight up theft or under reporting. Don't shoot me for saying that, it's true, but do shoot me if I ever join one that steals from the very people they claim to help. I have a thing about being honest and ethical, and to date, I have not found a single solitary foundation in the United States that was 100% above board. Many want to be. Many try to be, but somewhere along the line their controllers find ways to skim and/or cut corners and it's just a matter of time before "favors" are exchanged - - and there you go. Corrupted. I think there could be legitimate foundations, I do, I really do believe there could be, but I haven't found one in the United States. I hope I'm proven wrong.

    When the assignment ended today I was just about to walk out the door when the boss calls me on the intercom. Rather than picking it up and answering him I walked to his office to say good bye, and even to thank him for the opportunity to serve, right? Well, he looked at me as I stood in the door of his office holding my purse and little duffle that I carry, and he said, "Oh, it's not lunch time yet, what gives, where are you going?"  I told him that Human Resources had decided they didn't need me to finish the week, and I was going home. He asked me if I could ("Pretty Please") take a file down the hall to Julie so she could have something to work on during the rest of the day.  OK what? Damn, you know I did it. He said "Pretty Please".  I am just too freaking nice. I really am.  I smiled. I took the file, and I laid it on Julie's desk.  She laughed - - she said, "You know, I would have told him to shove it."  I guess that's why he likes me. I just think it - - for now. He's going to end up pushed off the balcony of the 48th floor of a building in downtown Chicago under a different name - - in my book. Sorry Bob, you gotta go!

Truffles Recipe

 EASY!  Takes about 3 hours from start to finish.

Ingredients:

1. Chocolate baking bar (4 oz)  (any flavor

2. Butter - 1 tablespoon

3. Heavy Whipping Cream - 1/3 Cup

4.  Vanilla extract - 1 cap full

YIELD:  12 - 14 small balls a little over an inch in diameter.

Instructions:

1. Open up chocolate bar, break it into pieces into a mixing bowl.

2. In a cup add 1/3 cup of heavy whipping cream, 1 TBS butter, 1 cap full of Vanilla

3. Heat the cream in the microwave for 1:00 minute

4. Pour the cream over the chocolate and LEAVE IT ALONE (so it can melt)

5.  Stir after two minutes, until smooth and creamy. If you need to put mix in the microwave for 20 seconds you can.

6.  Put the mix in the fridge for an hour

7. Stir the mix and put it back in the fridge for another hour

8. Take out and scoop with regular teaspoon into small scoop and either roll it in the palm of your hand, or drop it as it is into the powder sugar, sprinkles or whatever it is you're going to dip it in.

9. Roll it around in the powder or sprinkles using your fingers to form a ball

10. Set the balls on a plate and put back into the fridge for another hour or so

DONE!

Stranger Than Fiction.

 This is going to be one of those out-in-left-field sort of blogs; one of those things people don't really talk about, but somehow it creeps up into the conversation and you just let it out in the open.  When it happened, when both events happened, we were very somber about it, very taken by it, and we didn't blog, post, really even talk about it with anyone other than really close friends because it just seemed to be so out there - - but it's been 19 years ago tomorrow. 

I was teaching at Oklahoma City Community College, and the girls were quite young. Some times when I think about it I am brought to tears. I was driving to my job, girls in tow because I had full custody and couldn't afford a babysitter in the evenings when I taught. They had to go with me, and they pretended to be in college; going to the library, hooking up their own computers or borrowing one from the media center, so they could watch movies. Perfect angels mostly, but not always. I'll talk about that in another blog.

Driving down Council Road south of I-40, Tuesday, May 6, 2003,  just after 4:30 p.m, my first class to teach started at 5:30 p.m. and I am never ever late, I glanced to the side of the bridge we were crossing and I saw something. I saw something that absolutely looked like a man's head rolled to the side, propped up against the curb. Could it be a mask maybe? Masks aren't completely round, they only cover the face; maybe it was one of those rubber masks that you slip over your entire head. I guess my mind was thinking it needed to be a mask -- it wasn't as mask. It was exactly what it looked like.  I was now trying to focus on the road, focus on my civil duty to report what I know I saw, and focus on not going back to look at it again to be 100% sure because again, I had the girls in the car, and I know Caity thought she saw it too. I wanted her to think it was a mask so I just said it was - - as I pulled into the Southside fire department to let them know what it was now I knew what I had just seen.

I left the girls in the car so I could openly speak with the Chief to let him know where the head was.  To my surprise, I was told that someone else had reported seeing what looked like a mask on the side of the road so they didn't really see a need to check it out; but now that I came by in person they would.  I thanked them and tried hard not to think about it the rest of the night, but that didn't happen. I could only think of it. Going home I decided to take another route -- just in case. It would have been too dark after 10:30 p.m. to see it if it was still there on the bridge, but I didn't want to take that chance or even hear Caity say something about it. I just let them think it was a mask, and it was gone. It would be gone next time we drove down that way.  It was not gone the next time we drove by. I wish it was. 

When we drove by the bridge just two days later, as I taught on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I was a bit apprehensive as we approached the bridge. All clear for now, as it appeared I would be crossing over completely without any sightings until I did see it - - but it was no longer propped up on the curb. It had been hit at least once and probably more; it had been run over in fact, and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that it was not only human, but it was a man's head - - how could this happen? Why didn't the fire department crew see it on Tuesday? It was in the open! It was literally rolled up against the curb!  I pulled back into the station with my eyes popping and my hands shaking - - again, I left the girls in the car. They didn't see what I saw, thank God.

The Chief was out this time, but the Lieutenant assured me that they had gone out to look, but that there was nothing seen or found. They had not stopped and searched, just driven by, and now, because I had seen what I had seen, I wasn't allowed to go on to work. I was asked to stay until the police could come by and question me, get my full statement, and possibly question Caity as well. Thankfully, Laura had been playing in the backseat on Tuesday, she never saw anything.  I called my boss to explain myself, and why I would not be teaching, he was silent for quite a long time, but understood.  He said he would post a notice on the door and the students could expect an email from me tomorrow. That was probably the first time I ever sent out a masse e-mail about the week's assignments. It wasn't the last time, but in 2003, there weren't nearly as many online courses. 

The police came to the fire department, questioned me, questioned Caity, and gave both the girls a plastic silver badge for being brave and helping them in their investigation.  The firemen, not to be out-done by their local LEOs, took the girls into the fire station, gave them a full blown tour, let them sit in the truck, blare the sirens, and wear the gear! I couldn't thank them enough for taking the time to show my girls just how courageous they need to be in times of trouble.  I asked the police officers if I was able to find out what happened -- if I was even allowed to know.  They agreed to keep me posted.

About six weeks passed and I received a call from the Oklahoma City Police department. I was told that a few weeks back a lone trucker had decided to continue cruising at a good clip when he apparently not only hit a deer, but was pretty sure it had been thrown over the bridge and into the ditch. He never reported it, but he must have at least told someone because the police detectives assigned to the case were able to find the driver and thankfully even after all that time, he never completely washed the grill of his truck.  He hadn't hit a deer, he had hit a homeless man.  Though I wasn't allowed to know the man's name, age, or much more than just that he was in fact homeless, and wearing a buckskin colored coat, I was told that his body was eventually located and his next of kin informed.  

Another few weeks went by and you think you're going to get over it, but every time I drove over the bridge I prayed for the man and for his family. Though I knew and know that since the man was dead that no amount of prayer would help his soul - - it may help his family. I was called into the office at Oklahoma City Community College by my department head. He wanted to personally thank me for being a dutiful citizen, for reporting the event in the first place, and of course for following through.  As it turns out the homeless man had family in the community; one called my school to ask them to personally thank me.  The man had been a military veteran, having served in the United States Marines for five years during the Viet Nam conflict -- he was and had been homeless for over a year without any contact with his family due to mental incompetence, which led to him becoming violent at family gatherings. They wanted to help him, but he would not allow it.

I think about that. I think about the heart needing a second chance, and the things we say to homeless people; this was probably the beginning of my decision to try and be more compassionate -- to keep my eyes open, my heart soft for those who just don't have what society says they need to have in order to be accepted.  Thank God for places like the Jesus House in Oklahoma City, and Bethany Christian Trust in Scotland. Everyone needs to be counted and given love; everyone. No one is an island. 

Oklahoma City Fire.

It's Just a Heart Attack! I've Had Worse!

 Can you see the Black Knight from Monty Python's Holy Grail about now? After reading the title of this blog you're probably thinking..."Oh my gosh, are you serious? Did you really have a heart attack, but you say you've had worse?"  Yeah, I mean, I had a heart attack at work, but I've had worse! I had to fail a kid (student) once for plagiarism. I'm still not over that one. I mean, it's the worst thing ever; no one recovers from that. Plagiarism is the deepest, heaviest, ugliest black hole in the universe. Once you fall into that pit you're gone - - just, gone.  I sent that kid into oblivion. 

    OK, but back to the day I had the heart attack while teaching; because that was memorable to say the least.  I had just started the afternoon course of Introduction to Ethics, and it was the day of our Mid Finals; so somewhere in the beginning of November.  It wasn't cold yet, and it wasn't warm. I remember I had on a brown sweater; my favorite brown sweater, and that played a role in the whole could-have-been-an-out-of-mind-experience later in the middle of the attack.  I was standing up at the front of the class having just passed out the tests (little packets of about 8 pages each).  I had instructed the students not to turn the tests over yet, not until I put up a few tips and/or cheats on the whiteboard. I was always known for allowing the students a 10-minute cheating exercise just before a test so that they could get all their cheating out of their systems!  I wrote on the board, they took notes on their tests, they exchanged notes with anyone and everyone about anything for 10 minutes, and we ring the bell, sit down, turn the tests over and begin. Simple, right? Not this time.

    I think we were about six minutes into the ten minute cheating period when from out of no where my left hand decides to slack off and declare war on the rest of my body; it took that side of my chest with it when it made it's painful proclamation. Having already passed out the tests I could not retract them without causing the students (I keep saying kids in my mind, but these guys were over the age of 18) to have to reschedule their tests; and nullifying a test was something you only did in emergencies. I didn't think my personal health (or lack of health) condition warranted me doing that.  I decided to sacrafice one student to save the whole class.  Immediately, I made eye contact with a kid named Ian, who I absolutely loved as a student, had some real respect for, and I decided that since he had me for two separate classes he could take this Ethics test during his next Philosophy class; and BAM, all would be just fine.

        I'm over at the board winking, wiggling my nose, thumping my dead arm against the whiteboard trying to get Ian's attention; and he's sitting chill-laxed at my desk with his feet up talking to a pretty co-ed friend of his about something way other than Ethics, I can assure you!  I finally was able to get Ian's attention and he gave me the nod that basically let me know he saw me, but he was thinking I was thinking he needed to be thinking about the test  - NOPE, think again!  I made my eyes really big and sort of snorted at him for a couple of seconds and motioned for him to come to my assistance!  Ian finally caught on, and was at my side in a flash!  I sort of whispered into his ear that I may be having a heart attack and asked him to walk me slowly and without much notice, to the hall, and then I asked him to proctor the test -- assuring him that he could take the test later that week if he wanted to. He was all about that; no problem there, and he even offered to call the ambulance. NO! I told him, if there are sirens and such the test will be interrupted. I could stick it out, and if not I would just die and go see Jesus.  Ian nodded, helped me lay down on the ground in the hall, went back into the room, and promptly called the ambulance -- damn kid. (HOWEVER, he did tell the 9-1-1 dispatcher that I would prefer no sirens. They didn't care. They sent the ambo with the blaring sirens.)

        To my credit, I was willing to die for the cause!  God saw things in another light, and He decided that the school would not nullify the tests, I would not die, and all would end well that sort of started out scary as Hell.  Ian proctored perfectly, and I think he even got a pass on taking the test all together since his grades were up high enough to warrant skipping the Mid Final.  Woot!  Can I pick them or what? When the ambulance came I was laying on the floor with my arms straight up in the air. I was holding my cell phone and texting my son to let him know I may be dying. I was asking him to take care of Laura, and to be sure Brandon finished enrolling for the Spring classes at my college. I remember looking at my brown sweater and thinking how pretty it was; that this shade of mocha was just the right color for this wonderful Autumn afternoon, and that after I got home I needed to hang up my sweater since I really hadn't worn it long enough to wash it just yet. Yep, those are the things you think about when you're dying on the floor of the college you teach at and you're 100% sure that if you do go ahead and die you'll go to Heaven anyway and this is just another day - - wow, how our minds work.

        So you know, Ian went on to graduate. I think of him from time to time as I wonder what must have been going through his mind when he was proctoring the test and trying to keep a straight face about where the professor was.  This was an Ethics class after all; makes me wonder if Ian thought he needed to call the ambulance for me or obey my wishes - - I think he made the right call.  The trip to the hospital was not to be, the doctors on campus ran over to see what was going on, and decided that they could run tests on me right there.  After a few tests and questions I was released to my son, who had left work to be by my side - - and my diagnosis was simple: I needed to both lose weight and manage my stress. I had to work with these doctors and they thought I was FAT - Oh yeah, let's work on that, because that's going to happen, right?  I'm working on the weight thing now, so many years later, and yeah, I'm also working on the stress thing - - I'm giving up my life and everything I know about it. I'm moving to a foreign country where I am the one who will be speaking funny, and I'll have time to learn how to both play guitar and properly cook Haggis.  (I won't actually cook Haggis, I just said that. There will be no Haggis for me. )

Kick Him Out! He's 16 Already!

 When Baby Boy (Reuben) was just over shy of being 16.5 years old, I had the brilliant (can you see me laughing) idea to go ahead and kick him out of the house because he was (A) eating everything I bought faster than I could unload it from the car and stash into a cabinet, (B) he was beginning to show a bit too much manliness around a house full of girls, two of which were only 13 and 12 years old, and (C) he found himself being late for school and football practice when he missed the bus and I couldn't take him to school.  We had a bus driver at that time, who wasn't sure she wanted to actually drive kids to and from school; she would show up when she felt like it, sometimes on time, sometimes late, sometimes not at all. Of course, she was terminated, but that didn't help my son's football coach's opinion as to why he wasn't at early morning practice, or even 1st hour, which was required.

The easiest and probably best solution would have been to simply take Reuben to school on my way to work, but the real issue was, he needed to be at school by 7:00 a.m. for practice, and my girls were unable to be trusted to wake themselves, dress, eat, gather homework, bags, make themselves lunch, and head off down the road to school, even if the school was only three short blocks away. It would never have happened. I decided to rent an apartment for Reuben that was literally across the street from the school, maybe down a block, but just there, and he could wake up, roll out of bed, shower and run across the street (hopefully he too would dress first) and make it to school on time. I never EVER worried about whether or not Reuben would have enough to eat. That thought has never and will never enter my brain. The boy has been self-sufficient in that practice for literally his entire life. There have been times I've taken him to a pizza party of a friend and found him asking people at tables near by if they're going to eat the rest of their pizza.  He's been a food whore since Day 1, and no one was safe from his abilities to make them look off to the side long enough for him to grab whatever it was on their plate that he felt was fair game. (Of course, at his age now, I'm hoping he doesn't do that to anyone other than myself or his wife, but at 16 the world was quite literally his plate to grab from.)

The little one bedroom apartment was upstairs, about 700 square feet if I remember, it was fully furnished with appliances and had free water and cable hook up.  He would be responsible to pay his utilities, buy his own food, and get himself to and from school.  How would he do that without a job you ask? Oh, there was a pizza joint just to the other side of the school and I can honestly say with bubbling pride in my soul, that my son, my Baby Boy began working at that pizza joint the day after he turned 16 and he remained on the job until he was over 17 years old, and felt it was necessary to change jobs. Reuben claimed that moving from Little Caesar's Pizza to Hooters was strictly for the increase in money - - why shouldn't I believe him? He's my son!  I can also, honestly say with pride in my soul, that my son was never late for work when he worked at Hooters, and he was always willing to stay later than his shift. I'm just saying, what a dedicated worker, that boy! (Laughs)

I paid the rent for the apartment and he paid the bills. It was a win-win for everyone, and until the day he showed up at my door about eight months into it, claiming that he had had just about enough of his friends partying, leaving trash everywhere, and refusing to leave so he could sleep, it was going just fine until then.  Reuben was asking to come back to live with us, swore he'd buy his own food if I would just help him get a car so he could make it to school and work on time. Wait, what? He was tired of the partying? Yes, that's what I said. I knew there would be parties, but I also knew my son, and knew he wouldn't allow anything that could get him kicked off the football team or fired from his job. He's normal, average, and basic, like any other over grown teen, but he was also smart enough to draw the lines and hold himself to it. He'd ended up calling the Warr Acres police a few too many times to have them force his friends and their friends out of his apartment at 2:00 a.m. so he could at least get a few hours sleep!

Just under and to the side of his place was a real live Army soldier woman named Ashley.  She was 19, pretty, absolutely in great shape, and had a bit of authoritarian in her. Sometimes Reuben never had to call the police, he'd just go downstairs and ask Ashley to come up and kick people out! She was usually willing to do that; and he was usually willing to ask her to stay for a night cap when she did. I'm not sure if Ashley had much of an influence of the decision Reuben made to join the Army, but join he did. He and Ashley had an agreement, that if she turned 30 before she married they would marry each other. That actually nearly happened, but in the end Reuben found himself in Iraq when Ashley found her true love; they are still married, Reuben is married to Josie, and all is well on that front. 

Looking back on it, I can see the absolute folly of my ways, and I know I would never recommend kicking your boy out of the house and paying for him to have his own place at the tender and ridiculous age of just over 16 years old, but without a father in the house to help with the wrangling, having three to situate was  hard to handle in the mornings.  Kicking one out of the nest was the only real solution, and that one baby bird happened to be the bigger of the three. It wasn't the smartest, brightest, even the most common sense thing to do, but he survived, the Warr Acres police knew him by name so that years into their "relationship" they often gave him a pass for speeding through their fair city, since he was so diligent about not partying with minors at his own place. They were quite impressed, to be honest. They even let me pay the $1500 he owed them on the day he was swearing into the U.S. Army, rather than issuing a warrant for his arrest. Sweet people! (again, laughing)

One down, and two to go. I had my oldest on his own for a while. He learned so much about doing his own laundry, preparing food, cleaning dishes, making beds, throwing out trash, getting to work and school on time with time to spare to steal his breakfast from unwitting freshmen who hadn't yet realized that Reuben's smile and bright green eyes are weapons of destruction - - he's not flirting ladies, he's taking your egg sandwich; and ... he's gone!   He survived. They survived. We all survived.

Reuben Stringfellow and Ashley Delisle 2017

New Page, New Chapter, New Book, New Library.

 In time, perhaps in the next few months even, I will be going through a great deal of changes not only in my personal life, but in my spiritual life as well.  I am at a point, a dividing point, some would call it a fork in the road, but I don't see it as a place to make decisions other than to follow the direction God is leading me.  I asked Him to show me the way, and then I asked Him to open (literally) every door that positions itself in front of me.  I am openly, decidedly, voluntarily, and purposely, following God's will in my life, and in doing so, I will have the glorious benefit of reaping every blessing He decides to shower on me, which will (according to Psalms 37:4) include the desires of my heart.  EVERY LAST ONE of them.

I've written the first Jude's Almost Daily Blog Book, and it's in the print and publishing process now.  I'm writing the 2nd book, as well as rewriting 2 books I wrote in the past, so that I can submit them through the same publisher as I am with now.  Soon, perhaps in six months or so, I should have four books with this particular publisher, and I'll be writing children's books; a series really, and a sleazy greasy old-time detective novel as well. By sleazy I don't mean highly sexed, it will be lower grade writing than what I'm accustomed to writing, so that I can give my brain an exercise in stretching its own muscles. I'll intentionally misspell words, use poor grammar (God help me) and possibly even allow the character to plagiarize.  You have no idea what affect that will have on my soul -- I may not survive it. I personally will not be plagiarizing, but I will allow the character to do so, probably just before he goes to confession or dies!

There will be changes, challenges, maybe even a little mayhem with all the differences I'm about to encounter, but my God is huge. He will see me through it, and He will provide every thing and everything I need to both survive and thrive.  I haven't attended a church in years, choosing to be a part of the online services of The Superior Word in Sarasota, Florida with Pastor Charlie Garrett, and Calvary Chapel Kaneohe with J.D. Farag in Hawaii.  I will become a member of a local Baptist church probably in or near Stirling, Scotland, so that I can be an active volunteer for Bethany Christian Trust at least once a week, maybe more often. BCT requests that a person who is volunteering with them be an active member of a local church; so I guess I'll become a member of a local church so I can check off that box and be in compliance with their requirements.

I'm leaving my family here in the States. I'm leaving my friends as well, and for a while, I'll even leave my dog, but I can bring her after she's been properly vetted.  Maybe I can have my best friends vetted and bring them over as well -- it's a thought.  I don't feel badly or even apprehensive about leaving my family because I know how to reach them, we talk all the time online, and they're only a call or Facetime away -- the internet has at least done that for all of us.  It has and does allow me to change the colors of my palette. I am about to change the words, the meaning, the connotations and the very core of my existence; a new page in life, but also a new chapter. In fact, I will be rewriting the entire book and placing it in an entirely new library; a Scottish one. I'm not worried about it, or even nervous, I'm just counting the days and making the plans so that it all goes the way it should - - but then again, I'm also just watching as God opens those doors and allows me, even invites me, to walk through them.

Changes are not bad. Challenges are not dreaded. Service is everything. It didn't really take this long to figure it all out, but it did take this long for the plan to be unveiled. The pretty package is about to be unwrapped and put to good use.  Thank you, Jesus. 

Jude's Almost Daily Blog Book #2

 Woot! Looky there! I am already finished framing the 2nd Blog Book. I decided to get a jump start on this one and avoid any pitfalls that could arise from not being quite prepared. If you know me, you know I like (OK, I'm obsessed with) planning. I like to say my plans have plans, my notes have notes, and it's not far off to say I begin preplanning before I even have a plan to plan. It's part of my make up, my DNA, I come from a long line of schemers; planners. It's what we do. 

My first Blog Book, "Jude's Almost Daily Blog Book" will be out in June 2021, so I need to get the 2nd book ready to be sent off to the publisher (today is April 29, 2021) so that when the 1st one hits the stands in June the 2nd book will be right on it's heels; ready to be distributed within a few months. I'll wait for the release date to be somewhere around the end of November, both to celebrate my birthday, and to be marketed for holiday purchases. Who wouldn't want a downloadable or physical Blog Book for Christmas? It's fun just thinking about thinking about it.

The first Blog Book has about 104 blogs, 12 poems, 90+ photos, and I do a lot of talking about the kids. In the 2nd book I've devoted more time and pages to people I've met, people I've not met but would love to, people I have worked with, grew up with, admired, and even purchased music from - - I won't say I'm their friend, but I can at least claim to be a client, right? If I want to write about them, or how I feel about their music - - I will. I want to share the joy, share the love, share the opinions, and make people gasp at the same time. It's a win-win!  This book also has about the same amount of blogs, photos, and poems in it, but this time I will try to use all of my own photos with the exception of the musical artists who/whom I have not had the pleasure of meeting in person -- I'll use copyrighted PAID FOR photos for those. (Can you see me smirking? I'm actually giggling a little too...just because)

Many of the poems I've chosen are from my poetry book "Periwinkle", it was written in 2006, I think. I'll have to go look.  Some of the poems I wrote this year, and more than one has been written with Naked Bearded Man in my mind at the time. I need to just break down and write an Ode to Naked Bearded Man, but I'm not sure any of my readers could actually take in all the passion and fury I have for the man - - I could be banned in several countries and the Baptist Convention may never let me step foot inside another church again! Oh, don't worry, Jesus still loves me. Besides, there's no sin in my mind if I'm married to the man in my fantasies - - oh, she went there!  

Well, that's about it, I'll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing. I'm personally cooking dinner for Laura and I; beaten chicken breasts with spinach, cheese, butter and spices rolled up and baked. I'm serving coconut rice infused with flaxseed because she needs it and has no idea I'm doing it. Unless she reads this blog, which I know she won't, she will never know her mother has been secretly forcing her to eat well -- please don't spoil my fun. Let her think she's slacking! She's a grown ass woman and should be taking care of her own palate. 

LOVE TO YOU - - more to come. Thank you again.  

Farewell Good Baeleigh.

 God has been so very wonderful to us in the past. He has given us some amazing animals to share our lives with, and I am so appreciative. In the spring of 2012, Laura and I were on our way to a small rural township just west of Indianapolis, Indiana, where we were to pick up two free horses. The two of us being horse rescue types, we naturally agreed to take the two very healthy, but older geldings. They needed to stay together, and we were the perfect pair for that! Upon arriving at the barn it was obvious that the owner had a few more furry faces than he needed to, or wanted to, keep up with; his mama cat had given birth to five babies just a few weeks back and she only had two that had survived being born in a barn where hawks and owls roost, and one poor baby had been trampled by one of the horses.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going to happen next, I'm just glad Laura only took one of the babies; not both of them -- and the mother cat! Laura can be that way.

Horses loaded, kitten tucked away inside Laura's hoodie, we were good to go.  Little one ended up being a "Sylvester" tuxedo cat, my personal favorite, although I would have been just fine if Laura had chosen the other one, which was also a perfectly tuxedoed cat, only his coloring was more mocha than gray.  Laura wanted a female, so a female was taken!  I remember naming her Baeleigh and giving her the spelling closest to my own middle name of Leigh, saying to myself that she may have been born in a barn, but she can have a regal name. Born in a barn, raised in the house, and spoiled absolutely rotten to the core.  Baeleigh ended up being my cat rather than Laura's; it's funny how the animals decide for themselves who it is they will allow being their servant; she chose well. I cater to fur faces, she must have figured that out pretty quickly.  Bae Bae was indeed (and in deed) my kitty.

Always the perfect queen, Bae would never allow another feline to enter her space without permission. Her hiss was strong, forceful, and she had a thing that she did with her head when she made the noise; she would lift up her face into the sky and hiss-snort, it was apparently effective until it was not. For years Bae ruled our home, walked the halls with her small, elegant frame, commanding the bubble in front of her, beside her, behind her, even above her, she had her space and no dog, no cat, and often no human, was allowed to enter without her specifically allowing it. Bae slept with me but rarely cuddled. She again, allowed me to pet her when she wanted to be petted, but I must stop when she gave that order as well. She slept on top of my keyboard and no, I wasn't allowed to type if she was on it. I simply had to wait. She made it perfectly clear that she was queen - - again until she wasn't.

About a year ago we noticed that Bae's authority had dwindled and she became more and more dependent on us. She was actually seeking attention, asking for help, and wanting to be held. This was odd behavior for her, so of course, we traveled to Dr. Sam Crosby Sr., our small animal vet (not to be confused with his son Dr. Sammy Crosby, Jr., our horse vet).  Dr. Crosby suggested medication and steroids, he put her on a routine diet, hoping it was just kitty depression, but as time wore on Bae developed a fungus-type abrasion on her face which spread to her eyes, up onto her ears, and finally her chest and arms. We tried EVERYTHING possible, but nothing seemed to ease her itching, her pain, her misery. It became apparent when she was no longer able to breathe, that there had to be something more permanent to do for her. We cried, but it was the best decision.

After 18 months of searching for answers, paying for tests, running the cat back and forth to see her vet hoping for a miracle; today was the day he finally told us that the best thing we could do for Baeleigh is to let her go see George. His words.  He knew how much that little weenie dog meant to me; he cried too when he had to send him off to see Jesus last year around this same time.  George and Bae were a pair too; both laying on top of one another, vying for the best post on the bed, looking for the right wrinkle in the comforter to lay in, and then pushing the other out of the way to get into that fold a bit better.  George always, and I mean always, gave in to Baeleigh. Baeleigh is the queen! George never stood a chance. He considered himself very lucky to have been in her space at all. She silently grinned to herself; he kept her back warm. He had his place.

Today was the day Jesus called His kitten home; she was only 9 years old, but she was ready to go. She was willing to fight for a few more breaths to allow us time to say goodbye. She never really accepted our farewell, choosing rather to lift her face up to the sky to say "I'm ready, send me home".  She will be missed and she will be loved all at the same time. If I could give George anything right now, I believe I gave him the best thing possible; his best friend in the world.  Rest well sweet kitty, see you soon. 

"There's This Woman" (It Always Starts out That Way)

You know it's going to be a great story when a guy leads off with, "See, there's this woman," and then the next thing he inevitably does, without even realizing that he does it, he shakes his head just a little, pulls his pointed finger into a clenched fist, shakes that too, and he says something else. You know the story will take a dive when he stops shaking his head and stares straight at you - - she pissed that man straight off, and he's about to tell you all about it. Grab another hot strong cup of coffee friend, you're gonna need it. 

She lives under the same moon as you and I do. She's there every night, and it doesn't matter where she actually lives, she lives rent-free in his mind. She's inside of him, she's all over him, he can't break away, and really deep down, maybe he doesn't even want to. He just needs to tell you all about her and why she drives him absolutely bonkers! She's bonkers! That's why he's feeling so angry - - he's in love, but he doesn't really want to be; at least that's what he tells himself and I guess, now he's telling anyone who will listen to him rant. 

Chris Isaak has a song about her too - - Wicked Games; goes something like this:  

"The world was on fire and no one could save me but you 
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do 
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you 
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you" 

Yes, what a wicked thing she did, she made him fall in love. What a wicked dream, a wicked chase, a wicked thought, but is it really all that wicked? Maybe it's true; maybe it's just that burning so deep and so completely consuming that hatred for himself is what he's really feeling; she has very little to do with it, but his imagination (his desire) for her does have everything to do with the way he comes back to the same story he started a dozen times but just couldn't quite finish because every time he does come to the base point, another thought about her springs up and takes him completely by the throat. She won't let go. He won't let go. He can't let go. She may already have - - let go. 

Funny, I'm thinking back on all the conversations I've had with men and with women, and without an exception, I can say it's never been the other way around. There hasn't been a single time when someone with passion and fire in their voice pointed at me and said "You know what, there's this man."  No, it's never been that way. I wonder if it even can change? She is the subject of so many songs. She is the vaper that slips away, she is the twinkle in the stars, she is the lining of the casket, the poison in the drink, the fire in the hearth, and she is the very breath he inhales; he may never be quite able to exhale completely again. 

There's this woman, she's a little crazy, I mean, she's just not right -- something; there's something...and the next line is often never mentioned, but you can read it in his eyes, she's one step over the line, but she isn't apologizing, and he's not really blaming her either. She is where she will be, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it, and if he thought about it, he wouldn't change a thing; unless he was able to convince her to stay a little longer. That may be what he wants to change.  

The next time you hear those words ask yourself, is he the lucky one for having being forced through whatever it is he's being forced through right now, or are you the lucky one for not being so tormented? Whatever it is that she is, or she does, she will remain the power behind the subconscious cognition. She is the one that remains in control as long as you both use and hear those words; "There is this woman", yes, there is, and she knows exactly who and what she is. 

credit: https://m.facebook.com/drawingsbySylvia/photos/a.626746047394409/1722037124531957/?type=3&source=54

Truffles. That is All.

 I remember as a kid my aunt would make chocolate balls, we never really called them truffles. I don't think I ever associated the word "truffle" with chocolate until I was in the 20s. The word truffle was more or less a fungus, a mushroom, and something I knew we common folk couldn't afford. I remember being told that anyway. There would be no truffles for me! Thank goodness for Aunt Wilma and her chocolate balls. When she made them they were just chocolate, not dark chocolate, again, I don't know that while growing up we were made aware that there was more than just one type of chocolate; Hershey's made chocolate and that's what you ate! 

Today, you can get a variety of different flavored candy baking bars, and you can count on mixing and matching colors, textures, flavors, and even shapes if you're really cool and take your time to do that sort of thing. You can even add jelly into a tube and inject your little flavor morsels with gooey yummy if you want to! Why limit yourself, go all the way, friend. Step out, sound off, and just go wild in your kitchen! If you have a hankering for chili-flavored white chocolate truffles rolled in honey pecans, by all means, you just get yourself a few extra baking bowls and have at it! Do not let the neighbors stop you; they will probably be thankful you went the extra mile if you're the type (like I am) to want to share your new exotic experimenting with others - - somehow that didn't come out the way it sounded in my head.  

Today it was back to basics for me. I wasn't even planning on making truffles but was in the baking aisle at the store, trying to avoid saying hello to an ex-co-worker I saw in Produce.  I snuck away pretty easily, but found myself staring at the baking squares and wondering if they were always only 4 ounces or if I had remembered them being closer to 8 ounces -- I do actually think this way; it can become quite annoying, to be honest.  I decided I was right, they were bigger back in the day, but that didn't stop me from buying a few bars just to be sure I had enough for the now "can't-get-this-thought-about-making-truffles-out-of-my-brain" moment. I also bought powdered cocoa, heavy whipping cream, butter, and yeah, I thought I was buying pure vanilla extract; that was until I got home and realized I had picked up the almond extract by mistake. There's that.

Man avoided, chocolate in the little basket, daughter outside selling her saddle, I needed to get to the car as quickly as possible to make it home in time to have time to make the delectables that were going to be titillating my tongue and calling out sweet memories to my tender-age Jude. She lives inside my heart more than in my head; so it wasn't that difficult to find her. It was, however, difficult to clear the kitchen countertops, but that's on me, the older more need-to-get-it-together Jude. I managed. It happened. I made the best damn truffles this side of the kitchen in Heaven. You know they are there, right? I mean, it's perfect, so yeah, there will be truffles. 

Bam! Mixed, stirred, chilled, rolled, dipped, and chilled again - - I am in business! I'd say "We're cooking with grease now", but you don't use grease for this recipe - - just a little butter to smooth things out. Butter isn't even in the recipe, but I saw Aunt Wilma do it, so I did it, and I won't change my ways. If it was good enough for her, it's good enough for me.  I think tomorrow I'll head back to the store to get red sprinkles and dye and make red velvet truffles. Maybe even some mint extract and crush up a few peppermint candy canes from Christmas to roll the balls in after I do. Oh, I could go on and on with this huh? I could - - and I could invite my fantasy man, Naked Bearded Man, to participate in the making of these amazing morsels, and explain what I could do with the extra dark chocolate drizzle once I've covered all the truffles - - but I think I'll leave that one alone. 

Enjoy!