My Jesus - A Poem

 My Jesus 

 

Grace, grace, God’s grace 

Grace I don’t deserve 

I peer upon the King’s face 

And to know I’m heard 

 

I come to God’s throne 

With bended knee so low 

I can know He’ll always 

Welcome me back Home. 

 

Faith, faith, God’s faith 

Faith abundant, free 

Held within my heart’s heart 

I know that He loves me 

 

Never will I understand  

The price He paid that day 

Why a King would leave His throne 

To end up in the grave. 

 

Erupting from the grips of death 

To put it all to rest 

No other name lives on and on 

The King, my King, Jesus. 

 

Praise, praise, God’s praise 

Blessings I will sing 

Endless days of singing 

Endless love He gave 

 

Jude Stringfellow 

June 5, 2021 

Photo: Simon Dewey artist

Lunch with HoHo The Clown - - Someday Soon!

 Anyone living in Oklahoma from 1958 to 1988 would remember the antics, good natured humor, and gracious smile of our beloved Ho-Ho the Clown.  He was a fixture, and in our family, he was a friend. Ed Birchall was the man behind the makeup, and though I saw him probably as many times without his big red clown nose and goofy smile, as I did with it, he was always "Ho-Ho" never Mr. Birchall. I don't know anyone who called him Mr. Birchall.  Ho-Ho was more than just a silly character created for the kids to see and learn from on television; he visited churches, schools, hospitals, anywhere he could go in order to spread the word of God and minister to those who were in such great need of a spiritual lifting -- and good humor of course.  Today's clowns have nothing on Ho-Ho; he was and is the King of Clowns in my opinion. I absolutely miss him.

    Back in the late 60's and early 70's I remember Ho-Ho coming to our VBS (which stands for Vacation Bible School if you're not in the know!)  Baptists, and I suppose other denominations of churches, host weekly spiritual church camps at their churches every summer, and from either 9:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. or perhaps 6:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. at night, which happened after moms went to work, you could see and catch hundreds of bratty brats dressed in play clothes on the lawns of the churches drinking grape Kool-Aid and eating generic brand sandwich cookies.  Honestly, to buy actual brand named Oreos cookies would have been out of the budget! My mom volunteered each year to help fix the snacks, teach the kids, sing songs, and be around the church to help others when necessary -- this is the environment I was raised in, and this was the place we could (every year without worrying about it) see Ho-Ho the Clown in PERSON!

    Ed Birchall dressed, "slapped on his face" as he would say, and he drove down the streets of Oklahoma City to all the different churches to perform a little demonstration about lying and truth telling. He had a marvelous demonstration prepared, that when he showed it to you once you understood it for the rest of your life, but you didn't mind if he showed it to you every year, year after year, and every time he showed it you knew the answer but you listened anyway. He was telling you the truth about lying.  Each time he performed the "experiment" or demonstration, he would ask the kids if the had ever told a lie. There wasn't a single time (not once) that any kid ever said they hadn't. We knew. We all knew. We all lied. He knew it too, and he said to us "Well, believe it or not, there have been times when Ho-Ho has lied too; and it's not nice, is it?"  We would dutifully shake our heads, and in some cases we would even lower our faces - knowing we were needing to talk to someone about something right that minute before he went on with his little speech. We knew.

    Well, Ho-Ho would produce a glass container full of ice cold water that he claimed he had just gotten from the kitchen of our very church.  I believe Ed was a Catholic man, but he didn't mind drinking Baptist water from time to time; and he'd take a little drinking glass, pour some of the water out of the container and then take a long slow cool drink - - proving to us that the water was fine! Next he would talk about how truth is good, it cleanses us, it keeps us healthy, it works to help us have a better relationship with others, and that included our relationship with God.  We could always benefit from telling the truth.  He would say that the ice cold wonderful water represented, in this case, TRUTH. 

    Next Ho-Ho pulled out a vile of black ink from his pocket and showed it to us. He said, "this is ink. You use it to write with, you can use it to dye things, but mostly these days it's used to fill up ball point pens and since they have machines to do that, the one I have in my pocket will do another job. It will represent a lie. Just one little vile full of so many lies. That's why it's so black - - lies are dark. Lies aren't to be taken or said lightly, they are deep, dense, thick, and even the little ones are 100% lies, there is no 50% lie, no light lie, no white lie, just lies." He would ask us if we understood.  We did. 

    Ho-Ho then opened the little tiny ink bottle that was only about an inch tall, and he showed us the dropper on the inside of the cap.  He took one drop - - just one, and he put it into the big, tall, container of good, clean, pure, ice water - - TRUTH.  He tainted truth.  He did it deliberately, and he did it with intention. He even told us that he was purposely putting the ink into the water and explained that when we tell a lie we aren't doing it by mistake. We are voluntarily, on purpose, intentionally, with the design of knowing what we are doing - - we understood.  What Ho-Ho did next was amazing.  It was timed, it was calculated, and though we had seen this demonstration before, we still reacted.  About the time he was finishing the demonstration a woman or a man would come into the theatre where we were seated, and wave at us kids, the person would turn to Ho-Ho and say "Say Ho-Ho, is that water? Can I have a drink of it?"  Ho-Ho would turn to us and ask us - - what do you think? Should I pour a cup?

    Without hesitation, without even thinking about it - - every last one of us kids screamed "NO! NO!" with compassion, with powerful conviction in our souls we didn't want that man or woman to take a chance of being poisoned. How can I say this without really upsetting a few of you? How can I say this without making someone "uncomfortable"; let me say it this way -- when you lie about another person you are literally giving the person you lied to (not the one you lied about) a drink of poisoned water - - water you just tainted. Water you just inked. Water you knew was purposely compromised.  The person you lied about may never know you lied about them - - they may find out; but you poisoned a friend when you handed them the glass allowing them to drink your lie.  

    When Ed Birchall passed away in July of 1988 I remember I cried. I remember my friends sitting so close to me at VBS, holding hands praying that we would do our best to never lie again - - Ho-Ho didn't pass away, Ed Birchall passed away - - Ho-Ho is with us. He's always with us, and I will never forget this lesson as long as I live; I try so hard not to purposely poison my friends (or anyone else) and I think about the day I'll have lunch with Ho-Ho the Clown again; I bet he looks a lot more like a very young and healthy Ed than he does an aging gray haired bright-eyed, red-nosed clown, but you know what, that's OK. I think Heaven has enough humor in it to allow a slapping on of a face now and again - - and I'll laugh the same (if not harder) with every joke, every tease, every smile, every wink - - of my friend.

THANK YOU friend, thank you for a life time lesson that I can share. 

Photo: OAB 1988

I Need a Man (from Time to Time)

 This morning was definitely one of those times when I literally broke down and cried out verbally "I need a man right now!"   I will admit, this doesn't happen very often, and when it does you have to understand it's because I've tried everything I could do alone and by myself before resigning to the fact that there are just some things I cannot do correctly by myself. Tensions were mounting under the pressure of it all, emotions were just about to get raw, and I have to tell you, I was sweating with anticipation of what would happen if I couldn't get the damn thing open! I literally stood there in my kitchen holding the canister from the food processer in my hand with it's gray spinning top thing, or maybe it's the bottom, I don't know which it would be since you put it on the top of the canister after you put the food in it, but you turn the thing upside down to place it in the machine itself.  Whatever it is, whichever way would work best, on top or on bottom, I can do both, but what I can't do, and couldn't do by myself was to open the damn thing! It was stuck. 

    Inside the canister was my entire breakfast. It's way past 11 a.m. at this point, an entire hour or so more than I usually wait to eat. I had been fasting like I do, from 6:00 p.m. last evening, so here it is going on over 17 and a half hours since I've eaten and I'm not able to get the canister open to pour out my breakfast! Just saying the words "pour out my breakfast" feels a little anti-climatic doesn't it?  Earlier when I had opened the fridge to see what wonderful and tantalizing foods I could make for myself I realized almost immediately that yesterday, not today, was a cheat day. I had cheated and cheated well. I had gone to Chick-Fil-A and eaten not only their fried breaded chicken sandwich on two pieces of toasted bread (let me say that word again....bread....ahhhh, br-ea-dddd) I had also eaten their wafflely cute potato fry things that don't even require ketchup because they're so adorable; I will be 100% honest, because I try to be 100% honest, I even had sweet honey mustard sauce on my sandwich, and you know it had more than 100 calories in and by itself - - I CHEATED big time. Today would have to be a day of control. Well, control went right out the window when the food processer decided to lock up on me and cause me to fret - - did you hear me? I fretted! I'm not supposed to do that. I am fret-less, ask anyone.

    What do you do when you can't get a jar open and you just have to have, must have, whatever is inside the jar? Well, if you're like me you freak out for a few minutes, cussing at the air, daring any dog to walk into the kitchen to see what the fuss is about; you make really unnecessary and aggravating grunt noises while you apply even more non-flexible and immoveable pressure to the top of the bottom thing and you push, pull, threaten, use a knife to try and pry it off, and you resort to running water over it after beating it against the cabinet a few times. NONE OF THOSE THINGS WORKED.  It was time to admit it, it was time to lay down and just roll over, and say the words "I need a man right now!"  So you know, I'm not anti-man, I really love them actually, I could stare at them all day. I could watch them, I could study them, I could even entertain touching one, but then I'd start giggling and lose full control of myself, and if you know me, you know that control is the one thing I think I have. 

    I live in an apartment complex that I have lived at for more than a 150 years. I have been a resident of this particular complex at least 5 times in my life, and if I think about it I think it's 6 times. I don't know if I can count one of them or not since it was only for a few months. Can you count that? I keep coming back to the complex because it's centrally located, the crazy people who live here are my crazy people, they know me, and they won't think I'm absolutely bonkers if I knock on any of their doors and thrust my food processor canister that is stuck to the machine part that spins it - - right into their face. The problem is that I've lived here at least 150 years and most of the neighbors were here before I arrived. Most of the men here couldn't open a frozen pickle jar with a rubber hand thingy - - so I had to pick my brain for a second.  I needed maintenance. 

    Here, at the complex, though he's also been here 150 years or more, is a man named Miguel who to this day, and I've known him this long, I don't know his last name. I swear it, it's true. I don't know Miguel's last name. I've seen him age, get fat, get thin, raise kids, and change trucks 11 times, but I don't know this man's last name. He is Miguel, and to the kids he's Uncle Miguel, because he's seen me raise my kids too - - I decided that Miguel was the man I needed! I went on the hunt! Luckily for me, Miguel is a creature of habit, and since it was just about his lunch time, he was in the office with the lights turned out, the door locked, and his back turned to the door so he could pretend not to hear you if you peeked through the window and knocked on the door.  Oh, but I've been here a minute, I know people who know people!  There is an apartment that has a back door that actually opens into the office space, and though the tenant is asked not to actually use that door - - they do! Ha!  Success!

    Faced with the words "Miguel, I need a man" the poor soul had no other alternative than to bust a gut laughing, spit out the bit of sandwich he was hoping to swallow, and retort rather rudely and bluntly, "Yes, yes, you do! I've said that for a long time!"  I love Miguel. Have I mentioned that I LOVE Miguel? He's just a nice guy - - I thrust the canister at Miguel.  He took it.  Looking at me with loving and sweet kindness in his deep salty brown eyes he said to me, "Jude, I'm going to take my time with you OK? I want this to be memorable."  I smiled that smile you smile when you don't really want to smile but you're about to lose it and cause snot to come out your nose, so you bite your bottom lip, and just sort of smile - - somewhere in the back of my throat I managed to respond "Thank you, I appreciate that, Miguel. I really do."  After a few elongated seconds of false bravado and he-man muscling, the canister was opened and I was released from the chains of entanglement that held me captive to needing a brutish man to save me.  I was free to drink my breakfast!

    It's times like these, and yes, they are rare, that I have to sit back inside the closet where I pray and remind myself that God never intended for a man to be alone so He made a woman.  Women can be alone and we are often alone in fact. We can go years and years without the need for a close and intimate relationship - but you know there are times we need jars opened, things retrieved from the roofs, and yes, we need someone to tell us we're not always supposed to be in control of everything.  God knew what He was doing when He made the man. They really are useful at times, and I do want one again someday - - but I can think of a few more things I could use him for other than opening jars and setting my food processor free; and when I think about it I allow myself to giggle. 

Photo: Old Fashioned Families 

Moles be Gone!

 I know I talk about Austin Powers a few times in my blogs, bringing him up or some scene from one of the movies, this is one of those times. You see the title "Moles be Gone" and you instantly know where I'm going with this! I went to the dermatologist about six months ago with the most embarrassing of conditions, one which I would not in a million years show photos of - - one reason is because I never took a photo of it, and another reason is its location! (Location! Location! Location!) However, in this case, my case, it was not a mole that was so embarrassing, but a weird, ugly, humungous, fleshy, disgusting, and otherwise not-so-attractive skin tag that grew from nothing into what looked like a bowling ball suspended from my inner thigh - - too much? 

    OK, it was NOT a pretty thing to behold and I could not find a single freaking doctor willing to take care of it during the COVID days. NO ONE was doing what they called "elective" procedures, but I obviously saw it as a monstrosity that needed to be removed for my mental health and well being, as well as my physical health. I will be honest, it never actually stopped me from doing what was necessary to make the days and nights pass, but it was there - teasing me, haunting, and nagging at me - - reminding me that I have zero control over my own body.  Well, I found her! I found the one woman who was willing to help me - - and the event, the actual event, took less than 10 minutes and cost me so much less than expected, and I mean soooo much less.  I could not believe it. 

    Dr. Elizabeth Prater has given me permission to sing her praises, to dance all around her office, (with my mask secured) and to thank her publicly and privately for not only ridding me of the unsightly and terribly upsetting unwelcomed guest, who I really should have named, we were too intimate not be on first name bases.  Dr. Prater allowed me to set the appointment and on the same visit, without even charging me an office visit (no, I can't guarantee that she could or would do the same for you) took the best care of me and she took my skin tag using a little soldering iron thing, she would laugh at me for not knowing the actual name of the tool; and she burned it away!  Then she sent it off to be biopsied, as I am told you have to do that. It was benign, just as she thought it would be. Let me tell you, she was fast, quick-witted, funny, adorable, and just really patient-friendly, not to mention precise, delicate, and professional. 

    Now that I've taken so long to talk about the skin tag maybe I should get on with the subject of this blog! I'm like that, you'll just have to forgive me, it is, after all, my blog.  I was so so so very pleased with Dr. Prater's work that when it came time to do more beautifying I decided to go back to her. I called, set the appointment, went into the office a couple days later, and had more than 30 tiny itty bitty teeny weenie moles removed from my chest using the latest in cryogenic methods. While in the office, in my little backward facing gown so my boobies could be more accessible - - (oh yeah, I forgot to mention, when I get skin tags, moles and otherwise unsightly things, they are in places where there is no sight going on. My chest was invaded by the mole master after having kids - don't ask me how that happened, but before kids there were no moles there, after kids I had something like 30+ little brown moley-moles just decide to show up and stick around. Since they weren't bothering me and I wasn't sharing my anatomy with anyone, it didn't matter, but lately they've been an eye sore since I've lost weight and can see them now...before now they could hide behind the massive orbs hanging around my chest.) I asked Dr. Prater to look at a couple of moles both under my arm and on my face.

    Dr. Prater was so kind to do so without me having to set a second appointment, and she used the little soldering iron thing on the face moles; freezing the one under my arm, which to be honest with you, had been sliced off more than 10 times in the past while I was shaving - - too much? Sorry.  She mentioned that I may actually miss seeing that one since it was obviously an older and more established mole-friend. I didn't name it either. I should. I know, I really should, but I didn't. Be gone! The nurses, both Kesa and Denise also need to have their praises sung too -- Kesa, with her dad-jokes, bright smiling face, and her penchant for cleaning up the areas needed.  Denise with her precision pin-point needle skills that can pierce you clean through to the next world, but she doesn't even hear or listen to you if you say bad words to her during the process - - she just tells you how OK you're going to be, and it's almost over - - always almost over. By the time she says it's almost over, it really is almost over. I'm not going to lie, it hurts like hell to be numbed to have a procedure but we all know that beauty is pain, right? Yeah, I mean, YEAH...love these girls!

    After the moles were taken off my face (one in the crease of my nose, the other on the side, by my right ear) I was literally amazed that the area healed within 24 hours! I can see a little scab forming and I have to say the moles on my chest are all but disappearing -- going going going -- soon to be gone. There are a few that will need to be re-zapped, but for the most part they are literally dissolving! I thought they would fall off, and that makes no sense whatsoever from a medical point of view, but I'm so not medical. I thought I was going to be apologizing to the world for dropping biological materials left and right. I thought maybe I should self quarantine again, and maybe wear two sports bras to catch the moles as they fell off my body! Nope, they just slowly disappear, I don't think they'll leave little freckles where they were, but that's what it looks like right now. I think they're actually going to go away and never ever be seen again - - which reminds me of another Sci-Fi flick I saw and can't get out of my head now. 

    ANYWAY - - there you go, if you have beautifying to do, moles to remove, skin to be treated, even if you wanted to try out Botox, just mosey on down to Dr. Elizabeth Prater's Healthy Skin Dermatology of Oklahoma, located at 13933 Technology Dr suite b, Oklahoma City, OK 73134

Hours: 

Open ⋅ Closes 4PM

Phone: (405) 673-4980  Say hi to Kesa and/or Denise for me!!!

Tell the good doctor where you heard about her, and you just never know what she can do for you. Just be sure and do the little dance of joy with your mask in place. They prefer that!

THANK YOU DR. PRATER!!

 Isn't she just wonderful?  Photo credit: Dr. Prater

Casting My Nets to the Right

 Hello, and welcome to this particular blog. I've just come from the closet in my bedroom where I have a really cute painted wooden chair that has a fat little cushy cushion on it; it's where I pray.  I often ask God to help me, be with me, show me the way, and to be sure and remind me over and over again when I'm about to make a really stupid mistake so I don't actually make it. The closet has been a source of love, life, energy, and prayer for many years. This particular closet only for about 6 years, but since I can remember, certainly since I was around the age of 10, I've been praying inside my closet because the Gospel of Matthew pointed out that we really should do that.  You can find the specific verse, verse 6, in Chapter 6 of that book. It reads in the King James like this:   "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."    So yeah, I'm a closet Christian for sure.

    Today's prayer was all about the success and roll out of my new book "Jude's Almost Daily Blog", but of course, as always, when I go into the closet, I don't just pray for one thing. I end up talking and spending more time with God, asking Him what He wants rather than what I want. It's funny, I go into the closet with an agenda and come out with a plan; His plan. Such a deal! He's the best negotiator out there. You come into the meeting with your fists tight and full of panic, and He's just there to help you relax, understand the meaning for the meeting in the first place, and you wind up thinking you really should have remembered this from the last few thousands meetings you've had with God; He really does know what He's doing. 

    The Word I received from God today was about casting my nets to the right and drawing or bringing in the blessing He has prepared for me. The reference is a fishing reference, the "boys" or disciples of Christ were mostly men of blue collar fishing work; and they worked. They literally went out on their ships and boats to pull in a catch to sell to the people so they could afford to eat and sustain their own lives. When they found that they weren't quite making it and couldn't really figure out why, they mentioned it to Jesus. They asked for His help, and He simply told them where to throw their nets.  Now, keep in mind, these guys had already done exactly what Christ had told them to do, but it had been a minute, and both Jesus and the fish knew that it wasn't time for the boys to find the fish until they had asked for the help they needed. The fish, may or may not have been so willing to volunteer for this assignment, but that goes to show you again, that Jesus really is in control of everything.

    Today I have asked Jesus for His help in the distribution, sales, marketing, and presentation of my book "Jude's Almost Daily Blog". I feel that it can be a changing and challenging book for millions, and I want God's help to make that reality my reality as well as the reality for those people who I want to encounter.  I've asked Him to show me where to cast my nets, and I've asked Him to prepare the many people who will be "caught" but not trapped - - I hope they'll be forever blessed.  I want them to be forever blessed. I want to be able to say and willing to say that it was all because of the Grace and gift of Jesus that I am able to reach as many people as I have - - because it will be by the Grace and a gift from Him to do so.

    Prayers have been placed. I am now waiting for the assignment, the orders and the instructions. I fully believe in working with Faith and working with Grace in order to bring about results that will glorify God and prove that He is in fact in control of whatever we need and whatever we want.  I cling to, claim, and quote Psalms 37:4 often, and this is just another time to do that. "Delight yourself in God, and HE will give you the desires of your heart".  It is so true - - this is a desire. This is a want. This is a need. This is a hope.  Here I go! CASTING my nets - - throwing them as far as the internet will take them - - in His name. Grateful. 

Thank you. I appreciate any and all help possible.  My book can be found at Amazon, and by going to this site to find it. I am selling a few thousand from my own stockpile too, at a slightly reduced price, and the book I am selling comes from the publisher, not the distributor, so it has a better paper quality as well.  I can sign it if you want, but it's OK if you don't want me to. I am not offended by that request.  Let me know if I can serve you. I look forward to it.

My site: www.judestringfellow.com 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Judes-Almost-Daily-Blog-Vol/dp/1649908881/ref=sr_1_6?dchild=1&keywords=jude+stringfellow&qid=1622568005&sr=8-6

WWW = World Wide Web

 TRUE...it is so very very true, that the WWW at the beginning of all of those websites, actually stands for "World-Wide Web".  Most kids today don't fully get the concept of that, and it could be because they aren't seeing the forest for the proverbial trees. They play on the web all day, work on it, work out on it, game, stream, learn, and talk on it, but they don't fully grasp that literally ANY ONE and EVERYONE who knows a thing of two about investigating will in fact, be able to find out more than you probably wanted them or anyone else to find out about you - - oh, but it's OK, we all have the same problem! You can find out all you may want to explore about me, just like I'm able to dig in as deeply as I want to in order to find out about you! No secrets, right? Not anymore. There hasn't been real privacy since the turn of the 21st Century. You knew that, but whether or not you were willing to admit it to yourself is another thing!

    Used to be that  "WWW" stood for the Wicked Witch of the West! I know a thing or two about her as well. I played her, took on her role for more than a decade back in the 80s and 90s as I dressed up as the vocalized villain and swept my evil ways into the Oklahoma City Zoological Park ("The Zoo") in order to help the kiddos on their journey of Haunting the Zoo! It was more than fun, let me tell you, and before the security detail got involved, we costumed artists and entertainers were free to roam the entire zoo, chasing kids, scaring parents, making pretty much a scene anywhere and everywhere we could - - patrons weren't supposed to go past the ropes, but when they did you know I volunteered to wrangle a few. It didn't take long to do it; not with my wickedly spell-binding cackle, and the pointing of my broom!  Can you hear me? "I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too...."  as laughter and blood curling screams were sent out into the moist dark October skies! "Get back! Get back behind those ropes dear, or I'll....."

    Not today!  Not in 2021.  WWW (which actually is rarely ever used anymore) unleashes any and all dire, dull, dear, or drab information that may be sent out over the airwaves - - frequencies are a beautiful thing. I can be in my office at home, minding your business instead of minding my own. I can decide, if I choose, to go to a site that may or may not have your arrest records (mine as well) and it may or may not tell me if your parents have been arrested, if they are on the boards of any questionable foundations, if you've ever had surgery and for what. If I want to, I can look up your name, birthdate, place of birth, and maybe one other form of identifying tidbit; say maybe what you do for a living now or what company you once worked for, and I can find out if you were fired, terminated, quit, still work there, if you ever wrote a presentation, perhaps it will let me know where you lived at the time. 

    Keep in mind that skip-tracing, investigating people for the sake of locating them so one can collect a debt, has been a practice in America since the early 1900s; it's not a new thing, but the methods have become so very convenient.  When I first began scoping out information about people (I worked for an investigation service while I was a paralegal, and then after I left the law firm I worked extensively for the private eye as an internal investigator) for insurance fraud purposes, I was able to use what we called a Cross Book. It was a book that was literally published by someone, but it had names, addresses, phone numbers, places of employment, whether or not the person used public utilities, had cable or telephone services, and this was how we cross referenced names, birthdates, etc in order to find the right John Smith in order to contact him to ask him for payment. It was and is perfectly legal, but I did draw the line at speaking to a kid or family member and pretending to be a friend or acquaintance of said John Smith. I refused to compromise my ethics for a paycheck then, and I hold to that mantra today as well.

    As a professor, and certainly when I taught at the secondary level, I would always remind my darling students that WWW did in fact stand for World Wide Web, and I could use it at any time I wanted to in order to copy and paste their essays into a Google search to find out whether or not they plagiarized their work.  Today, there are apps that specifically tattle on would be cheaters, and the investigative nature of my searching has been replaced with just a few clicks of a mouse. Where's the fun in that? No glory, no sport whatsoever. I've taken to using these apps and almost allowing them to fully grade the essays because I don't want any good or bad bias to play a role in my subjective grading of a paper. Let the machine be the bad guy. WHY am I telling you all this?

    Seems a good friend, we'll call him friend, he's more of a guy I follow and admire online, has a problem with people knowing much about him. He's out there, he's producing music, he's publicly asking for support and yet wonders how it is that we (the fan base) may know something about him when he didn't post it - - your son posted it. Your cousin posted it. Your mother posted it. Your aunt on your mother's side who is related to you cousin's ex-girlfriend posted it. You don't fully yet understand the words WORLD WIDE WEB. You are not the only person posting about you; you are not the only person related to you who is posting things that relate to you. You are not the only person who is related to someone who doesn't understand that WWW is in fact both interesting and permanent. Your life, at least your life since around 1997, has been recorded, categorized, systematically and/or at times randomly chosen to be memorialized by at least one or two someones who feel the need to post something that may or may not be in your best interest.  Fighting it is futile, the best thing to do is to get in front of it, and stop defending it. Just know it's there and it won't go away any time soon. 

    It may be really really harsh to be brought out into this particular light, and Plato may have been onto something when he brought it up in the first place (You can Google that too). It is never easy to realize that you are not alone and it is never easy to realize that you are absolutely alone. It is never easy to find out that someone knows this or that, and you have no control over what they may do with that information. Just let it go - - let your yes be yes, let your no be no, give all your worries to God and move forward -- the past is the past is the past and if someone uses it to hurt you, shame on you for not being strong enough to first admit the folly, and then being stronger still by saying "Yeah, that was me, I did that, I'm an idiot, but I learned from the experience."  We don't have time left on this Earth to sit around moaning and complaining about what so and so posted or read recently that had been posted. Glory to God, already! Move forward. 

    It's all good.  I can see where it would be shocking and it would be upsetting, but I learned a long time ago to just say yes, that happened, or no, that didn't happen. I can tell you, a quick search of my name will show you both my bankruptcies my evictions, my divorce, the five-year court battle over my ex abusing my children, custody, lack of child support -- did I mention evictions? I was evicted at least four times I think. Yeah, I had a  hard time of it raising kids without support - - damn near killed me, but the thing is, there is another way to look at all this increasing knowledge and seemingly endless swirling of data drowning all of us - - the Bible told us it would happen -- and happen at the END.  We are getting closer and closer and closer to seeing Jesus face to face  -  and let me tell you something, you can Google all day long and not find something more permanent and more glorious than that.

Happy trails - - just be careful out there now that you're an adult. 

I Should Weigh Negative 10 by Now.

 So, it's been what, 9 months since I started the diet? This is May 27, and I started it on or around the 3rd of August, that's nearly 10 months really; wow, time flies at times, and it creeps along ever so slowly at other times.  I was absolutely sure that by this time I would have met my goal weight and would be on the wild road to maintaining my new glorious self, but that is so not the case. I mean, here's the thing, I am just about as human as the next guy; or girl. I eat, sleep, drink, exercise, cheat, fall off track, climb back into the seat of that train, motivate myself to start over, and do everything and anything possible to make the scales sing the song I'm picking to listen to. The only problem is my body is just not cooperating, and really not one of my molecules will tell me why -- they are either too busy arguing with one another, or they've just plain stopped communicating. Something is not right. I am still not there.

        I will say this, I will have to raise my hands and give praise, because today my daughter was bragging about wearing a pair of capri pants that she had stashed in her closet for a good minute. I think she wore them maybe a few years ago, but either because she couldn't find them readily, or she had gained a bit of weight, she hadn't worn them. She put them on today and was dancing around happy and all giddy saying how she couldn't believe she was even fitting in them. I looked at the pants and thought maybe they'd actually fit me.  "Take them off", I said to her bluntly. I wasn't even nice about it. "Take them off, I want to see if the fit me."  She did laugh a little, but agreed to humor me.  Slowly she removed her pants, only slightly giggling when she handed them to me, but she wasn't laughing when I pulled them up and zipped them, now was she? She was staring at me! That's exactly what she was doing, she was staring straight at me, and then more laughter broke from her face, but it was a good kind of laughing - - which caused me to spit out a few chuckles myself. Her pants fit me! This hasn't happened since - - well, no, this has actually never happened before. Nope, not once. It felt so very very good! 

        Still, I think it's fair to say that I have a few more pounds to lose, and there really isn't a reason for it not happening, not when I'm getting over 10 hours of sleep every day, I'm drinking more than 100 ounces of water every day, I absolutely watch my carb count, my calorie count, my fiber and my protein count. I'm exercising daily by walking, riding, dancing, riding the bike, going to the gym, and using my vibration plate with weights. (Obviously, I'm not doing all of those things on the same day, but I do work out and/or exercise at least 30-45 minutes solid every day) there is just no good reason for me to be over my goal weight - - and I do want there to be a complain registered wherever and to whomever it is one complains to when things like this happen!  

        Because I believe in the power of prayer,  I do make it a daily thing to go into my closet and ask Jesus for His help and I mean it, I'm not just out there begging and pleading, I'm doing my part. I am working at it, not expecting miracles but looking forward to the needed answers to my prayers. It's just that it's taking forever  - at this rate the rapture will come and there I'll be claiming I could have been perfect if I didn't have to go to Heaven and be ... you know, perfect!  Tell you what, I'll trade this old hat body for the new one any day and every way. Maranatha!!  I can't wait. Still, while on this Earth, and having to deal with the ever to present reality of being 20-25 pounds from my goal weight, I want results!!

        I've looked it up, and hitting plateaus such as mine, is a very normal thing. I know. I've read all there is to read about it. I'm a member of a few online support groups too, and we talk about it, and we do things like carb cycling, loading, fasting, and daily tracking of all that goes into my mouth - - been there done that, still doing it  - come on already!! I want to be the New Jude now, it's my turn. It will happen...no worries. I just thought I'd moan a bit. I'm over it, I'll get back to surfing the Right Move app for a new house to live in once I get to Scotland. I can't decide if I want to be closer to Edinburgh, over the Firth of Forth in the Fife (love saying that) or in between Edinburgh and Glasgow so I can shop back and forth, see the various universities, be a rail-queen and travel over and over...I don't know. I like saying I live in the kingdom, so the Fife will likely win out in the end. Either way, any way, it will be wonderful and I should be at least closer to my ideal self by October...I better be! 

Laura with Luna

That's When You KNOW You Suck!

 I couldn't get to the tobacco exchange fast enough yesterday! I was really excited that the new cigar store was in our area, not a far drive, and small enough to be intimate, but large enough to have a good selection. I couldn't have been happier with the two guys running the shop; both had experience in their products, both were helpful, both were professional, and even made suggestions when I told them I was needing a good fat older style cigar for researching the main character (Nick Posh) for my new murder thriller. Oh, the men wanted to hear all about it, and they were searching in their store room for the best sample of what would be smoked (albeit probably a special occasion) by a former Chicago detective in the 1930's; one with an axe to grind. 

    The boys came up with a Dominican Republic cigar, a Maduro make by Le Galera. It's hand rolled, fat, dark, long enough to be impressive, but not too long, and it was tastefully expensive, but not out of reach for the paygrade of my detective.  I think I paid $8.00 for it, so it would have been about fifty cents back in the day. Not bad. Lady Liberty would have been walking across the coin carrying an armful of flowers, a majestic bald eagle spread across the reverse side of the coin. Today, a mint condition coin of that sort would bring in over $25,000.00 to the right holder. Funny how that works.  I bought the cigar with a big smile on my face, and looked forward to the moonrise so I could begin my research project. I was hoping my son could join me, but he was otherwise busy; nevertheless, I ended up buying him a nice 4-pack of cigars from various locations around the Caribbean. He'll like that.

    About 9:30 p.m. or so I decided it was dark enough and late enough to imbibe on the festive adventure of doing my stogie sucking research for the new book. Having smoked many a machine made cigar in the past, and maybe one or two hand rolled club cigars, I felt I was pretty cool for deciding to up my game for the sake of research. I knew full well that I wasn't going to make a habit out of buying expensive cigars; I only smoke one or two a year for Pyrate Nite usually, and most of the time, well, yeah, every time I can remember, it's been a cheap thin grape flavored trick from 7-11; if I had to be honest about it. This was the first "real" cigar I'd smoked in more than 35 years -- before I had kids, I can say that. I don't remember smoking anything worth anything after I gave birth. I was too strapped for cash most of the time.

    Because I'm ME and that way, I misplaced my matches, and had to use a fire-clicker thingy-ma-bob that you use to start fireplaces with, and you know that didn't fare well outside in the Oklahoma wind. I held the cigar clenched in my teeth and used both hands to light and guard the flame. I was there on the balcony of my apartment sucking and sucking trying to get the damn stogie to light. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't fast. The really expensive cigars are fatter, denser, and take a bit longer to light apparently. I really had sore cheeks after finally achieving my goal - - but damn it, I got the thing lit! There I was actually smoking a real cigar and having imaginative thoughts of being a 1930s style former detective on the balcony of a theatre in Chicago overlooking the city just wondering where the bad guy could be hiding. I had followed him this far. I could have made a misstep, but I felt as if he was close enough to bite.  That's when the cigar went out on me! WHAT? How did that happen?

    Back to the kitchen to try something new. I took the clicker thing and lit a candle, took the candle outside with me and lit my cigar again  - much better; more success, I learned something.  Oh wait, I also learned that I smoke with my left hand. I guess I knew that, but I wasn't paying attention to it, but it's true. I also hold my phone to my left ear, and that started my thinking gears up again; I was born left handed.  Nick Posh may be left handed. I think he should be. It makes more sense to me now, and it explains why the guy he killed with one blow - - oh, I can't tell you that, nevermind. Read the book!

    So, I'm on the balcony, cigar in hand, candle blown out by the wind, dog not happy with the smells and seeing her person pacing and pretending. Dogs don't pretend well, I also learned that.  About six to eight minutes into my second round of lighting and puffing I began feeling sick to my stomach really, and then my head decided it needed to fall off my shoulders and over the balcony. I think I had the wherewithal to stub the cigar on a brick and make it into the house without too much trouble, but my daughter had to let the dog in from outside, I hadn't kept the door open for her. Laura saw me make a bee-line for my bed and couldn't figure it out - - she wasn't alone, I couldn't figure it out either, but the bed just seemed like the more logical place to go.

    SWEAT!!! Oh my goodness, I began sweating. I couldn't open my eyes for fear of falling off the balcony (and I was laying prone on the bed at the time) and I couldn't breathe well either. I'm not sure if I was having a hard time breathing or if my heart had decided to shake up the situation and give me another reason to speak to Jesus. Jesus and I talk all the time, but this was one of those really fast and furious favor asking times; He gets me. I was all over my bed, spread out in four directions for optimal cooling, begging Laura to turn on my fan, turn out the light, and find me a wet washcloth - - now would be great! She was not only dutiful of course, but she was chiding and scolding at the same time; did I raise her correctly, or what? I think she said all the things I would have said to her if the roles were reversed; she'll be fine without me. I know this.  Me? I wasn't fine with me at that point. Nope.

    Throughout the night and into the dawn I knew I was going to have to crawl my way to the bathroom at some point. I just wondered if my head would come with me or if I needed to leave it in the bed where it was. I opted for taking it with me, but it and I argued the entire 16 feet to the bathroom - - and the entire 16 feet back to the bed. My head won the argument; just incase you were wondering. I spent the next 11 hours crashed and wracked up in my sweat-soaked sheets trying to make heads or tails out of why it was that I thought I was OK smoking an intense cigar in the first place.  This morning was spent doing more research, but not necessarily for the novel, though I may have to write the information I found in another blog as a public service announcement.  Apparently, (and everyone knew this but me) you can't smoke a fat new hand-rolled expensive dense cigar quickly. You're not supposed to inhale of course, and you're not supposed to hold the smoke in too long -- trifecta! I suck. I did all three and I ended up up-ended. So you know.

    When I finally gathered enough strength to crawl-walk to the bathroom again, I sat in the shower for six to eight minutes researching what it feels like to not be able to reach the faucet turning thingies to make your shower a bit more enjoyable. I laid there wondering if I could die of cold water hitting my body and my face. I didn't die. I know now that you won't die from that, but it would be a rather bad way to end such an incredibly interesting life. I managed to dry off, dress, call my other daughter, the smoker, and get laughed at from yet another kid.  I called my son only to see if boys treated their mothers differently, better than girls - - they do.  My son told me in his most military commanding way that drinking water will assure my restoration of health. He told me that if I decided to smoke the rest of the cigar to be sure and take it easy, slow things down, maybe let it burn more than I puff. He also told me that if I begin to feel dizzy, stop immediately, and lay down.  At least I know I was on the right track last night - - I just waited a bit too long, that's all.

    OK, well, that's my cigar smoking, stogie-killing story for you! Hope I've managed to both entertain and explain. I want the world to know that cigars are to be both appreciated and respected....and in some people's cases, like my own, they should be looked at and left right where they are. Not in my hand, not lit, not in my mouth, not puffed. They should be in movies, in books, in fantasies, where they can't do much harm.