A Bloody Rose - A Poem. Repost

 Bloody Rose

At times the world—a carnival

With whirling ways and smiles

At times the stage—a darkened edge

Revealing thorns

Our lives

Too often times the tenderness

Flows slow to warm my face

Damp crystals of the evening

Stain deep to leave no trace

And many times I wonder why

I ever said hello

Before that day I had my way

Budding as the rose

A magic time—a shining light

A dream to you, no meaning

As time will tell, I felt it real

I know the pain I’m feeling

Mixing tears and simple smiles

I laugh to hear my praying

A bloody rose I seem to hold

And yet—

My heart is staying

To let it go would be the best

To heal my wound forever

My bleeding heart—a tender rose

A clinched fist protects it

- Jude Stringfellow (1977)

Photo Credit: unknown

Freakin' LOVE Tea.

 Yep, it is so so so so true, I love tea.  I think I became interested in it because my "Auntie" Eileen (yes, she was a transplant from London) was our neighbor in Bethany, Oklahoma. I think her husband Ron was an engineer back in England and he put in an application to become one here in the states. He thought about moving to Texas, he once told me, but Oklahoma seemed smaller, more apt to welcome a newcomer, and he had enjoyed the Rogers and Hammerstein musical "Oklahoma!" just a couple of years before putting his traveling shoes on; Eileen was a dream to me. (I mean, she wasn't Scottish, which would have made her nearly perfect, but she was really adorable)

    With her authentic British accent, her stories about "home" and her travels to the neighboring countries, I couldn't get enough of her. Back in the 60s a kid didn't dare come into the dining room when Mom was entertaining, but with Eileen it was different.  She had three kids, Mom had 4.  One of hers was a bit younger than me, so Eileen often held her. Her name is Laurie, and I remember being allowed into the dining and kitchen areas if Laurie was there.  We ate "biscuits" (cookies) and we drank real lemon tea. My Auntie would bring loose leaf teas over to my house and Mom would boil water, pour it over the tea in a kettle and add freshly squeezed lemon to it.  I even saw her pick a mint from outside and add it to the top of her cup a few times. That was what it took! I was HOOKED.

    From mint and lemon teas I began to branch out and find the aisles at the grocery stores that offered both loose and bag teas. Mom would use bags, but Auntie would scold her for doing so.  Mom would tease my Aunt to say that she was now living in America, she had to learn to be and act like an American even when it came to tea time. I can still hear the cackling and the giggling on that one. There would be no compromise with tea!  I preferred the "new" English way as well, although we all know that we Americans have only been drinking tea a little over two and half centuries. We have very little experience really, and we should only and always listen to our British, Scottish, and Irish friends when it comes to both the methods of brewing and the process of serving tea. We'd do well if we did.

    After many many more years of doing research and practicing on my own, I can tell you that I have only scratched the surface of knowing what it is to be a real tea connoisseur I have NO idea what I'm doing, but I do know what I like.  I like loose tea, I like fresh lemons and oranges squeezed into my tea or infused with a press. I like actual thyme, actual parsley, actual sage, and actual rosemary in my tea, and I love adding ginger, ginseng, and even cinnamon now and again. You just never know what I'll come up with, but you can bet I will be coming up with something. There are teas to help you focus, teas to help your heart, teas to bring a quick wink to your spirit, and even a few teas to bring about a good old fashioned "Oklahoma Hello!" (from the musical) and you don't what that is, you haven't been alive long enough. ("I'm just a girl who can't say no, kissin's my favorite thing!") 

    In my cupboard (not my cabinet) you will find about 14 different boxes of loose tea. You'll see my collection of H&S (Harney & Sons) teas; blackcurrant, raspberry, Earl Grey, and Scottish Morning teas being my favourite, but I also love the occasional Yellow & Blue (a lavender blend); along with a zesty best lemongrass. Yes, I have been known to buy a strong gunpowder tea as well, and for those days I tend to need a thick quilt and a warm dog.  Tea is just ... awesome.  I keep a jar with packs (bags) of tea that are either given to me, purchased by my daughter, or just somehow make it up into my cupboard. I don't want the bags to feel that they have the right to rest with my loose tea. That will simply not do. I will allow the sachets to remain in close proximity of my loose, but never a BAG! God forbid. (smiles for Auntie Eileen)

    Today I ventured into the curious arena of Pinterest to see what methods or blends I could create from what I had in my cupboard. For energy, anti-inflammatory, respiratory relief as well as overall good health, I decided on a Thyme based blend with a bit of ginseng, ginger root, orange, lemon, and parsley.  My press is always (always) on the ready, washed and happy to serve.  I think I've consumed about six cups of it so far, and expect to make a few more before I retire. I should stop adding the ginseng since I will eventually want to go to sleep -- maybe throw in that lavender blend in a few minutes to let it steep and call me to slumber. I do, and I mean, I DO love my tea.  I won't let it replace my first cup of coffee when I wake up, no, that won't ever happen, but I do love me some hot tea.

    Sighs that sigh she sighs when she  begins to dream of the day she returns to Edinburgh to drink another cup at the Wee Cafe....it will happen. It will happen.

    

Photo Credit:  Harney & Sons

SAM!! (Theonopholus) A Repost from 2007.

 Call it what you want, say I'm a bit odd - it's OK, I'm used to it by now. When I was just a kid, people said it all the time, and it really hasn't changed much since. It used to bother me a bit, but after a while, I realized that if everyone is talking about me - about me talking to my angel Sam, they're either damn jealous that their personal guardian doesn't talk to them or else and this is sad - they don't have one.

I met Sam in Heaven, actually, way before I was born and way before I was even being considered an add-on to the Stringfellow household. I don't remember much about it; as humans, we're limited in our before-time thoughts, but you know it has to be true - that is, if we accept that Heaven is, and that time really isn't all that permanent. I don't know the circumstances of our relationship, how it began, or where exactly we met - but I do know that he's been with me since the very, very beginning. My thoughts basically are this: I was born, I knew he was with me, and when I gave my soul to Jesus, he was the first to be excited because it meant that the soul he had been assigned to was returning.

Being a Christian isn't about easy 1-2-3 steps of becoming saved and doing good - it's far more than that, and if you believe as I do that souls were living before our earthly (attached) bodies - then it becomes a bit more clear as to how this whole friendship works. Sam is mine. He was assigned to me. He has NO other job. NO other employment. He is my Guardian. I love him for it. Actually, he's a good one. I named him Sam; God named him something else. I knew this before, but after becoming a human and being so very young (5 1/2) at the time that I surrendered my soul fully - I simply began calling him by the name I felt was best - Sam.

When I was about 30, sleeping, and really just communing with my friend, he appeared to me fully (very fully and vastly strong) in a lucid and most beautifully vivid dream. He said to me, "Judy (as he calls me what my mom calls me), my given name is Theonopholus." I thought about it, nodded my head, and continued my conversation - whatever it was..I don't really remember. I do, however, remember that I had not been paying the least bit of attention to his size, majesty, grace, or astounding beauty. Sam (Theonopholous) is somewhere between 12 and 15 feet tall. His biceps are larger than my thighs, and his color, his all-around color, is stark white. Not pale or weak - no, but marble strong white. He has wings, thick, wide, bright lights, really - I've never seen him use them, but he merely appears and reappears; he never disappears. Does that make sense? Probably not, but he does. He's one helluva guardian, too, mind you! I never give him enough credit, not only for holding me back but for shutting my mouth! Seriously...HE will shut my mouth at times when I would have opened it and caused a fair amount of damage.

I can recall and often do, some of the times he has literally saved my life. We all have had near-death experiences, and this is something that guardians do. They watch. They protect. Call them the bodyguards if you must, but it really is more of a soul-guarding going on. On June 16, 1986, he held me tight in my bed while my house was being robbed - I knew the men were in my home. I could feel, hear, even smell them - my only thoughts were for my infant son Reuben who was just down the hall. There was absolutely NO way to get to him before they could...I cried silently and tried to raise my body to protect him. Sam would NOT allow me to go - instead, a wave of warmth overcame my heart, and I knew my son would be protected (hidden even) from the men inside my house. Cabinets were opened, drawers fell to the ground, my purse taken, and my television thrown to the ground when it proved too heavy to take. I waited; I continued to cry and pray that my son would be safe...I could not move. What I could see was a thin bright light around my head. I wondered if the men could see its brilliance. Obviously not.

When the door slammed, and the men's voices trailed from the window just outside my bedroom, I was released by Sam to run down the long hall to my son's room. The illuminated digital clock read 1:13 A.M. I had been in my bed less than four minutes - the whole event so fast. From my son's crib (he was 3 months old), I could very clearly see a thin, vaporous light, white and swirling through the rungs on his bed, circling him, caressing him. I know my son was not a Christian, he was a baby, but his guardian was with him that night - in cooperation with Sam. We were protected. This is just one time - but a date, a moment I cannot live without.

Sam is ALWAYS on my left. YOU are not allowed to stand on my left. No one is - wait, that's not true. Reuben can actually stand on my left. He is the only one. When someone does venture to this side of me, they almost always retreat - easily, on their own, to my right. Some have even mentioned knowing a presence was responsible for moving them. My best friend Jeannie likes to push Sam around at times. She'll grab me on the left side and hug me, walking with me and all the while laughing at Sam, but even she - after a second or two will move. Sam's rather large. He does give in to Reuben, which is interestingly strange....but is it?

So, to Sam - I lift my voice in praise, asking God to bless him to continue his long and unchangeable life. I do not; I will not worship him. I worship ONLY my God and Savior Jesus Christ, but for Sam, for my very dear and courageous friend - I say thank you, Lord, for this gift.

I also, from my heart, pray that you meet up with your angel personally, too.

Sam is so much better looking than this, but hey! 

You're Not Disposable.

 This is one of those blogs where I write it for someone very specific, but it can be read by and understood by many others. Today, a friend of mine (thank you for allowing me to share) told me that his wife basically told him he was trash. She said, when asked what day she would do over, that she would do over the day they met because he's only caused her pain and heartache.  He rebutted of course, as he should, because no one marries someone and stays married for as long as they have been married, believing that the very day they met ONLY led to sorrow. No, she must have felt something at sometime. She must have meant what she thought she felt was real. There can't be an absolute about it - - she's exaggerating. Now, that being said, she may feel trapped or underwhelmed now, given that so many years have passed and she's not in the position or happy place she prefers. I get that, but to say someone is the very cause of every last bad moment of your life is just hyperbole at best, and thoughtless.

    My friend is an average man. I'll say this, he's a musician, he's creative, he's even depressed at times, and yes, he gets into what he calls "misery goats" and yes, he fully expects that his wife, his helpmate, will be there for him. Perhaps she's thinking she's been there too often, maybe she's thinking she's been there too often as of lately, or that he should be able to somehow step out of his funk, and do what needs to be done in order to stop those misery goats from calling. I don't know, he and I have discussed the reasons for his depression at length. Sometimes he agrees with her and says they should divorce for her health. I think he's just being modest or kind, perhaps even selfless, wanting her to have the freedom he feels he's held her from, again, I don't know. He's not my husband, I would have an entirely different approach on the matter if he were. (...and before you think so, no, when or if they divorce, he and I will not become a couple. We are too close of friends to do that.)

    I know this: I have never been so deeply depressed that I stayed in bed for days. I know there are people who do that. I have never had anxiety about the "real world" and all that's coming for me, to feel that I can't face the job, get on a bus, stand in a line, etc. I just have never had those experiences. I count myself as being blessed because I can say that, and maybe there are those of us who are this way so we can be there for others when they do experience the downfalls of mental anxiety, illness, or just a moment of fear. Why not? Why can't we be there for them when they need us?  My guess, or best guess, would be that they don't ask for the help, and we're just too busy being happy that we don't see their need! I know that if I were made aware of the need for my service I would be the first to step in and ask "How can I serve you?"  I don't think I would say "How can I help you?" because help and serve are really two very different things. To "help" would purport that the other person will assist in the process, and to "serve" indicates that the other person is either unable or unwilling to help. 

    One thing my good friend experienced this past week, (and again, he doesn't mind me telling you as long as I don't point out where he lives and how to find him online...) was that his wife stated that when they are  having sex she's thinking of a particular actor. I had to admit, when I heard the name I didn't recognize it, and my friend said "Well, needless to say, he's a handsome chap, and makes a load more money than I do."  I had to assume that his wife was infatuated by the actor, and that she (like so many) tends to fantasize about having sex with someone else while being there physically for another. It did make me think about the very deep seeded betrayal of those thoughts however. If you're married to someone, you've sworn to love, honor, cherish, and be faithful to them, doesn't that mean in your mind as well as your heart and body? It should. Are we all guilty? Probably.  Does that make it right? No. It may make it normal, average, but never right.

    People say there comes a time when it's time to walk away. I am just sure that this would not happen if we waited on God to supply our partners in the first place, as God doesn't make mistakes, but we do, don't we? We make a "load" of mistakes, and we do need to realize from time to time that it may very well be time to walk away if the other person in our marriage is causing us to feel less than what we are, less than what God knows we are, and it's time to begin the walk we know we need to have with Christ so that we can not only heal from the present agonies (Misery Goats) but also the ones of our past. It's time. Good friends will always stand with you if you are falling. Good friends will always be there for you. You don't need to find a bunch of good friends really, just one or two is all a person really needs in life. I am there. I am here.

    My friend, and anyone else who is reading this, you are not a throw-away. You are not disposable. You are not the reason for someone else's mindset of what they consider to be misery or depression. They have to fight their own demons, and you may be a reminder to them of what they can't handle, but you are not the cause. You are made in the image of Almighty God. You are His, and because He is so very perfect, you are perfect in His eyes if you have accepted his Son Jesus.  My friend has in fact, accepted Jesus, and so has his wife. We're all just a bit too human at times. She has the right to be happy and so does he.  Perhaps their differences can remain in the past, and their tomorrows filled with mutual respect as they choose to move away from each other and into their own direction. I pray they take Christ with them.  

    I admitted early here, and I've said it to my friend too, I can't be his wife because he doesn't follow Christ to the extent that he needs to in order to lead me.  I follow Christ now, and if I ever marry again I will follow my husband who will follow Christ.  Though I will still, at that time, follow every word that Christ lays on my soul, but if I were to marry I would have a human obligation to be the person to support, love, cherish, honor, and yes, I'm old enough to say "obey" my husband. That's why I won't marry again. He would have to be SOOOOOOOO close to our Lord that I would not fear any decision or word coming from his heart or mouth.  That's a tall order indeed!  God, and God alone would have to be the one to drop that in my lap - - perhaps He will, and if He does there would be no question in my heart or my mind who it was that I loved any and every minute of waking and sleeping hours. I have never understood a man or a woman who could promise to love and then bite their lover so hard with damning and cruel words. 

    Please be kind to those who you make promises to.  You don't have to stay, you can leave, but please don't be cruel in the process. There is no good in that.

Photo Credit: Fine Folly Minis

    

Back to Reality -- Mostly.

 OK, so to be honest, there's no way I'm going to go fully back into reality. Reality sucks! I would so much rather be living in my little fantasy world where I'm not only perfectly sized, I have no debt, I have less aches in my bones, I have so much more energy after walking only 10,000 steps; at least I know where to begin my dreams, right? Today, I decided, much like I did on August 3, 2020, that I was just becoming a couch potato and it was time to buck it up, and return to the diet and exercise routine I had before I decided to go back to work.  When I was at home I had time to prep my food, work out, box a few minutes every day, walk 15,000 steps, and I usually ate less carbs and sugar because I knew they were not that good for me. Now that I've been lazy, not taking the time to prepare my week's lunches and such in advance, I've slacked off.  I am only averaging 2.0 miles a day now, and that's ONLY because I put in over 10,000 steps today. I think I was hovering in the 2000 mark yesterday. SLACKER!!

    I could sit here and say I have an excuse since I'm studying for the Series 7, but I don't have an excuse. I take time off during the morning to drink coffee, walk the dog, write in my journal, talk to neighbors, and I admit it, I've been online looking at the next flat I want to buy as well. I have plenty of time to box, and I'm going to do that tomorrow. Today, I went back to eating only fruits, vegetables, peanut butter, cheese, and maybe...bacon, except I ran out and haven't replenished my stash. I made oatmeal with cranberries for breakfast and only thought about bacon since I didn't have any in the house. I will have to walk to the store and get more. WHAT? Wait, did she just say WALK TO THE STORE? Yes, I do that from time to time. I have to keep in practice. When overseas I walk so much more than I do here in the States. I mean, there's a reason that that. We have buses in Edinburgh that literally pick us up 24/7, but not here in Oklahoma! NOPE...if I want to walk I have to walk during times when the creepy people are still sleeping, or they've not looked outside to see me passing by their houses. It's just not that safe in the States, where I live, to walk without a friend, a gun, or a pack of dogs....or any combination of the three.

    I walked to a particular store and took my little tote bag with me. I do that to remind myself that I will not be here in Oklahoma forever. I will be back in Edinburgh. I will be back where I want to be. I will be crossing the Firth of Forth by bus or rail and then taking a wee hike to the Tesco of my choice. I love Tesco, but not as much as I love Lidl and Aldi. I think Lidl and Aldi are twins really, and maybe Tesco is their bigger older cousin. Morrisons is like their grandparent, with all the tidy little pretty things you can buy, and the sweeter older feel to it. I don't know, I just love grocery stores a bit more than most people, I suppose. It is what it is. In my fantasies I guess I could live inside a Lidl and shop when I felt like it or needed to get a snack.  There's a spot in Edinburgh that I truly have to say makes my heart pound a bit faster. I can stand in the middle of that area and choose a store  in literally any direction and reach the store within minutes. No bus. No fuss. Just me and the tote.

    Today's haul from the store of my choosing was to go strictly European. I only picked up items that I could buy in Edinburgh; certain cheeses, crackers, fruits, the same chocolate there is sold here, thank you Jesus. I also picked up a fat jar of peanut butter, an off brand that I think I've seen in my fair city, but if not it will not be the end of me. I just didn't want to see American name brands in my shelves today. I wanted to drink my Earl Grey, nibble a lemon scone, and know that off brand products were living and breathing (personification much) in my frig. I wanted to know that my taste buds would soon dance a dance of victory (metaphor) over what all has been happening in my "reality" lately. No one should have to endure the hell I've been sent through (hyperbole).  Yes, to answer your question, I am adding figurative language intentionally -- I'm also paying close attention to my grammar, punctuation, and overall imagery as well. I do that. I'm a FREAKING WRITER! Sorry, I needed to get that out of keyboard. 

    My workout today was a bit unusual, and though no one reading this will really give a damn, it was something that I had to chalk up to first world issues. I walked into the YMCA to find someone using the machine I tend to start out with when I start my routine. No worries, I told myself, I can wait a few minutes.  She got off of the machine, but her little friend came right in behind her to use it. I was already behind in my timing, so I went to machine number two. Oh, no, you guessed it, someone decided to use it as well.  Hell's bells!  It's not usually crowded when I go to the Y, so I was a bit taken back by all of the new faces too. Mostly, and I mean this, at my age, I am usually the younger person on the floor. No, I'm not kidding, I can typically out maneuver anyone who decides to crank up the energy to walk over to a machine I think I may use. Today these old grannies were up for the challenge!!  Dude! I had to hand it to them - - way to go Betty!  You rock, girl.

    Having completed my 15-20 minute work out in just over 30 minutes, I decided my tummy needed to be fed so I cracked open the frig to find a big fat green apple, peanut butter, cheese nibs, and prunes. I ate the prunes first, that's why they aren't in my picture, but I do love me some prunes. I know, right? You do too? Yeah, you can't beat a good prune! I could live off prunes, black beans and rice, but I think the diet should consist of a few more proteins. For dinner it was teriyaki chicken, rice, feta and pepper stuffed mushrooms (gotta be careful with the pepper, I could kill myself. I don't do well with the hotter stuff). Dessert consisted of more prunes and yeah, I threw in tiny little "fun sized" Snickers because I am just that kind of rebel! I can do what I want to do, when I want to do it, and you know what, it feels so damn good to say and do that - - God bless the U.S.A. God bless my First Amendment Rights. God bless my Second Amendment Rights too - - I think tomorrow I'll head over to the H&H Gun club and exercise my 2nd in the best way I know how - - target practice; over and over and over and over again. You just never know when you have to defend yourself against a Zombie Apocalypse.  OMG...you know someone is going to take me seriously. F*ck them. I'm a writer. I write. (Psst....Zombies aren't real. Any mention of fighting them would be FICTION....pure FICTION.)

    Enjoy the rest of your evening. I may put in a few more steps. 

Photo Credit:  Me!

Series 7 - - Stockbroker Exam

 This will be a short and sweet type of blog. I've been asked to stay home for a while so that my blogs can be investigated; apparently I don't always please everyone when it comes to what I write. I think Teddy Roosevelt comes to mind when he said (paraphrasing) that the man in the arena actually doing the work deserves the full credit. You can't stand outside the gates or watch from the bleachers and determine whether or not a person is worth their while simply because whatever it is that they are doing is not what you would prefer. No, you are the least of my interests if you think I will bend my ways to meet your limited standards. I am not only bloodied from the work I perform, but I am mauled by the would be spectators; my sport has become less of a joy and more of a chore.  Another quote comes to mind, "...to everything there is a season, a time and purpose under Heaven."  Sometimes you fight, sometimes you walk away. I'll stand my ground and let God do what He does best.

    During my time off I have been studying the Series 7 exam for Stockbrokers. It's not an easy thing, let me tell you. First you have to know the lingo, get into the terminology, and be able to know the subtle differences in trades. There are so many variables, so many factors, so many numbers to remember. I'm forever grateful for the Bond Calculator of course, but you can't use it during the test. Ugh! I'll have to make due with my brain; not the best choice of technology for what I'm about to undertake. I can do this. Greater is He that is living in me! I can do this. 

    Once the 7 is under my belt I'll need the Series 66 so I can give advise to others about what it is that they need for buying and selling in order to fulfil their dreams in their financial portfolios.  The thing is, I'm not really doing any of this study so that I can go to work for an investment company or bank. I'm getting them so I can open my own shop and be a broker dealer of sorts. The end game is to learn the market to the point that I can both day trade and side trade. If making money for someone else brings me a piece of the investment pie, I'm OK with that too, but for the most part I am doing this to prove to myself that I can do it, and that I don't have to ever rely on anyone else to make life choices for me. I won't be dependent on anyone other than Jesus; no one else has that right to claim me. No one.

    I woke up at 8 today.  I usually wake up at 5:30.  I walked the dog, drank my strong coffee, wrote in my journal, sat and chatted online with my UK friends and made myself breakfast. Around 10:00 a.m. I began reading and studying, and at just after 5:00 p.m. I've stopped that and am writing my almost daily blog -- I checked the mail, took a walk, worked out, boxed a little bit, and even placed an order into Amazon for more Series books to study after I finish the 7.  I'm expecting to have a really cool and relaxed October. I'm praying November and December will work out in my favor as well. I have the law on my side, I also have the truth on my side, and where that doesn't really matter that much to some, it still matters to Jesus. He made me. He made my brain. He knows me. That's all that counts.

    Here's another quote, "Too blessed to be stressed".  I don't know who said it, but it's true. 

Photo Credit: Barrons.com

Carefree Dance (A Poem)

 Since I have your attention, perhaps a bit of culture will do you some good.  I write poetry too. I've been published since I was aged 11.  Have a brilliant day. Thanks for stopping by, tell your friends. I need the sales. www.justmy.com/judestringfellow 

A Carefree Dance

Entangled threads of weaving love

Refuse the hopes of freedom

Flaring lamps burn deeply down

Laughter pounds my heart’s drum

Never will I understand

The reasons I am smiling

Ever wishing for your kiss

Awaiting your returning

Reality? A Fantasy!

A play cast full of jesters

My heart a bliss—

My head soon spins

No answers to my questions

A carefree dance

Perhaps a chance

To tell you all I’m feeling

To know you care—enough to share

Is really all I’m needing

The world—a field

Where flowers float

Where blue eyes sing to mine

I see you love

I know my hopes

Will all come true in time

A carefree dance

Perhaps a chance

To tell you all I’m feeling

To hold you close—to love your heart

Is really all I’m needing

Photo Credit: Openclipart.org

What is YOUR Spirit Animal?

 Living in the Great State of Oklahoma, where more native tribes are represented than in any other state (I believe this to be true, it was at one point when I learned it in elementary school) you hear a great deal about spirit animals. If you're like me, and you grow up with it being around you all the time, every day, with every school year passing with at least one research assignment dedicated to the Spirit Animal, you know pretty much at an early early age what your particular spirit animal is. You don't have to wonder about it, you don't have to put much thought into it, it is what it is, and when people ask you the question "What is your Spirit Animal?" You can have a ready answer!

    Now, to be perfectly honest with you, as a kid I never did any research or self-reflection. I liked dogs so I just said a dog.  My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Tipton, was not about to let me off the hook so easily. I had to pick a breed that best suited my personality, and you guessed it, because I had a Dachshund, (his name really was Rover) I chose the bigger-than-life-itself weenie dog from Germany!  Now, after a few more years of being aware of what it really means to associate your spirit and essence with that of an animal (most people prefer to think of something wild and free rather than a domesticated hound that lounges about the house and only comes to full attention if the mailman attacks the porch with his big blue bag), I began thinking more about it - - putting just a bit more thought and ponder into it; the truth is that I may be aggressively protective like my good friend Rover, and yes, I do have a tendency to think I'm better, bigger, badder, and more worthy than I am, but the more accurate answer to the question today, having had years to consider the actual truth about my being, the answer is the American Mustang.

    The American Mustang, though a horse, an equine, is nothing like the average or day-to-day American Quarter Horse, the Paint, the Thoroughbred, the Arabian, or the European cobs or ponies. An American Mustang is in fact wild. Domestication for the American Mustang is achievable, but it will take a while, and it will involve years of patiently working with, respecting, and befriending the animal. One does not merely lasso an American Mustang and expect to contain it. One does not expect (or dare attempt) to wrangle the Mustang in small spaces without a fight.  After thinking about it thoroughly and I do think about it thoroughly, the best way to describe myself as if I were an animal, is to acknowledge that I am first a bit wild, absolutely independent, and that my level of skepticism and untrust are markedly higher, much higher, than that of the average person. Someone has to earn my trust before obtaining it unless of course I freely offer it. I only do that in the rarest of occasions, but I do it. 

    I am not one to wait around. I make things happen. I am not one to wait on you. I make things happen for myself. I don't ever ask for permission. I may not even apologize for my actions. I am not one to ask for your help. I tend to find my own way. I will however allow you to be present, and I will give you the help you need if you require it, but I may not be the friendliest beast in the process. I may remain at a distance and patiently observe you. I intentionally observe anyone I am interested in, and I all but ignore anyone I am not interested in getting to know. This is again, a very deep seeded trait of the American Mustang.  Where a Quarter Horse may walk up to you because he or she is curious, the Mustang will hang back at a safe distance and follow your every move.  It can be unnerving to some, but it is essential to me. I won't give until I know I can trust; and if I consider the person to be worth my effort and time. If that sounds arrogant let it sound arrogant, we only have the time we have. Mine is precious to me.

    Today, I found myself standing, walking, and waiting behind someone who could only be described as the South American Sloth! I only say that because she was literally wearing a t-shirt proclaiming that her spirit animal was the Sloth.  Yeah, we get that. You're slower than molasses in January, your face is fixed in a permanent "whatever" and your nails are inappropriately long; useless. As I thought about her life choices for the split second of time that I allowed myself to think about her, I realized that the American Mustang in me wanted to throw my head, stomp my foot, and push her fluffy ass out of the way. She was hanging around in the same spot on the same aisle I had left to give her time to find whatever it was she was looking for. After a few minutes of shopping and circling back to the aisle, here she was still slothfully gazing, not really moving, just standing there gawking at her choices. MOVE ALREADY! MAKE YOUR DECISION!

    I did exactly what you know I did, except I think I did say "Excuse me".  I pushed past her, took the item from the shelf that I needed and left.  She took a full three seconds to respond to me. I was literally walking up the aisle and about to round the corner when I hear her dull droned voice call out "Hey, you don't have to be in such a hurry!"  I kept walking, never glancing back, just thinking to myself how I was actually not in a hurry, I had in fact given her about three minutes to make up her mind, and I utilized those same three minutes to pick up other items I needed, and took time to walk back to that particular aisle. 

    Well, you guessed it, when I arrived at the check-out stand she was taking her sweet time to also stand in line to check out. She was digging through her purse to get her money out, and she was talking to herself under her breath about whether or not she had brought enough cash. Hello, it's 2021. Most of us don't use cash, though I am not opposed to it, it is dirty, it does take more time, and it isn't really as efficient because you often forget (as she did) how much you have on your person. With debit and credit cards you have an idea at least, and if you don't know what your balance is you can use your banking app to figure it out.  You know I made my way just ahead of her before she could step into the queue before me. Nope. I was not going to waste more time with her. I was not about to go through the whole "Oh, I guess I don't have enough money with me. I may need to take something back" and then have her go through her lot to see what she couldn't live with. NOPE. I stepped up and zipped out, thus giving her the opportunity to stare at me one more time. She shook her head. I turned to her, faced her, and I did the same thing. 

    I pointed to her shirt. I (may have rudely) stated that "...the American Mustang is my spirit animal. I hope you'll understand now why it was that we had the experience we did back on Aisle 6. I hope you have a blessed day, and I hope you find your cash."  and with that, I nodded my head, took my bags and walked away - - but not out the door. No, I waited off to the side to see if in fact, she had brought enough cash. I thought for a minute that I may actually step in and help her if she had not. That was my thought process until she literally (probably by slothful means) dumped the contents of her very large and overtly unnecessarily heavy purse, onto the floor revealing that she had actually taken a few items from Aisle 6 that she had no intention of paying for. Wow.  Just....wow! I left the store. It is my belief that ANYONE who considers the sloth to be their spirit animal is both boring and uninteresting; prove me wrong.

    The experience made me think about what my children would say if I asked them what their spirit animals are. They're all adults now, they've had time to think about it more clearly and to come up with redeemable answers worthy of discussion.  Laura said her spirit animal is the Red Panda. She appreciates their awkwardness, they're adorable, and they are quirky at best.  Caity said the Grey Fox, and I can only imagine it's because they are quick on their feet, witty and clever enough to evade nearly everyone and everything every time.  Reuben hadn't really given it much thought, he said he would have to think about it. It could be the Honey Badger because as we all know "Honey Badger don't care!"  Honey Badger will F*ck you up without sweating and without backing down. I can see that. Well, at least I know I did my best at raising three amazing creatures - - I have to say that when it comes to being a mother my spirit animal would have to be something absolutely involved and protective to the point of nuclear destruction should someone try to harm a hair on any of my children. Yeah, over time things change; but I will and have always been independent, fierce, and formidable. 

Photo Credit:  Me!

THAT Mom

 Yes, yes, it is true, I am THAT Mom. I am the one who baked the cookies for the kids before they came home from school if I wasn't working. I am THAT Mom who baked them as soon as I walked in the door if I was working. My dad saw to it that the kids stayed supplied with ice cream, I was (and am) the cookie Mom. I am also THAT Mom who made sure everyone realized dinner was at 6:00 O'clock, and not five after. I am THAT Cook still.  If you're going to eat at my house, if you're going to eat what I cook, you'll eat dinner at 6:00 O'clock.  Lunch is generally around the noon hour, but it could be flexible considering we were mostly at work or school.  On the weekends we had horses and football, so yeah, lunch could be around noon and be makeshift or planned - - dinner is at six.

    Pinterest has made menu planning so easy, in fact, I have been doing a bit more digging and diving into other people's Pinterest ideas lately instead of just looking at the recipes. I've been making plans, menus, shopping for specific items, and even exploring new things - - God help us. If you live with me, if you come over to my house, if you are there when the hour strikes six, you will eat what is set before you. You aren't allowed to say no, and you're not allowed to complain either. It is what it is, deal with it, eat my food, and say thank you. It's really quite simple. I'm a simple girl you know. Never one for a fuss; not really, fuss just seems to follow me and beat me up now and again, but I hold my own pretty well.

    Today we have the ever-so-favorite Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies that I used to make when I was a kid and thought about entering something into the State Fair to see if I could win a prize. I never did it, but I always went to the Oklahoma State Fair Creative Arts Program which was held in the Kitchens and Living Center. In the center, they had dozens upon dozens of entries and you could look at them and see how they were created, how they were made, and all the fancy-schmancy decorative presentations. I was always enamored with the way kids my age would find ways to not only find a family recipe that was super-secret, but they were able to make it as good as their grandma made it, and they could present it on really nice platters with silver, red, green, or gold foils. I always wondered if secretly their actually granny had made the food and just let the kids get the credit? I don't know, I always thought it could happen. I might do something like that for my babies -- if I'm being honest.

    In the food category there were always these three or four women, who you knew must be really close friends or enemies, and they competed in 18-30 categories dealing with canning, baking, cooking, and such. These ladies were masters. I googled and stared at their food products. My family thought I was nuts for spending so much time in that one particular builidng just staring at the homemade canned goods, but I knew these women had years of baking experience and I wanted some of that for myself. My mom wasn't exactly Betty Crocker if you know what I'm saying. In our house, if we ate it was because my dad got around to making us something on the weekends when he was home. During the week we were lucky to scrape up whatever was leftover from the last leftover, and/or beg Mom to put on some Hamburger Helper. 

    I'm not complaining too badly -- she was a good baker, just not that consistent with "real food". I guess that's why all that really interesting food at the State Fair really caught my attention. I didn't get a Barbie for my 11th birthday, I asked for a Betty Crocker Cookbook like the one I saw at the Bethany Library. I knew they had them for sale. I saw one at the bookstore!  A cookbook for a girl isn't all that unusual in the 1970s, so that's not that big of a story, but I actually still have the damn thing. It's been mulled over a few thousand times, but its there in the cupboard. I don't look at it as much now, and I guess it's just because Pinterest makes things so easy. I can pop it up on my phone and be done.  I don't handle the phone while I cook so the phone, unlike the book, doesn't have shortening grease and flour all over it; not yet anyway. It's early.

    Well, the game is about to start, and if you think I'm THAT Mom in the kitchen, you should know I'm THAT Mom on the couch when Oklahoma plays anyone during the fall.  If I'm not watching the game I'm listening to it. If I'm not listening to it, or on the couch, I'm at the stadium! My son may be there tonight actually, I can't expect him for dinner or to gobble down the cookies I just stacked up on the little crimson and cream Boomer Sooner plate that I use when I'm watching the boys play. You gotta get in the mood you know, you can't watch the game without cookies or beer and I prefer cookies. I mean, don't get me wrong, I do reserve the right to have a beer or two each year with Baby Boy when we watch the game from his couches, but that's not tonight -- sadly. Maybe I can be THAT Mom for my dog! She loves me.  

Boomer Sooner!

Photo Credit: Me!

"Suck it up Buttercup"

 I saw a meme this week that I fell head over heels for. In fact, I decided to make a poster of it with a really sarcastic looking teacher speaking to one of her more challenging students.  The meme said "Well, let me pour you a nice tall glass of 'get over it' and I'll even throw in a straw so you suck it up!"  I wanted to say "That!  That right there!"  says it all when it comes to dealing with the dealings of the undealt. These kids have no filters, but you step over their line and hurt their widdle feewings, you get your eyes and ears full of their nasty little teenage angsty tantrums in the form of slamming books, kicking trashcans, knocking over a desk, or just throwing up their hands and cussing you out as if cussing was both original and meaningful.  They truly are a step behind when it comes to being cool -- but you can't tell them that; they think they invented the "F" word.

    I absolutely love it when I've been confronted by a would-be who wants to be all that, and she shakes her head from side to side with her little drawn mouthy-duckface. She cocks her head to one side and calls me a bitch. What? That's all you got baby? I ususally retort with "That's Dr. Bitch, sweetheart"  That usually suffices and they either laugh or shut up, not really knowing how to respond. It's just enough time for me to regain control and move forward. Timing. It's everything. 

    Apparently today there were some kids who just couldn't or wouldn't wake up long enough to realize that the assignment on the board magically disappeared after 8 minutes. I took my eraser and erased it. You'd have thought I had stolen their last cupcake! Here came the cries, "You can't do that!", "You have to leave it on the board the whole hour" and then there was, "But I didn't write it down!"  OK...too bad. It was on the board, I asked you to write it down, I instructed you to write it down. I warned you it would be gone, and then yeah - - I erased it. I kept my word.  Find a friend, get the assignment from them, but yes it is actually still due by the end of the hour. We don't give homework at this school -- God forbid.  They have to do all the work THAT hour or pick it back up again the next day. Do any of you remember being so spoiled? Not me. I had homework from 3 or 4 of my 6 classes EVERY DAMN DAY, and get this, I was expected to do it, too. 

    Am I that mean teacher? You know it! I pride myself on being efficient, effective, and precise. I give the instruction, write it out, lecture over it, talk about it, but I don't have to hold the pencil for them and write it out for them on their paper -- again, God forbid they be expected to read, comprehend, or write in an English class!  Most of the time it only takes a few days (OK weeks) for the kids in my classes to catch on that I don't play. We have play time. We have fun too. We have games, I let them throw paper balls at each other at the end of class if we get all of the work done. It's what it is. You have to get the work done to have the fun -- sort of like needing to eat your vegetables before the ice cream; if you think about it. Now, I'm thinking about it and ice cream sounds really good.

    Yep, that's me, the mean teacher. I'm the one walking back and forth the entire hour so I can get my 12,000+ steps in each day. I'm the one demanding that you get your pencils out and stop borrowing supplies from someone, get them yourself, and if you can't afford it you write that out on a piece of paper and slip it onto my desk so I know not to scream at you again. I will supply pencils and paper for those kids who can't afford it, and what I do is have it out for everyone so I'm not singling anyone out. Do you have any idea how expensive it gets to keep 110 kids supplied? I do a lot of asking for donations both online, in the community, and I donate a great deal myself. Don't tell anyone I'm nice. They think I'm heartless and really cruel.

    One thing I do on Fridays (tomorrow) is to go to the gym before classes start and complete my "duty" which is to watch kids in the gym for 20 minutes before classes start (only on Friday).  I walk the gym floor from one edge to the other at a really fast pace trying to get as many steps in as possible and if a kid has been particularly bad that week he or she has to walk with me or have detention after school. They typically walk with me. I've got 3 or 4 every week, but by the time we start out and get started there seems to be 10-12 join in and we have to move to the other side of the gym as not to interfere with the stand-around teachers who talk and don't even bother to watch the kids in the bleachers. I laugh. I think duty can be really useless at times, but I see the point of at least trying to appear as if we're doing all we can.  If it were up to me every kid would be walking the freaking track outside and moving around. We have far too many fat, unhealthy, lazy, sloth kids hanging out in our communities these days and that's not me being hard - - that's me stating facts. Obesity in teens is absolutely on the rise.

    I remember when I went to middle school just over 45 years ago, I could count on one hand how many overweight kids we had in all three of the grades combined. There just were NOT many over weight kids. We played outside. We didn't sit around bending our thumbs and screaming at the monitors. We had actual activities and chores to do too. We just didn't have time to sit around and get big. We had a hard enough time getting our homework completed to a grade B so we could be in sports, cheer, student council or anything else that truly represented who we are. This year (at our school) there aren't enough boys interested in playing football to have a team. Are you serious? When I asked a few of the boys why they weren't playing the answers were shocking! Most of them were afraid to get hurt and many of them just thought it was boring. Wow. 

    Are we sure we needed to give up some of the "classics" and some of the standards we've been slowly giving up in order to accommodate the kids and their working parents? I mean it may be time to bring back some of the accountability, responsibility, civility, and good behavior! It may be time to bring back discipline and actual consequences for misconduct and disrespect.  A student asked me a question in the middle of my lecture today. I told her to wait until after I was finished speaking. Her little 14 year old attitude barked back "You won't shut up!"  You know she's walking with me tomorrow, and probably next Friday too.  Her two-page essay on Theodore Roosevelt will be due on Monday, and she will need 3 different references without plagiarism. If she can't muster up the discipline to do it I've got the word of her cheer coach that she won't be cheering again this semester. We need to do more. We need to bond together as teachers, as admin, as staff, and stand up for what we know is right for the correction and education of our children.

    When we, as an educational community, allow parents to step in and complain about how their student is being treated but they don't want to talk about the who, what, when, where, how, or why that same kid, my student, their child, decided not only to not work, but to throw a hissy fit when asked to take notes, or because I chose not to answer them on THEIR time table - - we have a real problem. I'm not saying parents don't have a role, oh goodness no, I'm not saying that whatsoever. I want parents to be involved. I want parents to show up. I want parents to help with assignments, but when a parent drops a kid off smelling like beer and cigarettes and then wants to lecture me about how I treat their kid, I'm not moving my feet. I'm standing my ground - - and if that means I find another job, or get asked to leave the one I have, you know I won 't complain.  I can't find anyone to change occupations with me - - good tough and effective teachers are really hard to come by; I'm a commodity.  Kids need boundaries. Kids need structure. Kids need someone (sometimes anyone) to look them in the eyes and say "I will not tolerate your behavior, it stops right now, do you understand me?"  Most times they don't like it, until they realize I'm there because I want to be. I don't need the money that badly. 

    Ask yourself: would you rather have a teacher who put up with your bullshit or one that squares off and refuses to budge, allowing you (the student) to realize you matter to that teacher ENOUGH that they (me) will take the time to correct you?  It's not rocket science. If it was I couldn't teach it. I don't do math or science, but I'm pretty damn good at English. 

Photo Credit: Core Walking