Don't Tell Me No.

 If you know me, then you know me. If you're just reading this blog for the first time, or maybe you've read a few of the blogs, and you think you may have a sort of kind of grip on who it is that I am, please, let me be the first to step up to the plate and show you EXACTLY who it is that you're dealing me. It just makes it so much easier to cut through the muck, and show my true colors at the get-go.  I am an ENTJ on the Meyers Briggs scale. That means I'm an openly honest, upfront, direct decision maker who won't consider let alone tolerate anyone telling me that the sky isn't blue. I know it's blue. I have eyes to see, the damn thing is blue. Move forward.  Because of my ENTJ-ness, I will move the world for you if you need it to be moved. If you've earned my trust, there is no problem with me deciding to take you to the goal you wish to achieve.

     I am also born under the sign of Scorpio, and as a Christian that may seen odd to hear that I admit that, but God made the stars didn't He? They have a story to tell, and Scorpio is part of that story. We're skeptical by  nature, but we're cunning, clever, charming, and mysterious at the same time. We're stubborn because we have our own agenda and fitting into yours won't do. I am also born in the Chinese year of the Ox. I'm not going to pretend that the Chinese zodiac is a good thing, it's probably not, and though I hate to admit that the traits of the Ox do in fact size me up to a tee, it's true, I am Earthy, dependable, thoughtful, trustworthy, but if you cross me, you'll find me to be both bullheaded and unmovable. I will not do a damn thing for you if you lose my trust.

    OK, now that you know who it that you're listening to and reading from, let me say this, I am so very easy to get along with until someone makes the mistake of lying to me, or someone makes the mistake to not search out the full truth when I've asked a question, but instead (probably due to their ineptness of being capable of putting forth an effort or giving a damn) they decide to half-heart the answer and just say what they want to say hoping it will suffice and I'll go away. I don't go away. That's the other thing; if I decide to be there, I'm there. It's best you handle me with truth and be as direct as you may need to be, but yeah, I'm not moving. I chose to be there. You're welcome. I may just be the one you need to get whatever the heck you need done - - done. That's the stubborn, mule-headed, unshakeable, obstinate, OK, we'll say it, that's the ornery in me. (It comes natural if you've ever met my mom or her dad.)

    Today I had the opportunity and the personal challenge to put my innate contumaciousness to work! Someone, a person who thought I would just simply accept her answer because she was a hiring recruiter and I was looking for a career with her firm, told me that I needed to be sponsored in order to take the Series 66 FINRA exam in order to further my desires of being a financial advisor. I know differently, and I said so. She argued with me. (Hint: never argue with me. If you're going to argue with me, at least know this; I never get into a discussion that could be argued if I don't already have the thing wrapped with a bow!) That was dumb. I was right, I collected the Google info for her, emailed her and let her know I knew. She then, out of either sheer ignorance or anger, wrote to me to say that the firm would not consider me for a future role, and that I could and should look elsewhere for employment. Don't .... do not...tell me no. Not when I know the answer is yes.

    I decided to stick to my plan, to be a thorn in her side, and to force her to see that she was not dealing with a would be snowflake who was born just a few decades back; I'm super old, and because of that experience, I know that being a "Karen" has it's advantages from time to time. This was one of those times.  Yes, she was the recruiter, she was the one standing between myself and the hiring manager who is in my actual city, and available to me if I should, oh, I don't know, GO DROP IN ON HIM.  

    I dropped in on him. I let him know I was applying for the position, that I would be continuing to take the next steps towards my licensure (Series 66), that I wasn't expecting him to sponsor me, but after I pass it, because I have been licensed to sell insurance since 1983, and have my SIE, I would like a face to face interview. I explained that  his recruiter didn't appreciate being schooled, but I wasn't going to let her stop me from pursuing my career goals -- he laughed.  He said, "Damn, you remind me of me! I did that too. I had to come in here and shake the manager's hand about 14 years ago when the company said they didn't think I'd be a good fit."  He liked that I had the guts and the willpower to knock on the door of opportunity rather than being content to be hustled. 

    Was it rude of me to point out the obvious to the little-miss? Maybe. She has earned her position, and she had rules to follow, the problem is, and this is too basic not to know, you don't tell someone a half-baked answer when you know it's not the full truth. There are those that will let you bully them, and then there are those of us who are bulls or oxen ourselves (not bullies), and we'll hook horns with you on the spot! I'll get my hands dirty. I'll Google. I'll do the due diligence I need to load up on whatever "ammunition" is necessary to blow the doors off your story -- if I want in that door I'm either using the key or knocking it down. I'd prefer to use the key. I'm really very helpful and very easy to get along with. I'll take you and your goals to the limit or I'll dig you a hole so deep you'll never climb out of it if you try and lie to me. It is what it is. Don't try. Second chances don't usually happen with me. I assume you know that before we even meet. 

    Better stated, just tell the truth to me. Always tell the truth. I can spot a lie and I can dig through one so easily. If a challenge does arise in the middle of my digging - - well, there's a reason I like Dachshunds over German Shepherds. A Shepherd of any breed will help you, take you to the next level, guide you, show you the way, and hope the best for you -- that little weenie dog, on the other hand, will dig and dig, nose to the ground, ears widely open, hearing every last thing you said, but finding the end of whatever it is you were trying to hide - - and yeah, I think I'm 10 feet tall too, another Dachshund thing. Talk about nailing a description in an analogy - - Yeah, the Dachshund makes a whole lot of sense when you think about who I am or may turn out to be. Best friend no doubt, and I may look sweet and friendly, maybe even be a bit of a clown; but I will bite you hard in the ass if you turn your back too quickly. 

Photo Credit: Dachshund Joy

Horse Barns: A Comparison

 After writing the last blog about not having horses anymore, I received six (6) comments in my inbox rather quickly, all asking me to describe or detail for them the situation(s) at the various barns Laura and I have been associated with or had dealings with. I don't want to rattle off their names, as that could be a legal mess, but I will give details and if anyone has any specific questions about one or the other, they can DM me on Facebook or IG and ask. I can't and won't take comments here on the blog site. 

We'll start with Indiana barns.

1.    The first barn was in Brownsburg, Indiana, just north of the main thoroughfare for Indianapolis (HWY 36) and it was west of Indianapolis proper.  It had a name, it has since been sold as the owners died, and I have no idea how it is now.  When we went there were 68 horses on the property, and we were led to believe there was 100 acres of land. We just couldn't see it, but it was "back there, over that fence line" and like morons, we never checked it out. The entire time we were there, which was about 4 or 5 months, maybe a bit longer, I don't know, there were upward of 68-90 horses and all crammed on about 22-24 acres which included the barn area that took up 2 acres or so. Yeah, not cool.  The manager let the horses run into their barn stalls at about 3:30 p.m. so he could get to his other barn that he let horses run into their stalls around 4:30. 

 At this barn the manager ran the place, his word was gold, the owners didn't listen to a single one of the boarders. If he didn't like you, your horse may just not be fed well.  It was that sort of barn.  He leased 6 of his own horses to young influential girls who he then trained as barrel races. They didn't do a bad job, no, they were pretty good, but then again they had to be or he would yank the horse from them and shun them from the barn.  It was a MAD HOUSE trying to get arena time, and forget about complaining. It didn't work.  We left and when we did the owners tried to steal my daughter's horse and claim she owed them board. No, she worked for her board. They just wanted her Half Arab bay gelding and they were willing to steal him. You'll find that there are a great many people who do that sort of thing. Oh, and one more thing about that particular barn; they had an Amish farrier that they called names and made fun of behind his back. That never set well with me. 

2.    We left that barn and literally walked Laura's horse to the barn just south of it. The two barns shared a fence line. It was obvious that the land that the first barn owner was trying to convince me that he owned was in fact the second barn we went to. This barn was  HUGE in terms of the barn and the stalls, and the indoor arena, and the great fencing. Things looks up for us, or so we thought.  I didn't have a horse at that time. I had one at the first barn and went horseless until we got to the 3rd barn. It only took another few months before that was to happen because the owner of the 2nd barn was a new widow, having lost his barrel-racing wife to cancer, and he went through the inheritance like water! He didn't use it to better the place, and yep, he sold it. Gone! 

There you go. I'm glad I didn't have a horse there! Laura had that same Half Arab and guess what, the 2nd guy tried to steal him as well. It was just amazing!! She got word of it, and was able to walk him to the 3rd barn about a mile away. She couldn't ride him as she had to do the escape after dark! She didn't owe the man a penny, having worked for her board again, but that didn't stop him for coming to the 3rd barn and demanding that she surrender her horse. Well, yeah, that didn't happen. He's an idiot. During the time we were there we had to deal with the criminal felon from the 1st barn walking over and trying to take Laura's horse twice. At least he was inept at it, and was caught both times by someone at the barn. No charges were brought. He claimed he was just exercising the animal - - go away.

3.    The 3rd barn was about a mile away and into the woods a bit. It was called Natural something. I won't go into names.  The owner was sweet enough, his wife however was a commanding bitch. She ran the joint, but by running it she gave the reins to about 6 girls all under the age of 17, all of which (if you know much about girls) fought constantly over this, that or the other, and they would dead-lock and dig their heels in and the result was you didn't get your horses fed, watered, cared for, or worked. You paid for it, but nothing really happened. Then, you'd come over to ride your horse and find that someone had saddled it up for a paid trail ride EVEN THOUGH you didn't authorize it to be used. You'd come over to ride and find that your horse was sweaty and bathed, and he was tired and didn't want to go out with you. You'd ask about it, they'd say he was just hosed down a minute or so to keep him cool. Yeah, OK, and where were the saddles, the pads, the helmets, all of which should have been in my tack room? They were in someone else's tack box or tack room. They kept trying to say my stuff was really their stuff. I had to keep retrieving my things, or keep them in my trunk, and you just shouldn't have to do that. I would complain and one or the other of the owners promised to look into it. It didn't change. We left.

4.    The 4th barn was a mess and 1/2 too. It was owned by a man who was married and the owners had a 16 year old son.  They lived in an apartment inside the barn, but they hadn't closed the back door that led into the barn, and you could hear them inside their house fighting, talking about you, and then their son came out naked once to get his rope or something - - yeah, there was that.  The kid would also take young girls as young as 13 into the covered round pen to have sex with them. Naturally, we reported this to the police, and guess what, the police told the owners who reported it!! Are you serious? We were asked to leave. I didn't mind, it was a manic place and the owners were too into their own thing to be good barn owners anyway. They had expensive horses that the watched and those horses were cared for but the mutts or mongrels of the world (mine) were never even given grain. I had to do that even though I was paying for them to do it. Again, if they were giving lessons, which they did all the time, you couldn't use the barn. It's just the same old, same old. Not worth the hassle. Gotta go.

5. The 5th was hilarious!  A woman claiming to own the place, had 11 horses on 14 acres. That's not too bad, and it wasn't too overwhelming. She had an 8 stall brick barn without doors, so it got cold in the winter for sure. She charged a good price, and she claimed we could come out whenever we wanted to as long as it wasn't too early or too late. We understood. She claimed to live in the house on the property too.  She claimed the silver jeep was her boyfriend's and he would be in and out of the gate, or on the property, and not to worry about him. She took cash, and that's always a clue that there may be an issue, as she didn't give a receipt. I asked for one. I wasn't given one. 

 We put our horses on the property, we were locked out of the gate. We climbed over the gate and we had the police called on us. We had to prove the animals were ours, and that can be hard to do. Luckily I had the papers to mine, but my daughter's horse was grade. The woman didn't own the place, she was a thief. She'd steal horses and take them to slaughter for money.  The guy in the silver jeep was  her boyfriend, but he kept watch over who was coming and going, and let her haul horses away.  The owners lived in the house at the end and had hired her to feed their horses. She did feed their horses, but she stole YOUR horses and sold them to slaughter. THANK GOD we got our horses out before they were next. NOTHING happened to her. the owners did NOT CARE that she was doing that. WHATEVER!

6.    The only barn I would go back to was Ellin Daum's place at On Eagle's Wings in Plainfield, Indiana. I'll use her name and her barn's name because she was a sweety, she did it right, she charged a bit more, but she took care of the animals.  I didn't appreciate some of the things that happened that were beyond my control, but I won't get into it. Suffice it to say that family is family, and we don't always have much to say about that. I think every place should have a restroom, hers at least had a port-a-potty, and that's about the only bad thing I can say about the barn. I didn't like one of her workers, but she was fired soon enough, and we didn't have to put up with her much. I also didn't like that there was not enough space to actually ride in, and again, that's a reason to leave. If the place doesn't have what you want, you leave. At least Ellin was (and is) a learned soul when it comes to being on top of things, and she was and is a Christian who treats people with respect. She didn't lie to us. That was a first.

That's it for Indiana. Now on to Oklahoma.

1.    In no particular order. We'll start with Luther.  Luther is the name of the closest city.  The owner wasn't the owner, but at least this time she said she wasn't.  She let us know right away that she was the manager. She had 260 acres to care for, and space for as many animals as you really wanted. We tend to have one or two each, no more, and she had a 1/4 acre pen to keep them in at night, and they could be allowed to wander the front yard area of about 30 acres if they were easier to keep and catch. If they were not, they had to be walked to the smaller pastures of 1/2 an acre to 2 acres. It just depended on the day, the weather, etc.  She was good enough. She was sweet enough. She cared for the animals, and she let us know when things were bad. Things were bad a great deal more often than they really should have been in my opinion. She allowed ex-cons to run the show, and they stole the horses. There you go. 

Then there were the times she fed bad hay and you had to pay the vet bills for her mistakes or lose your spot at the barn, and you know that can be a real issue if you have no place to go! She would use MY hay for her horses. She would rescue and retrieve rescued horses and beg for donations online pretending the horses were going to slaughter. She thought we didn't know it was her, but we recognized a few of the things in the photos online. She used a fake name, a fake address, a second phone, the works.  She used our supplements for her horses. She literally allowed Laura's baby horse to die because she didn't give it the meds Laura paid for, but used them for her horses. It went on and on. She took one of our friend's horses and let her literally starve to the point of near death, never having the nerve to call our friend to let her know she was doing so because she felt the friend should have paid more in board. Their agreement was met, but this chick wanted MORE. After suckering us out of the 4th horse and using us for all she could, we left. 

 Laura went back to help her a few times only to help the animals. Laura actually adopted from her again but only to save the animal. Later the lady was found guilty of having dead animals, neglected animals, and abused animals. She fled. The actual owners NEVER KNEW that this woman had so many animals on their property. Shaking my head!

2.    OK, this was not the worst place in the world but it was the worst as far as the managers not having a clue as to what they had or how to maintain it. The house and 70 acres was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Jones on the hill and they rented or leased the space and barn to the managers asking for X amount of money monthly. Anything they could make over and above that was theirs to keep. What a sweet deal. We never had that sort of luck.  The problems started immediately when we realized that we couldn't board inside the barn, but we had to rent a 3/4 acre tract for our two horses. They didn't care if you had 4 on the pasture though. We know it would not be safe or wise to do that, but yeah, there were about a dozen or more other people who stacked horses on top of horses and guess what, in order to relieve the pressure the managers let our pasture be the overflow! 

Oh, and guess what, often times our horses were beaten, bit, kicked, and attacked by the over flow horses.  We had to pay the bills for that. They had an outdoor arena, no indoor. They had 50 acres in the back to ride on but the problem with that is they also had 70+ horses on it at $300 a pop for people who hoard animals and don't want to actually care for them. The owners did not care, turned their heads, and the managers didn't stop the horses from being aggressive when you wanted to ride out on the land. The final straw was when the managers went to a rodeo competition (it was a joke, the woman was obese, couldn't ride, and had a bum knee to boot) and the horses were NOT FED or watered and it was JULY. At least she and frozen ice pops for the boarders. We left.

3.  This one was a real treat until it wasn't.  The owner was OK, but he was old and he was set in his ways. The manager was Hispanic and would cuss us in Spanish not realizing we understood him.  He refused to listen to you, did his thing, and was not bothered by trying to do his job. You could get his boss, the owner, to speak with him, but then your horse ended up in the wrong area, it came up lame, it wasn't fed, you get the drill.  You do what he says or he hurts your horse. We had a hell of a time trying to prove that to the owner. Then we found out the owner sold the place and kicked the manager out before he kicked the boarders out. Another boarder took over the managing position, and the 40 acres dwindled down to 5 acres, the best indoor you could imagine, and three bathrooms!  He only kept 5 boarders at that point, and we were not one of them. We had to leave. When we first got there however, Laura's horse was hurt and it was the owner's horse's fault, and Laura still had to pay the vet bill. He was kind enough to move the aggressor, but yeah, $700 for the vet to come out, x-ray and care for her mare, and she couldn't ride for 2 months, so that's another $350 in board x 2 months for time at the barn without being able to ride.

4.  This one was just out of the park laughable.  A former Navy Seal and the man who actually did invent something cool back in the 80's, owned and operated this place. He was and is the biggest egomaniac on the face of the Earth.  I think I had a horse on the property for a minute, but due to his aggressive behavior, and his penchant for starting up motorcycles, airplane engines, NASCAR type engines, shooting off shotguns, and just being an idiot moron, I decided that paying him to not feed my animal was just not going to happen. You paid him $500 for the 3-acre pasture, and you fed every day. It wasn't that far away so we did that for a minute, but every damn time we went to ride he would gun up another engine and spook the horses intentionally. He would shoot his shotguns and spook the horses intentionally, he'd make you feel as if it was your lack of training, and he was not shy about his tactics. He has been divorced four times I'm told. I can't see why anyone would marry him in the first place. We left. Our friend however, has several of her horses there, but she doesn't actually ride, so that's not that big of an issue for her.

5.    The next manager/owner issue to come up was a place near my mom's house in Arcadia. It took a good minute to get there, but it was safe enough, they had trails, an indoor, they had an outdoor arena, and they had great dogs. Love the dogs.  Her place was, as many were, managed not owned. Again, she could have as many horses as was legal or possible and again, she overstepped the limit to make more money. This seems to be a pattern. It was in fact a problem. We found out that on one or more occasions, because there was a legitimate boarding facility across the way from her, that the place had been turned over to the sheriff for well-being checks more often than not, and we were the last in so the first to be asked to leave. 

    No worries. The lady didn't strike us as being someone who did  her job anyway. She announced she was pregnant about 2 weeks into our contract with her. She wanted to lower the board, and ask us to come out and feed. We couldn't do that. We were asked to leave. Great. You'd think we could just go across the street to the other facility, but no, we had western horses and that place was strictly for English riders, and the board was over the top pricey, something like $800 a month, and only indoor stalls, and you had to pay for 2 lessons a week as well. NOPE.

6. I can say the name of this place only because it is gone, and the owners are gone, and thank God for that. The place was Bridlewood, owned and operated by Elizabeth Lee, a would-have-been cowgirl back in the 70s I think. She was God's gift to rodeo I guess, at least she thought she was. She ran a tight barn but you had to do things her way or go away. She had a contract that was so one-sided you'd think you were in Ft. Knox. You didn't have a damn thing to complain about or you were gone, and you didn't get out of your contract just because she asked you to leave. Nope, she expected two months notice or you had to pay those two months. No one gives two months. 

    We had to sell our horses to get out from under it. No problems for me, but it was an issue for Laura. She had to stick it out until she was finished and even then the horse she owned was abused and mistreated so it was probably better if we had just left and paid the money. Laura was going to a competition, but because the horse she was going to use was going to be going up against one of Elizabeth's friends, the woman put Laura's horse in a pasture way in back where there were stickers and burrs on the plants. The horse was covered in them and we couldn't go to the show. Wow. That was just one of her tricks. She was a mess! 

Over the course of time she was arrested I'm told, and it was for either lying to the law or obstruction of justice. Not sure, it's more or less rumors, but she headed off to Peru. That much we know! She sold the place immediately afterwards, but she sold it to another con artist. The buyer took full advantage of Lee, and stole her equipment, basically raped the land of fencing, and anything else she could take, and she left without payment. Wow. Just wow.  

The place was then sold to another man, I won't say his name, but he was and is the biggest prick next to the Navy Seal. They would be two-peas in a pod for sure, not sure which would come out smelling worse to be honest. Laura had a horse there, not me, and the man invited Laura on a trail ride. Laura accepted, and told the man that her young gelding was in training, he was fresh and she wanted to take it slowly. OK, yeah, but that didn't happen. The man pushed off of Laura's horse when he took off, literally smashing into Laura, causing her gelding to bolt, Laura had to bail, the bastard comes full circle accusing Laura (a trainer, mind you) of not being able to handle her horse. He berated her over and over again, and all the while he never attempted to help her. She was injured from the saddle and the fall, but all this guy could do was brag about his experiences with run away horses. We left. We left, we gave bad reviews, we called anyone and everyone we could to warn them about that cursed property and the owners thereof.

7.    This place.  Oh, this place. We were there a number of times. We would go, get fed up with the owners and leave politely. We would go back, hoping they had changed. They had not changed. They are not going to change. They are right, you are wrong, and you'll never know what they know. You'll never do what they have done. You'll never be as good at anything as they have always been, and you just have no reason to think you can breathe their air. All they want from you is the board money, and to tell you exactly what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. The ONLY reason we went back three times I think, is because they do know what they are doing when it comes to feeding, watering, and cleaning the animals paddocks.  I say paddocks because we had our horses in paddocks. They have two pastures, but they are for their horses basically. They have a mare pasture where they had 2 horses and boarded 3 others. One of the boarder's mares was so aggressive I would never have considered allowing my horse to be in the pasture. They didn't care. It was OBVIOUSLY our inferior horses that were not worthy.  Are you getting what I'm saying?

    The man was a former roping champion and he was in his 70s with health issues that didn't stop him from grumpying around, driving his Gator around to spy on you, and tell you how everything you were attempting to do was wrong. The woman was in her 70s, but younger than him, and she told you when you could breathe, how you could breathe, and the fact that she had been thrown over 6 times in two years had nothing to do with her horse or her ability to ride, it was always someone else's fault, and we'll leave it at that. We left. We decided it was in fact, ENOUGH. Their ONLY saving grace was the fact that I could take a skinny horse there from a rescue and expect them to actually keep it fed, watered, and get it fat and healthy. They were good at that. NOTHING ELSE.

8.  This one was a flash in the pan. It was a managed property owned by a man who didn't even know the manager. He leased it, he turned his head. The manager had a mother who also owned a stable in the city. They both did pony-club type lessons and they both refused to let anyone use their arenas if they were doing lessons. They were always doing lessons. There were young girls running the barns who thought they owned the barns.  You couldn't talk to them. They had their headsets on and refused to give you eye-contact. You couldn't complain, no one listened. I left and sold my horse, Laura stayed and her horse was used for lessons again. This just happened and happened over again. We'd show up at night to ride so we could use the arena, and the girls were having parties with boys and alcohol and running around without much clothing in the barns. Nope.

9.    Finally, and this was the last place we were at, the farm that could have been the best and just wasn't allowed to be.  This place was in the country and city, it was over 80 acres and all fenced off into 3-5 acre tracts with one being 8 acres, supposedly to use for open riding. That lasted until a trainer brought her 7 horses over and took over the only real riding area outdoors that wasn't an arena.  There were two indoor arenas, but you couldn't use them if they were doing damn lessons, and get this, they were always doing a lesson! You just couldn't force the owner to respect your time or relationship to the barn. It was endless. If you didn't call the owner right in front of the trainers and scream about it, you didn't get your 20-30 minutes of riding time. How KIND OF THEM to allow us 30 minutes when we pay our board!

The owner decided to sell his place too.  We were just settled in, we both had horses, we were both riding, we were both happy, and bam....he's selling.  He asked all of us to leave, having only his trainers and their lessons there so he could show the place off to any would be buyers. He was and is asking 3x the amount the place is worth, so yeah, it's not going to sell, and we were out again. I just decided enough was enough, and I was done.  While we were there however, we had to endure the theft of our equipment, people chasing our horses for the hell of it, and by people I mean the owners drunken drugged out son with his younger than legal girlfriend. 

    We often came up to the barn after dark, and when the bad trainer was there, she allowed her daughter to have co-ed parties with alcohol; the girls were 15 and 17. Are you serious? We let the owners know because ultimately he could be in trouble for it, but he knew it would blow over and didn't do anything. When that trainer left and took 15 horses with her, he thought she was taking boarder's horses. NO, she had 15 horses and never paid a penny for their keep. He allowed her 5.  Oh...OK....wise up people! Pay attention to your own personal property and what takes place on it.

    So by now you can either say we have the worst luck, or you can pretty much figure out that there just aren't good horse barns to use. If you're not an owner or a manager (maybe a trainer at the barn) you don't have squat to say.  You have NOTHING to offer, and all they want is your money. Hand it over, shut your mouth, don't bother us with details, and golly-gosh, if we're using your horse, stealing your things, not feeding, watering, or caring for the animals, don't get all puffed up about it...just move on to the next barn. That is the collective attitude of these people. 

    There is so much more I could say. I could tell you that the girls having the parties were drug runners too. We were threatened. I could tell you that we had our tires slashed. We had our hay infused with stickers. We had motor oil put into the water troughs. It was just NOT a good thing - - when it really should have been.  I told Laura we can either keep beating our heads against the walls, or buy our own land. I decided to stop the horse thing altogether. I'm just going to rent my place and be on my own. If Laura wants to keep it going she can, but as of this day we are both horse free - - not a good feeling on one hand, but the best on the other hand because it means we don't have to deal with the owners, the managers, the other boarders, the trainers, or the expense. 

GIANT SIGH!!  

Photo Credit: Me.  (Casper)

Not Horsin' Around.

I've crossed that proverbial line -- I've given up my horses. I wasn't going to do it forever, thinking that I was just in a slump financially, things would look up, I could afford to spoil a 1000+ pound animal again, but no. It's over, it's not going to happen here on this planet. I can wait to get to Heaven to have my new and last horse. Done.  I guess that would make Ava my last horse officially. I think that's right. I've had 26 I think altogether, and some I really don't even remember much about them at all because I'd get one and then lose my job, or the barn would be sold, or there was this issue or that issue, and I just couldn't for whatever reason, keep the animal.  With Norman, the one that got away, it was just a terrible mess, and if I had to do it all over again I would NEVER have done what I did. He didn't deserve to be put through the wringer. God has a way of fixing my boo-boos, so I know it's going to be fine. I've been told that Norman has landed on his feet well now, and he'll be in his forever home for years to come. That makes me happy, but I could have handled it so much better. I'll stop beating myself up over it, but still.

     Let me walk you through just using an average range, to show you how expensive it is to keep a horse,  if you don't have your own land. The average rescue horse or auction horse from Bowie is about $900-1500. That's just the horse. Then there are things like quarantine, vet check, teeth floating, chiropractic check and well being, a farrier to trim, transport to the barn, and that's before you pay board. Board in this area is about $350-500 depending on pasture and/or stall, and yes, that's every month. You don't have to do the maintenance that often, but there are shots, worming, supplements for joints, calming supplements and of course there's the tack. The saddle I've listed on Marketplace recently, cost me $400, I'm selling it for $250. The saddle pad cost me $200, I'm selling it for $100. The headstall was about $100, I'm selling it for $50. So you can see where just starting the process can be a bit overwhelming. You pray that your horse doesn't get sick or have an accident. You pray someone else's horse doesn't beat up your horse and cause a vet bill. You pray your horse doesn't run through a fence during a storm, get into the street, and cause an accident. It's just been a roller coaster, but again, it was a wonderful ride. I love and appreciate every animal I came in contact with, I can't say that about the people.

    I typically tell people that the best thing about horse people are their dogs. I mean that too.  We'll go to the state fairgrounds to see a show, watch a parade, or just hang out with dozens of animals that are either showing or hanging out in the barns and when we do, we come across some really sourpuss owners and trainers, but their dogs are usually pretty docile. You can reach down and pet a mutt pretty much every other stall, but often times the owners aren't even worth speaking to. They either know more than you'll ever know, or they've been bothered just a bit too much by the lookers, and they don't want to even acknowledge you're the reason they can show in the first place. It's almost as if they forgot they are the entertainment, we are their audience. That's the show folks, it can be better with rodeo and competition folks, but not always, again it depends, and again, their dogs shine. Dogs always shine.

    I don't even want to think about how much money I've poured out in the past 15 years on the animals, the vets, the boarding, the feeding, the maintenance, the upkeep, and just the traveling back and forth. I don't want to try to remember who all I sold horses to, gave horses to, rescued horses from, or just helped with something that someone needed done and yep, I was their last resort. I typically went, I usually have a soft heart when it comes to an animal needing assistance.  I've driven over 100 miles one way to help load a horse. I think that's the one that I put into the "Nope, just say no next time" category. I've sold horses for next to nothing, I've rarely ever made a profit, and I know I've given away thousands of dollars of tack over the years. 

    Laura and I have been to about 7 or 8 boarding facilities in Indiana and again in Oklahoma. We're well well versed on the ins and outs of the idiots who own and operate barns.  Our friend Ellin Daum in Plainfield, Indiana is the ONLY one who has survived our backlashing and that's because for the most part she did it right.  There was a moment when I was riding my horse and she (a very trained trainer) tried to instruct me on my riding abilities. I remember riding closer to her and bopping her on top of her head with my closed (gently) fist.  She got the message. I love Ellin.  I can't say that about all the others. One left kids in charge. One left kids running around thinking they were in charge. Too many didn't feed correctly, on time, or enough, and there's just so many others who know more than you, do more than you, have more than you, are more than you, and you will never be enough. It's just that way with horse people. Thank GOD, I am no longer associated with horse people. This is it. No more.

    Knowing that we'll have horses (white horses) in Heaven, I've asked God to allow me to have either Bedtime Hero if no one else claims him, or my Norman. I understand fully that Norman is a 15.3 hand tall bay Mustang, not white, but maybe they only turn white when we go into battle with Jesus, who knows? I want my Norman if I can have him again. If God was to be so kind, I would never, and I do mean NEVER let my boy go again. He would be mine until  - well, eternally. Such a boy, such a good good boy. Still, he's a horse, and I was a horse person, and the best thing about me could be my dog(s) Just saying.

    Today I am selling the last of it. It will be gone. I was going to keep the saddle in my new living room, but no. I need to be done.  I will likely not hang the horse paintings either. I'll just give it all a rest and start new with new art, new thoughts, new new.  Memories are great, and mine are. We'll go with that. God knew what He was doing when He made the horse. That's for damn sure. 

NORMAN   (An American Mustang) Photo Credit: Karen Overy

 

A Southern Girl is Gonna Cook For Ya.

 If you're still a single man out there in the big bad open world of wild and ugly, you may want to think about settling down and propping your feet up somewhere that you can call home. Home isn't just a word you know, it's where you hang your heart, and where you can share your experiences and existence with someone who (like minded) has only the best things in mind for you. If you're thinking about catching yourself a good ol' Southern woman because you heard rumors that they like to sweet talk, cook, and go fishin' now and again, you may be in luck. I heard there are plenty of single Southern women running around these parts, and because it's nearly full on winter, they'll be wanting to snuggle up in a cozy quilt after having baked you a few good things to keep your motor running - - if you know what I mean. Go for it! Get out there and find her. She may be looking for you, too.

    One of the best things to whip up in the kitchen that takes literally only 15 minutes, is a big heapin' of mac and cheese. Mind you, we Southern gals don't just throw on a pot of boiling water and soak the pasta, we first lace the water with butter, maybe a little sea salt, and we never forget to drain the water completely just before putting the noodles back into the pan to be dressed.  When a Southern gal makes her mac and cheese from a box, which is not that common, she's at least going to add a few spices if not Caesar or Ranch dressing before she adds the creamy cheese sauce. If she's one of THOSE box cookers that uses the powdered cheese, you don't really want her anyway, let that one go, and wait until you can find yourself someone who actually gives a damn.  

    After the creamy cheese sauce, the Ranch or Caesar dressing she's gonna want to top her mac and cheese off with those crispy little fried onions that everyone adds to their green bean casserole on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and when she takes a pot luck plate to church. You know what I'm talking about. Southern girls know that cooking is a very important part of our comprehensive reputation, but now and again it's not gonna kill someone to eat a dish that didn't take a big fuss to make. Besides, if you can get the food ready in just a few minutes you have more time to snuggle; am I right? I know I'm right.

    Another piece of pleasure and/or Heaven-on-Earth (that you can expect from a Southern gal) is to have her add a bit of sharp cheddar cheese on top of your hot apple pie. Whether she actually makes the pie or buys it, the cheese is going to slap you upside the tastebuds and let you know you're living. It's not every day you see it, it's not every day you earn it either, but if she's willing and you're being rewarded for something, you should just smile real pretty like and tell her she's the best. She is the best. Look what she's done for you already! 

    Melted cheese, spicy sauces, cheddar-topped-pies and even a bit of homemade orange marmalade can go a long way if your woman knows her way around the kitchen -- maybe I forgot to tell you what the orange sticky jelly can be used for after supper...you can guess. Now, when you're over there "guessing" I want you to also be smiling - - show her all those teeth, shake your head and tell her again in some sweet soft whisper (once you figure out what you can do with the marmalade) that she really knows "how to cook" and you absolutely appreciate her efforts to turn up the heat and get the pots stirring. Wooden spoons are optional. Just sayin'.

    I know this has been a really short blog and maybe there's a good reason for it - - maybe I'm thinking of a man I'd like to find up under my cozy quilt this blistering evening; maybe he's a little....hungry. 

Bon Appetite! 

Photo Credit:  Me.

The What If Factor.

 Here we go. This is a good one. I was dreaming a couple of days ago and my mind really stretched out to the fullest and went for a wee vacation.  I dreamed that a particular man at a particular time, from a particular place zapped or teleported from where he was and ended up in my living room, some 4400 miles (as the crow flies) away from where he laid his head in Edinburgh, Scotland.  I can't say from his home because he didn't have a home. He wasn't homeless, but he wasn't the leasee on an apartment, flat, house or cottage either.  He was somewhere in between homes at the time of his zapping! I'll explain in the next few paragraphs, but for now, I will let you in on the biggest spoiler alert.  I believe God let me have this dream so I could blog, so the man could read it, and he could understand for himself how it is that he is currently, and maybe how he should actually be - - if truth be known. Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction - - this was a dream, therefore, fiction. 

    For security purposes we'll not give the man his real name. Nope. We'll call him Wilson. That's a good Scottish name.  Remember, this is a dream, it did not actually happen. I want to make that clear so that no one from NASA comes to my house asking questions and looking over my new smart LED lightbulbs that I've just installed. You know when you do that, when you install "smart" anything in your home, you are putting yourself and the world at random risk and peril. Just sayin'.  

    Wilson, a man in his early 40s, recently divorced, recently finding himself released from jail, having served just under a year for something he actually didn't do, but plead guilty to in order to protect his family, was quite upset that having done the gallant and noble thing wasn't necessarily the right thing to do. While in jail he found himself abandoned by the very one he agreed to protect, she divorced him, and she told friends and family that she may have talked the man into admitting to the possession and use of cannabis in order to protect her from a similar fate, but because of Wilson's past  (he was documented as being an addict as well as having served at least two stints in rehab for suicide attempts and thoughts) he was not taken to a regular men's prison to serve, but he was regulated to an inbound rehab center that housed him for over 45 weeks and gave him 24/7 "care" with homework, expectations of group participation, and the threat of staying longer if he didn't fully confess his wrongdoing and seek genuine recovery.  The problem with that is that he really hadn't fallen off the sobriety wagon, so admitting to something he didn't do was both counter productive and internally hurtful. 

    After serving 45 long, boring, grinding weeks in the facility, Wilson not only had to sign documents that stated he was guilty and now on the road to recovery, he had to start his real stint of sobriety over from the several years he had accomplished back to Day 1. Down the drain; all because he wanted to give the kids a chance to stay with their mother rather than trying to forge a method of creating an income on his own without her being present were she to be rightfully arrested and not him. He couldn't work, he was disabled in a way, (he was a guitarist, trained classically) and he lacked the credit and had no specific working skills other than regular labor. Regular labor would not have been keen enough to support the little family; they would have had to move, they would have had to live penny to penny, and without their mother, the kids, about to go into their teens, may have been a bit more rebellious than the man could physically and emotionally handle. The clever wife convinced Wilson to take the wrap - - he did, and she booted his ass right out the second she found the opportunity to do so. 

    Having left the center, Wilson was accepted rather reluctantly by his father, to share a two bedroom flat on the lower south end of Edinburgh, where his father had lived for years and had been storing and stashing things (again for years) in the second tiny bedroom. In America we call these rooms larger closets with windows. In Scotland a room measuring over six feet in either direction is considered a "single" bedroom.  The room was in fact six and a half feet wide and seven feet deep. The room had a tiny old beaten mattress in the corner, propped up against the wall just so, and a number of boxes, bags, old clothes, piles of useless social worker materials and records which long since could be thrown out. There was a dresser and it was empty of clothes, but full of older papers and things again that could be disposed of, but the day and time really never arrived for his father to "get around to it" so it never got done. Today was that day, and Wilson had started the process necessary to call the place his own room. He may not have much, and what he had may be useless to most, but it was his, and he was going to make it work.  His only real possession that mattered, was his guitar -- that was his. It was good. The guitar kept him alive in rehab. Not that he was able to play her, but he knew one day he would do so.

    Having managed to forge through the wreckage(s) in the tiny room and built the makings of a real lodging, Wilson decided that a new start would only be enhanced if he were able to have at least a few pair of new trousers, maybe two, and of course tee-shirts, pants (what they call underwear in the UK) and socks. He definitely needed socks. The spring and even early summer in my neck of the woods may be warmer, but not in good old Scotland. The man needed his socks.  Calling out to his dad to let him know he would be back, not to wait up for him in case he needed to stop by a take out restaurant to enjoy real food again; Wilson headed off to the Asda, their version of our Walmart. He was on a mission for a few new things to start this new chapter. 

    A little over half way to the store Wilson realized he had left his wallet at home and couldn't possibly buy the clothes and other items without his debit card.  He had lost his actual bank account while in rehab because when she divorced him the wife took his share of the money of course. His father had loaned him a bit to get back on his feet, and this was his new card in his new wallet that he had left in the other pair of trousers that he had just changed out of in order to be a bit more presentable at the store.  Walking back to the little flat Wilson seemed both preoccupied and a bit depressed, but who could blame him? It's hard to start over. It's even harder to start over when you shouldn't have had to put yourself through what he had put himself through. He was mad. He had the right to be mad, so he rather indulged a bit on those feelings and no, he didn't see the car speeding around the corner just as he stepped off the curb.  SPLASH! OMG...water went EVERYWHERE and by everywhere, I mean Wilson's only decent pair of "pants" were soaked clean through as were of course his trousers, shirt, socks, and even his light jacket that he hadn't needed to zip up -- there weren't enough words to describe the deep emotional inner voice inside of him that just wanted to scream "NOOOOOOOOO" and be done with it. 

    Arriving back home more angry, more wet, more or less pissed to the point of kicking anything or anyone that dared to cross his path, Wilson reminded himself over and over again that he was a Christian man, and this was just a fantastic phase, it was a real opportunity to seek a little deeper, to love and praise, to think good things, to send out worshipping whispers, and yes, it took every last ounce of control he had within his body to do just that.  He must have missed his dad, not even glancing to see where he may be, Wilson drew a bee-line to the bathroom, undressed and showered. Allowing the hot steaming water to rush and run over his tired and absolutely irritable body and soul. He wanted to lay down and throw a tantrum, that would have actually felt pretty good, but he just leaned his weight against the wall of the shower and let the water cure him. 

    Dad came to the hall, realizing his son was in the shower, and just opened the door enough to collect his clothes for the washer. I think he may have said something about Wilson being back sooner than he thought, maybe he asked about the purchases, not seeing the bags, and yeah, he took the dirty wet clothes and threw them on top of the half filled basket already in his collected arms. Upon leaving the shower and wrapping a towel about his waist, Wilson made it to the hallway, looking both ways thinking he thought he heard his dad, but not really making more of an effort than grunting under his breath about this or that.  Once in his little room the towel hit the floor and Wilson began digging through the otherwise tiny pile of his secondhand clothes that were given to him upon his leaving of the center. One or two other men who had been about his size had donated the clothes to him hoping to cheer him up a bit since everything he owned had been thrown out by the more than thoughtless spouse. She couldn't even see fit to let him have his own things.  

    Having not accepted any pants from the men, Wilson continued to dig around the pile of clothes seeking and hoping to find his own underwear but not really seeing them - - his head on a swivel, glancing to the left, glancing to the right, and then it happened.  He was literally ZAPPED out of his room, out of his dad's flat, out of his country, out of everything imaginable and there was literally no time between the zapping and the replacement, he was just THERE. Where? Where was he? Good question. He was in my living room, that's where he was, and yes, he was naked. 

    Keep in mind that Wilson and I have never actually met each other. We know each other. We haven't talked on the phone. We haven't been friends. We haven't really even been communicating in the past year or so since he was in the center.  He read my blogs from time to time, and often, to be honest, he was angry about what I had written. He wasn't necessarily a fan, let's put it that way. I had a way of being honest and he had a way of avoiding conflict. He and I didn't have the conflict, no, he had the conflict singularly, absolutely in and with himself about me.  He couldn't understand and he refused to try to understand, that a person (me) could love someone like him without being sexual, and without being possessive. He had a problem understanding that a person like me (actually me) would have a command and/or directive from God (not man) to pray for and to encourage him (Wilson) without the side issues of being in love, infatuated, or otherwise dreamy eyed and upside down with emotion. Well, that would be his cross to bear, not mine.

    Glancing around, still glancing, that one, he didn't know where he was. He didn't recognize the wall art. He didn't understand why the sun was still shining when it was clearly setting at the time the car had splashed water all over his body, and that's when he noticed the digital clock on the wall -- it was 3:12 p.m. and when he had climbed into the shower he remember hearing his dad's mantle clock strike the hour of 9:00 p.m.  What the hell just happened?  It was about this time, maybe what, four seconds post-teleportation, when Wilson realized he was standing wherever he was, butt-naked. Some say buck-naked, but he was thinking more along the lines of butt-exposed-front-exposed naked, that and his hair and beard were still wet. What happened?

    OK, there was so much more that took place, but the whole gist of this story is this; I saw the man standing in my living room and rather than scream and freak out I realized he needed to be covered. I immediately sat down my green tea that I had just fixed and I moved past him, all the while talking to him, and reassuring him that however he managed to find his naked self into my living room this fine late spring afternoon, I was not only going to accept him into my home, I was going to receive him into my home, and the two things are very different.  I managed to find a robe for him that I rarely even use but own, and it did cover him. 

    Laughingly amused obviously by the story that certainly had to be told, I walked into my bedroom, into the closet, and I pulled out a box labeled "Wilson" on the side of it. I had months previously been told of God that I may very well need to prepare for an off-the-wall situation, one that required me to be alert and yes, I had gone to the store and picked up a pair of sweat pants, underwear, a man's XL tee-shirt and a pair of socks. I think I actually bought a 4 pack of underwear and a 6 pack of socks, but in the box was just enough to clothe a man who may or may not just happen to pop into my apartment in need - - and yeah, because God had directed me to do so, I bought the items needed to dress that very man who actually popped into my living room in very much need.

    Wilson stared at me with extreme anger and disbelief.  Because (BECAUSE) I had presented him with the best gesture of goodwill known, he accused me of teleporting him, or somehow having the ability to do so, and it was literally my doing, my fault, my scheming, and my obsession that forced him to be taken from the safety of his father's house to this, a place he would never have imagined to have come to, and to be with me, a person he would NEVER have accepted or received had the tables been turned. OK....so, what does that tell you? He's an ass and I still love him to the point of praying that God will show him that he's exposed not only physically, but emotionally, and he needs to be protected, prayed over, and given what he needs to function. I was the culprit in his eyes, and he was the one God had asked me to care for in my eyes.

    The What If factor comes into play here.  What if I had been zapped butt-naked into his father's home? Would I have been received? Possibly by his father who would have been cordial, sweet natured, and curious as to what was happening, but I know I would have been forcefully escorted out of the nearest door by Wilson.  The police would have been called. I would have been labeled an exhibitionist even though in reality I had been teleported without my knowledge, and into a place where I had no control. The WHAT IF factor comes into play here in that what if Wilson's daughter had been zapped into my house instead of himself? I would have been accused of being a kidnapper, a pedophile, and somehow I would have been labeled a stalker - - even though she was zapped into my place without my consent, and without my blessing.  Now, flip that. He was zapped into my apartment. He was standing in my living room naked. I didn't call the police. I didn't scream. I didn't accuse him of misconduct. He was the one blaming me. Even as I handed him the clothes, and was trying to explain to him that months before God had directed me to not only buy the articles, but to write the event in my journal. I was still being blamed for the actual teleportation.

    My saving grace in this entire matter was that I don't even remotely understand quantum physics and I wouldn't have a clue how to draw up a scheme to somehow transfer a person's body from one spot to the other. Here's another WHAT IF.  What if he had been zapped to another house instead of mine? What if he had been taken to his music producer's house where there is a wife, kids, and possibly neighbors having a block party?  Would he have been accepted? Would he have been received? Cared for? Protected?  What if he had been zapped into the London Heathrow airport? Maybe Asda? Maybe a nursery school?  No!  There was ONLY ONE PLACE that man could have been teleported to and have received the care and necessary compassion where he received it -- and that's with me. Even his own cousins would have betrayed him, taken photos of him, posted these photos and made dreadful fun of him. Given his situation with the recent stay at the center, he could have been rearrested, given 5-10 years for exposing himself and more - - even though it wasn't his choice and he had no control. God knew exactly where to send the man.

    I convinced Wilson to take a seat, have some dinner, and drink some tea. I think I even offered him a bit of Melatonin (10 mg) to calm his mind and take the edge off the twitching and the tightening of his shoulders and arms. He was scared and with good reason.  His phone was back in Scotland, and he didn't know his dad's phone number, but using Facebook he was able to reach his dad and get through to him. His dad called my phone and the two talked for a while about what had just happened. It was decided NOT to tell anyone because he could face legal ramifications for having "flown" to the U.S. without a passport. His father put a box together with a few things including his wallet, passport, and new clothes, clothes his father purchased for the box before sending it through Amazon to my place. Wilson, after three days of being heard, listened to, pampered, fed, understood, and we'll go ahead and say being befriended, decided that I wasn't the complete and utter enemy he may have believed me to be. He once had mentioned to me that he knew I wasn't an enemy, but he didn't feel comfortable talking to me about personal issues. I get that.  What if?  What if I was the only one to really understand? 

    So many of our friends fall off the "friends" lists and the "follows" when or if they get wind of hearing that you've done time for petty felonies and/or harder misdemeanors. Not wanting to give you the benefit of the doubt or even listen to your explanation, an employer will let you go, fire you, terminate you, even ask you to never contact anyone from the company again, just because you screwed up and had to spend a little time incarcerated or maybe on the community services list. You tell your employer you need off to do community service and guess what, you're no longer employed.  Friends and family find reasons to not communicate. Hell, even church members shun you, ignore you, or they put that pious face on and say they'll pray for you, but ask them to hold your hand and pray, and yeah, that's not happening.  What if you were zapped away and taken to the ONE place you would never have imagined being at on your own, and with the one person you've put blame on for so long (because others told you to) that you began to listen to the lies?

    Well...here's the thing; it was a dream.  I know it was a dream, it wasn't real, but I would like to think that Wilson (if only in real life) would begin to understand that I'm there to help, not to hinder.  Since the whole thing was so realistic and strangely rational, I decided to do what I think would be best. I went to Walmart and bought a pack of underwear (XL boxer briefs) a pair of sweats (also XL) and a man's tee-shirt with short sleeves. I figure if it's cold outside and he may need another shirt I can find a sweatshirt hanging in the closet that my son left behind. I bought socks too. I have them in the box, and yes, I even wrote the man's name on the box - - sort of a joke really, but not really, because if anyone is going to be teleported into my house and cosplay as Naked Bearded Man, I really wouldn't mind it being - - well, we'll call him Wilson.

Photo Credit: Tech Co

    

That Nineveh Moment.

 Oh, let's just for the sake of argument say that you're lying there, minding your own business, and God decides you need to do something for Him.  He's God, right? He can do that. He can just simply "decide" that you need to do something. You don't have to do it, no, you actually have a choice in the matter. Jonah certainly opted to opt out, and well - - choices have consequences, don't they?  

    I said that God decides to do something with you - or have you do something for Him. What I should have said was God commissions you to do something for Him; He doesn't decide really, because the entire plan, every last point of His plan, has been planned, has been decided, has been in motion since well before you were born. You were, as it were, part of the overall plan. Therefore, it goes without saying that whatever it is that God has planned for you, with you, and involving you, will in fact take place. You may not arrive there in the fashion you thought you were going to arrive, but you will make it to your personal Nineveh, you can take that to the celestial bank! 

    Let's just say, again, for argument's sake, that God has asked you (commissioned you) to be in the prison ministry. Remember, I'm just pulling this example out of thin air. I'm not picking on anyone in particular, but hey, if you feel the guilt inside your soul when I say that...so be it.  You're laying there, again, minding your own business, maybe making plans to pick up your guitar and strum a few old chords to try and make them make a bit of sense, when out of NO WHERE, your heart thinks a thought and your brain disagreed.  Your heart stated that you should be in the prison ministry, you know it, it's rather obvious to you, but your brain and your common sense kick in and they start debating with your goodness. The reasons and the excuses you find tend to make sense the longer you fight with yourself too.  You haven't really heard what you thought you heard. You haven't really felt what seemed real and poignant. You must have been side-dreaming; dreaming on the weak side of your noggin while the smarter more intuitive side was taking a break...no, you shake it off. That was a wild and crazy thought!

    It may have been a thought, but it may have been the Holy Spirit too. You know the drill. I say you know the drill. If you're a Christian, and you've been accepting the love, protection and blessings of the Spirit for a while, you understand what it feels like to have a word sent to you thorough heart-mail. Heart-mail is that unmistakeable gut feeling that your life is about to take a twist and holding on for dear life is one option, but letting go and giving it to God is the one you're supposed to choose.  Let go. 

    You check again, and you realize that the message was clear enough, but now you have to find a way to convince the spouse; maybe others.  You can't do this on your own. That's what you tell yourself, but instead of putting your best foot forward you end up sticking that foot right up your own ass! Don't you? Well, Jonah thought he could get on that first rate ship to Tarshish too. He had a plan, the problem with his plan, and the problem with YOUR plan is that it goes against the other plan. The one you know you're supposed to do.  (Is it too close to home to ask for an "Amen" at this point? Am I the one striking chords at this moment?) I'm not even asking for a friend - - friend. 

    Traveling by boat would probably have been the method Jonah could have and should have taken. He wasn't standing anywhere near Nineveh when God gave him the directive.  He ended up on a boat, a rather nice one too, but he didn't stay on it now, did he?  His plan to continue his concert tour, write music for others, sing and perform for the masses took a sideswipe the second the ship's first mate unhitched the ropes from the dock.  I think Jonah may have forgotten that it was God who made the trees that made the boat.  It was God who made the hemp that made the ropes. It was God who made the water that held the boat afloat, and yes, you guessed it, it was God who made the first-class whale that came along and carried out the mission that ultimately was going to be carried out no matter what method of travel or personal agenda Jonah may have believed he had the right to adhere to. (This is where it gets a little crazy.  I bet this wasn't Jonah's first rodeo -- he knew better.)

    Let's go back to the prison ministry analogy. Maybe you're supposed to be there singing, writing, talking, communing, worshipping, witnessing, and listening to men give their confessions before God. Maybe you thought you couldn't do that on the budget or salary limitations you were handed. Maybe you thought it wasn't easy to get to all those places, and your car wasn't the best, and you aren't the best driver, and time wasn't on your side, there were just too many things that needed your attention.  Did you forget that God made the asphalt that made the roads? Did you forget that God made the time you thought you could waste? Did you forget that your voice, your ears, your eyes, your hands, your life is not yours but has been bought with a price? Did you think you wouldn't make it to the VERY PLACE you were told to go? You made it. We all make it. We all have our Ninevehs and we all have our Nineveh moments. Some of us learn to swim with the fishes; while others learn to bunk with the bullies, but we make it to the Nineveh we were told to go to. EVERY TIME.

    What now?  Well, that's pretty simple really.  You wait.  You wait on God to give you the word. You wait on God to bring you the service. You wait on God to provide every last detail because that was (and has been) the plan all along. Your spouse (and no one else for that matter) should NOT have a word to say if God has ordained the plan for you. You don't worship your spouse do you? You don't count on anyone else to bless and fulfill your needs. You don't pray to the spouse, you don't give homage to them either. If they were the loving and surrendering soul they swore to be, you wouldn't have to beg or plead. You have a mission - - you will achieve it; one way or the other. In fact, hasn't this method you chose been a bit harder on them than it would have been if you had just taken the path of obedience? Funny, how it works that way. 

    My Nineveh? Oh, I said yes. I didn't argue. I was more than willing to just jump on the right ship and head off for smooth sailing(s).  I have to admit the water has been a bit rough lately since the man I was commissioned to pray for has decided to bulk at his directive, but that's the thing -- my assignment is to keep the router steady. I'm supposed to force that thing deep into the waters and hold it hard enough to cut through the current and keep my eyes on the horizon. My assignment is to steer, pray for, love, encourage, fight for, defend, and sometimes even explain why it is that I just refuse to stop pushing. Someone has to push - - I'm just really good at it; that's probably why God was gracious and gave me THIS particular assignment. He knew (in His great wisdom) that I could handle the push back, the backlash, the name calling, the misconceptions, the skepticism.  I can handle it. I know the way to Nineveh...I've been there a few times. I've never had the privilege to go by whale belly, but I have hit the rocks a few times and skinned up my knees. Bruises hurt; they hurt enough that I didn't really want to do more self affliction. Nope. Listening to God is honestly, and I mean this, the only way to go.

    Sir, friend, you too will be fine. You will make it through. You will shine again. You will be the man you are now, and so much more -- do you know why? Because you are not your own, and God does not, and God has not ever, made a mistake.  Get up off your ass and set your course for Nineveh. You're not alone. If you need help I'm just a few clicks away -- but then again, you know that. For argument's sake let's just say you decide to listen this time. I am the one smiling because of it. God's got this. Let Him fight your battles, He's never lost one yet.

Photo Credit: Etsy

    

Goodbye 2021 - Hello 2022!

 Last year my daughter and I raced over to Barnes & Noble to get new 2021 calendars only to find out that we had to pay full price for them. That wasn't fun. We expected that on the last day of the year we would have been able to find new calendars for the next year at 50% off their regular prices. I can't remember where we ended up, it may have been that we waited a few days and went back to Barnes & Noble when they did have their calendars and planners on sale. I don't remember, but I do remember the calendar I bought because in May 2020 my sweet dog George, a red/brindle colored Miniature Dachshund, had passed away.  The calendar I bought honored and reflected my genuine love for the dog. It was called "Hot Dog Yoga - The Happiness you Longggggg For" it was simply amazing!  Little red dogs doing basic and complicated yoga stances, and the descriptions were too funny.  Oh, George would have loved it.

    So, I grabbed the calendar from the closet just now, after thinking about throwing it out, but not bringing myself to do so. I looked at each month slowly and intentionally so I could reflect on what took place each and every month.  It's amazing what you don't remember when people ask you what happened over the past year.  If I had not written it down on a few of the more memorable dates, I literally would have only remembered people's birthdays, anniversaries and perhaps their day of death. We had a couple this past year that were really sad, but only for us, because each of the wonderful people in my life who passed were Christians. They are celebrating the new year in real style.

    Here we go, what took place in 2021 that is worth remembering? To start off with, I weighed 26 pounds more last year at this time than I do now. Wow, that's a total of 52 pounds lost since August 3, 2020. In early February I freaked a man out (online) when I wished his young daughter happy birthday. Why people don't realize what they post in previous years won't be seen in more recent years and why they happen to think that what they post will only be seen by those they know personally, I have no idea. I think the man has learned a bit about posting about his family. I am glad I could be of assistance with that. LOL...poor man.  Also in February, I began my study for the SIE (Securities Industry Essentials) exam, which I didn't pass in April, but did in December. Good start, rough spring and summer, but let me tell you, the deed is done!! I am SIE certified. 

    In March, besides being my son's birthday on the 22nd (Turn about is fair play, I figure I should let the man get even with me...go ahead Tex...wish my son a big day, we're good) I also started an 8-week course with a great clinic that did light treatments for weight loss and the red lights also reduced my body 8%. It was amazing!!  I wish I could afford to buy the $15,000.00 machine and just keep it here at home and climb into it, wrap up with the light pads and zap myself into skinnihood. That would be a-mazing. I may have to think about getting one and letting friends use it. I started and stopped KETO in April, it just wasn't working for me. I decided a semi-keto thing was better. I do that still, and I'm not unhappy with it. I'm not thrilled to still be 20-22 pounds over what my goal weight is, but it's getting there. I know that when you're older and when you have less to come off it gets harder and harder. One day at a time folks, one day at a time.

    May was good.  I changed banks back to using my credit union where my car is financed. They are closer to home and just seem a bit more friendly. That, and I didn't have to wear a stupid mask to go into the bank. I dropped the others like a hot potato. I don't wear masks because they don't work. When I was FORCED to wear one to take the SIE exam in April I bitched about it, and pulled it down under my nose. It was a sheer and see-through type anyway, but they didn't care. It was a mask. They met their damn mandate. It's all stupid. May also found me looking for teaching jobs since it didn't look like I would be working in finance without the SIE exam being passed. Yuck and pooey.

    OMG...June was cool. I tried Botox for the first time! That's weird for me.  I think I like it, and I'll do it again in a couple of weeks. It lasted over 5 months, that's not bad. I don't have to be beautiful but if I can be I will be.  June found me using the vibration plate more, walking more, getting the bike out, and really just doing more outdoor activities. I gave up the horse, so I needed to fill that time with something else. Walking it was! I was averaging 12,000+ steps a day, eating right, and really just being as healthy and happy as I possibly could be.  I wasn't working outside of the house, but knew I would be in the later part of the summer. I tried to enjoy myself as much as I could, and again, study as much of the SIE as I could.

    July and August were filled with job interviews, working temp jobs for the Express Personnel. I love Kevin, my employment agent at Express. He finds me fun and exciting jobs for sure. I worked for an ad agency, and I worked for a lawyer for a minute. The lawyer wanted to hire me, but he didn't offer benefits and since I knew I was going to go into finance when the SIE was complete I decided not to take him  up on his offer.  I also thought I would be moving to Scotland in the late fall or early 2022, so that was on my mind as well. If I could find a good position in finance there that wanted to help me move to the land of Heather, that was the ticket -- until it wasn't. No Scotland for me. 

    August-September I worked as a teacher at a certain district which shall not be named. I was a middle school English teacher, and there was a problem with me not wanting to wear the mandated mask. I had not only a doctor's note stating I didn't have to, I had a letter from my preacher stating that we, as Christians, are against covering the image of God, and no one cared at the employment level until I threatened to sue.  I was allowed to not wear the mask for medical exemption, but days later I was asked to leave under strange and mysteriously uninvestigated reasons and circumstances. Days and days went by and they had no answers as to why I was being asked to stay home on administrative leave. Eventually in October I was told I would be allowed to stay home and be paid through the semester, which by the way ended about an hour ago.  I am no longer under their thumb, though they still owe me for my last check - - so I won't really say anything too disparaging until I get that money.

    October, November, and December were FILLED with more than hours and hours upon hours of self study in the SIE world. I was determined to pass the test and I was FLAT OUT crushed in November when I did not pass it. I missed it by literally ONE question. When you pass they don't tell you what your score is, but when you fail they tell you. I would rather have bombed it, tanked it, than to have missed by one stupid question!  I took it again a few weeks later, and passed. I knew I knew the answers. I just got nervous during the test. God was GREAT and helped me recall the actual answers. I was pretty sure I passed with a passing score of around 85-88, but I'll never know. I just tallied up the ones I knew I knew.   Other than cramming and forcing puts, calls, options, futures, equity, debt and debentures into my skull's fleshy tenant, I basically worked out, ate well, baked well, played with grandkids and watched OU football.  It was a good year to be sure.

    What's next? What's on the horizon? Well, I'm still praying for the man I've been praying for since 2019.  He's been experiencing a bit of a physical and mental setback, so he's been on my mind and spirit for about six months. I'll continue to lift him to Jesus and see his full recovery I hope! That's #1 in my heart right now. There are no goals really, just to continue to lift him, and hope to hear more from him as to how he's doing.  I passed the SIE and accepted a position with a finance company as an insurance advisor for now, but will continue to interview and seek permanent and full time employment in finance advisory, finance consulting, but I need to be trained to do that. I am now studying the Series 66 and then the Series 7 test guides so that I can pass those and be absolutely desirable for some fantastic investment group such as Fidelity, Chase, Morgan Stanley, Dean Witter, you know, those types. I have my ears to the ground and my prayers to the Lord. It will happen.

    Weight wise? I'll lose 20-22 more pounds, tone up, tighten up, pump it up, and be really strong soon. I'm hoping to get a downstairs apartment soon so I can jump rope and not scare the neighbors. I have to go outside currently to do it. I really don't mind because the neighbors take bets on when I'll stop; it's fun to help one or the other out from time to time if I know what's being bet - - especially if I can get in on the action too!  I'll keep the smile plastered to my face, listen to Celtic worship and Celtic Worship. You have to know those are two different things. I will learn to play guitar perhaps - - and if not, I will pretend that I do.  I'm OK with a little fantasy - - or even a big round bellied bearded one, as long as he's smiling and swinging his kilt around in the air. Woot!

Happy NEW YEAR!!

Photo Credit: Pinterest