Oklahoma City's Asian Market. (An Experience)

 I used to live in what is now called the "Asian" section of Oklahoma City. In 1981, when I lived there, it was just called Midtown; it was a little seedy, not gonna lie, but it was where I could afford a place, and where I learned to keep my mouth shut for the most part (which has never really been that easy to do).  I saw things. I saw things I wasn't supposed to see on 30th street just east of Classen Blvd. I sat outside on my balcony one evening with my good friend Kathy and we watched a man literally pour gasoline all over the house directly in front of our apartment building, just before he torched it.  Kathy looked at me, I looked back at her and we went back through my bedroom window, which was the only way to access the balcony...no, I'm not kidding. I remember I called the police, but it was in the days before you could push a few keys and get them; I had to dial zero (0) and ask to be connected. Those were the days.

    Today, that area has been scraped, refurbished, renewed, and remodeled in most of the locations surrounding 1211 N.W. 30th, but the old homestead (I never called it that) remains as eery and a bit spooky as it did back in the day. Just a few blocks south of where I lived stands the very impressive Asian supermarket that has literally everything you can possibly imagine that you would ever want that could come from the far East. It's amazing, to say the least, and a feast for the senses for sure. When you walk in you immediately realize there's a fresh fish market close enough to be involved if you really wanted to be. Tanks full of fish, crab, lobster, oysters...you name it. You can have it. I don't want it. I just look.

    My reason(s) for going to the market is so very boring to some but so very exciting for me. TEA!! TEA!!! and then there's more tea. I can get so many brands, varieties, flavors, and specialties. They don't have the name brands that one may think of when one thinks of tea, but they have dozens of other brands with loose leaves, bags, sachets, and infused tea. There is a small coffee section, but I'm not there for coffee -- they have instant coffee there. No thank you. I know that it's a big thing in the East, but NO thank you. I was told recently that the best-roasted ground coffee available is from Vietnam, so I was hoping they would have that there, they have so many other things. I didn't see it, but then again, I didn't ask anyone either. I have several pounds of coffee at home, so at this moment in time, I don't need it. I don't need tea either. I have several pounds of that at home as well...several...pounds. I have tea.

    Jeannie went with me, and there's a section that she always finds herself walking through, which is just so dangerous for either of us to go through. It's not that it has a lot of things we could buy, no, it does, yes, but it also has knives! It has open flat kitchen knives of every shape, size, and design...just sitting out waiting for someone to come by and use them on someone. I probably shouldn't say that out loud, now someone may actually do that. It's not my fault if they do. This place needs to put those things away and out of the reach of would-be murderers and/or idiots who could hurt themselves...not to mention kids. I had to get the attention of a sweet but otherwise occupied parent today while their kid was reaching for one of the loose knives!  I went straight into Gramma-Mode and it wasn't all that pretty. I think I may have caused a scene. Jeannie heard me from the other side of the aisle. At least the kid put the knife down.

    Incense is another thing you can pick up at this place. They have tubes and tubes, boxes, and individual packages of the stuff. I picked up a bunch with about 30 sticks for .69 cents. Yes, I did. It's Nhang scented, and no, I don't know what to compare that to since I think most incense smells the same. It was, however, a bit thicker and dense maybe. I lit a stick and it took much longer to burn which caused my dogs, my daughter, and my best friend to question my purchase. I really didn't see anything wrong with it, but I've never been affected by the smell or smoke of incense. All that coughing and hacking...come on people, open a window or something you don't need to be so dramatic! I get it....geez. Wimps.

    I picked up a can of Joy Luck brand Jasmine loose tea for $6.99 ($11.08 on Amazon) and brought it home along with McVitie's Rich Tea tea biscuits, and a package of chocolate "digestives" which are like rich tea biscuits, but they're chocolate and they say "digestive" on the package. Seeing the words "digestive" and "biscuit" when referring to a hard cookie just makes me giggle a little. I do love to pretend, and now my high tea will be complete. Jeannie indulges me as long as she can, but I'll need to nix the incense in the future. We had our high tea at precisely 3:15 p.m. today with the rich tea biscuits, jam, and a bit of clotted cream that I did NOT pick up at the Asian market, I made it myself. It is just such a useless thing to do, but I did it anyway, and we laughed ourselves to pieces over the disastrous mess I created just so we could say we had clotted cream at high tea! There are just some things worthy of laughing over, and my British tea time is certainly one of those things.

    For no reason, and I do actually mean NO REASON, Jeannie bought a few little bowls that one may use for condiments, but I think people in Asian countries may use them for saki or something. They are really little. She liked them but has no idea what she'll do with them. I think I suggested condiments, but she insisted she probably wouldn't ever get around to doing that. Looks like I may end up with them next Christmas; which I won't mind. I can use them for jams, clotted cream, and/or some other spread for my digestives! I know how to do this high tea thing, folks. I am now so good at it...you too may have a giggle if you want to. I'm OK with that. As long as you sit with me and pretend, I don't care! I could sit the Teddy bears up on little chairs...that is not beyond my way of thinking.

    In the end, when we are walking toward the checkout at the marketplace, we came to the bottled soft drinks with the boba bubbles and you know you have to do that. They sell the makings so you can make your own boba tea, and we may do that soon too, but I want to study it enough so I'm not making glorious disasters or embarrassing more than just one continent at a time. We checked out, and we started to walk away but remembered the little cafe on the top of the market that does actually make good boba teas, and it has little danishes and/or pastries as well. I guess it wouldn't be a danish if it was Asian...could be, but probably not. I did catch the smell of rice tea being brewed, and no, I am not a fan.  About two years ago a singer in Scotland wrote or commented about how he loved it...I tried it...he can keep it. NO!

    We ate our cakes, we drank our incredibly sweet tea, and then we had to walk around for an hour outside in the breezy brisk air so we would have burned a few calories before high tea. I am not going to jeopardize high tea for a few boba bubbles, it will not happen.  We walked and gawked at the changes that have taken place in the city where we both live. It's literally only five miles from where we live, but we just don't venture there more than a couple of times a year. I still have canisters of tea I bought a couple of years ago that I've barely opened. I just go because I love the place. The energy is awesome...the produce is out of this world, and you can't, you just can't find better deals on ginger chews anywhere in the world than at this place. They have a dozen or so choices too. Yes!

    So that's it for the day, we had a good time. We drank, we ate, we came home and did the same, and then we decided to walk again, this time taking the dog. That's another Ginger in my life...she's a sweety.  She does high tea with me when no one else does. She isn't much for tea in her cream, so she takes the cream only, but then again, she'll do a few cookies or biscuits without needing to be asked twice. She's my girl, that one!!

Photo Credit: citylifestyle.com

Photo Credit: mcvities.com 

Writing: Good for the Soul

 I have NO idea why I am still sitting at my computer writing when all I did today was sit at my computer and write. I did take a break, and I left the computer, and went to the living room, where I picked up a notebook and began writing longhand! I do that. I so love to actually pen down the things I'm going to flesh out later. It was a wonderful day and it's not over yet. I'll be writing through the evening as well. I'll likely give myself a well-deserved actual break, and take a bath before I start reading what all I wrote. That can't be beaten - - unless I'm rewriting...then, yes, Heaven has another chamber I'll have to investigate.

    For a lot of writers, the idea of having to rework and rewrite the words and efforts made can seem like a chore, a torturous chore, but for me it's bliss. I love it. When I was in school I loved it. I couldn't understand anyone who finished their essay or prose and said, "OK, good, it's done." when all they had done was the first draft. Yep, you heard me the FIRST draft. After the first draft comes the second and you know what happens after that!!  The third and so much more important draft. This one, and only when you get to this one, can you say you have started the essay or the prose. It can't be finished until you go through the third draft with an incredibly thin (microscopic) comb and then you find a thesaurus to help you fill in, flesh out, and override most of the lackluster words you thought were going to stand out and make sense to someone. 

    Writers, if they are actually truly a legitimate excuse for being a writer, will never be satisfied with their work, but they'll succumb to allowing it to be published since there may be a deadline. You can't really be a writer if you like your own writing when it first exits your brain and takes a long dive off your keyboards and into the pool of reality. You must agonize. If you're not agonizing you're not working correctly. It's just that simple. Can you imagine if a songwriter pulled out words from the air and said..."Hey, that's it, I have a winner!!" without ever challenging his or her first thoughts? I can think of ONE song, and ONE song only that stands the test of perfection after being written in one moment.  The University of Oklahoma Fight Song.  Think about it. Genius! 

    The rest of us must see red when we see the blue ink we've spilled on the white papers. We can't say it will be OK unless and until we've swum in it, thought over it, mulled it around, had a few discussions about it, and then, after taking absolutely no one's advice whatsoever, we can make a few corrections before we consider the first draft ready for the next stage. At least that's how I do it unless we're talking blog writing. I just, well, you know what I do, I just type and whatever hits the screen hits the screen. I may use Grammarly because I have to, but I don't do any major readjustments to any of my blogs. Sorry if that surprised you.

    I've been fleshing out the characters and coming up with so many new characters with so many fascinating backstories that I think I'll hammer out a second book after I fiddle with this one for a bit.  I have the murder book to write too, so I think I'll need to squash a few thoughts of lust, robust lovemaking, and Highland hill scenery for the time being, and I'll focus on the mystery of who done it and where is the damn body?  I know where it is, I'm just not ready to tell you yet...he's been dead a while, and he can stay dead a little longer. The pigs can eat swill for now...oh no, did I give it away? Nope...just thought I'd throw that out at you to get a reaction. He's really going to be frozen, chopped up, and then used as compost most likely. I just have to find a way to transport this particular compost from Scotland to the middle of the sea - - without being caught. That's the thing. That's where the thinking comes into play.

    Right after the disposal of the man who shouldn't have pissed me off, to begin with, I'll come up with the 2nd book of Highland frollick since it seems to be a favorite among so many American and Canadian women. Who knew the Macleods, MacGregors, Kessocks, and Campbells had so many fans? I mean yeah, I knew, I've been looking up kilts for decades, but I thought I was just being naughty all by myself. Turns out there are literally millions of us and we're not going anywhere as long as we have a Kindle or an actual book in our hands and can avert our minds for at least a time being. I can contribute. I will contribute. Why not? What I like best about the writing is that it's always going to be MINE. Sure, I borrow ideas. We all borrow ideas, but we change them up, dress them up, oftentimes we dress them down, and then we create a new image for the passage entirely. Bam!

    Writing isn't just about putting words down, it's about knowing your audience, and thinking inwardly to give them what they would want to read. I use myself as a guide for that as I'm a middle-aged woman (OK I'm older) and I have a like, a love, and even a lust for all things Scottish; it's in my DNA quite literally. According to the stats, there are well over 30,000,000 Americans with Scottish blood in their veins. There are over 3,000,000 Canadians with Scottish heritage! Considering that Canada only has 38,000,000 people, that's almost one out of 10 and that's about the same as it is in America. Who knew?  When I write I write what I would want to read. If I'm successful I'll know when I get the feedback. 

    There's a disorder out there that discusses the need or the must to write. I think I have that. I don't write the same things over and over, it's not like that. I would have to say that if I couldn't write I couldn't breathe. I don't have to use a pen and paper. I can use my mind, but I'm not ever going to stop thinking and creating imagines; it just can't happen. Call it a curse, call it a blessing, call it a calling - - it is what it is. I am who I am, and that's what we're dealing with. Until next time, have a blessed evening, and try to keep up!!  I'd say I'll slow down to help you out a bit, but I don't want to lie to you. 

Photo Credit: Who.com.au

Story Lines Rock!! (Of Kilted Pleasure)

 Oh my, I've had such an amazing response from followers and readers so far about the new book "Of Kilted Pleasure" that I have decided to put together the skeleton of the book now, and it may supersede that of  "The Murder Book".  I'm actually writing both books simultaneously, but I've been asked by my youngest, and by my agent, to consider giving the "sex" book, as they're calling it, more attention so that it can be produced faster and so it can be published before The Murder Book.  I am so not calling my romance novel "The Sex Book". It's not going to happen. That can be a working title I suppose.

    When I asked my kids to read the blog I wrote introducing the first lines or pages of the new romance book I had to be honest with them and let them know that there would be moments of intimacy; and/or yeah, there is going to be straight up (no pun intended) erotica type writing; so since they are all adults....crickets.  My son flat refused, saying he didn't want to even think about thinking about it. His mother is not that sort of person, he remembers being told he was found under a rock, and he has not allowed himself to think otherwise.  My 2nd child, Laura, told me no as well. She isn't into sex really, and she isn't really into reading, so there would be no reason for her to read a romance book; it wasn't going to happen.  At least my 3rd child is a reader and yeah, she's rather sensual and sexy, so she not only read it, but she gave me tips! Thank you, Caity! Thank you for being normal!

    Caity actually told me that my book had some Susie Bright potential. That sounds awesome...who is that again? She then told me that Susie Bright is a famous erotica writer and she was one of the first feminist writers with any real power. OK, well that's cool. I used to write erotica as a young woman, and during nights out with the girls, (friends, not my kids) we would each write up a paragraph or two and then try to outdo the other women in the room. Of course, it was a drinking game, but since I really didn't drink, I had to be sure to win so that I wasn't forced to take a shot! I won more often than not, so I guess by not wanting to get drunk I was able to stay sober enough to tantalize and touch....oops, there I go again...tease the others in the room! 

    I'm now in my room thinking up the backstories of the two main characters in the book. The thing is, there are three - - and at one point, you'll have to read it to find out, all three are in the same bed at the same time; only since one is really only a fantasy there is still room for the lovers to move about without being too obnoxious. There will be laughter and there will be mewling. Plenty of mewling to go around I promise. I'll give you a tease: Aria, the man feminine character talks to herself in order to gain access to what the characters for her plays and stories will say. This behavior leads to some interesting conversations let alone bedtime stories (pun intended).  Ewan, our less-than-warring battle reject is several years her junior but finds her too irresistible not to follow her to the secluded glens to watch her. He tells himself he is protecting her from harm. When he fantasizes it is about Aria.

    I think I could get the skeleton written in a couple of days, and flesh it out fairly quickly. I'm off for the next couple of weeks, maybe I'll throw myself into the sex book....what...I wasn't going to do that...and just keep the ball(s) rolling. Stop! Just stop! I was actually thinking of calling one of the areas they frolicked "Warriors Knob"....I still may. I know it's dreadfully crash, but I may do it anyway. There will be plenty of boring, dull, and mundane moments to flesh out the book - - why not spice it up when I can? I will. I haven't been this excited about finishing...no...stop, finishing a book, in a very long time.  You can't see him, but Craig Allan Mackenzie is leaning just over my shoulder with his ticklish two-day stubble and the scent of fresh basil and castor oil soap wafting up into the air, assaulting my nostrils. How on earth is a girl to concentrate with that going on behind her? Nope.  I need to take a break and make sure he's helped back into his kilt so he can travel on down the road for a minute. I have things to do. 

See ya soon! 

Photo Credit: LindaClifford.com  (This is an unfolded kilt or "plaid")

Of Kilted Pleasure (a snippit from the book to come)

     Once more she watched as he removed his plaid, folding it carefully and laying it on the stand beside her bed.  His approach familiar, quiet, and without words.  He held her face tenderly in his calloused hands, his breath gentle and confident.  Tonight, unlike other nights, she dreamed they were in her room at home, laying stripped of their clothes, naked flesh melding into one, as they joined. Often in these dreams, she would find herself beside her imagined lover in a secluded glen, a moor with rolling fields of aromatic heather and the hearty thistle. The last rays of a nonchalant setting sun beating orange and rouge as it began to close its eyes to the day, allowing dusk to creep into her mind's vivid and lucid apparition. He would be with her all night.

    She urged her lily-soft palms as they pressed against his bare and naked chest to feel his heat, allowing him to warm her thoroughly; he could warm her deeply as no man, in reality, had ever been capable of doing. His warrior heart beat steadily upon her skin, pulsating, sending rhythmic vibrations through her wanting form. If she closed her eyes even a slight bit more she could feel each vibration as it penetrated into her very soul.

    Softly, only barely moving his strong long fingers, he traced along the softer form of her breast. Erotic quivers of desire rippled over her, tiny pinpoints of pleasure now vivid on her nude exposed flesh. She trembled with excitement, the anticipation of his hardness pressing inward on her thigh. Gently, he moved his right hand to drape hers to assist her with his desire for touch. She never fought him.

     Was he truly only an imagined lover? Would he ever manifest himself, showing her that true and sustainable love does exist in a world so cruel as to have enslaved her mind to this, her only means of escape from what others would call reality? She had never seen his face fully, he had never allowed it. Perhaps he was just that, an image, a thought, or perhaps he was waiting for her to leave her true and sustainable reality for what would be a better and more fulfilling fantasy; his idea of truth.

(Written by Jude Stringfellow 1/4/2023) 

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Let's Talk About Love.

 I mean to tell you what, (Southern drawl) when I was in my earlies I was not only a fan of Van Halen, I actually dated Alex for a minute. I swear, it was only a minute. You can't hang onto firecrackers very long folks; you get burned! I was young!! It was a moment. In 1981 I had just been hired by Gulf Oil, a major energy company.  This was before I was licensed as an insurance agent, and during the time I was going back and forth to Hollywood to work with and for James Garner...yes, THE James Garner. He was and still is, my most handsomest employer ever.  There's a blog about that actually. I'll see if I can find the link. https://judestringfellow.blogspot.com/2007/04/mr-handsome-my-2nd-favorite-boss.html  Working for Jim I was able to go on and off of numerous studios, and I did. I met Alex and we went out. He came in concert that year and we went out again. I worked for the concert promoter when in Oklahoma, when not working for Gulf, when not working for Jim.  You see, I've always been a good multi-tasker. 

    Love takes on so many faces and it has within it so many angles and depths. I think the Hebrew language has something like 16 words for the word "love", whereas in English we have a few. We'll say "puppy love" or "sweetheart", but what about the love a man has for his father, his mother, his children his sibling, or his friend? What about the love a woman has for those people? What about the love we have for mankind, for community? We need more words to describe an immediate knowledge of what we're talking about when we say "Oh my gosh, I love that!"  We're probably not saying we want to marry it, or spend the rest of the day with it, let alone our entire lives.  We need more words like "agape" which is the word the Hebrews use for the love that God has for us, unconditional love. 

    I wasn't in love with Alex; and in fact, I'm really happy we didn't continue to go out because there's absolutely no way I could have expected him to remain faithful to me or even expect that he would ever consider it. Why on Earth would he? He was young, in a major band, he was touring, he was hot, rich, and all the things the world says and sees as being successful and in control. He was magnificent to hang around with, and I will add that (surprisingly enough as it may be) he was an amazing gentleman the entire time we "dated", which is even too strong of a label to attach. We went out a few times.  It was what I'd call now, a moment in time. Certainly not love.

    I sat in my chair today, the chair I sit in to read and write in my journal or to pray in when I'm not in the closet praying. I sat there with the dog, covered in a wee soft blanket while holding the Kindle. I was just about to turn it on to read the book that was queued up to read, but my eye caught something directly in front of me which couldn't be ignored.  I saw the hope chest that Daddy made for my daughter Laura. He made one for Caity as well. I think he made one for all of his granddaughters in fact. My daddy was a cabinet maker before and after he retired as Regional Chief Wire Tech at Western Union. (Wow, just saying that makes me cry as I remember the love I had for the offices and backspace where Daddy worked at that low-profile building downtown with its amazing capabilities.) My daddy worked the night shift, and he was the one they called to fix circuits during storms - - he was a hero.

    The hope chest is a wooden box with a little relief heart attached in the middle. If you look at the "feet" you'll see that one has broken off, and when we put it back under the box we didn't do it correctly. I think that actually adds to the character really; Daddy would have made us take it off and do it again. He was like that, but he'd be shaking his head and grinning the entire time. He did that too.  I think of the love I have for that box. It's deep and it is solid. It's a love that reflects and transfers the love I have for its maker.  He is my father, he is my dad. He is now a guardian as he watches from Heaven, no doubt applying the same wisdom and guidance he instilled in me while he was allowed to be with us. I don't miss him in the way others may. I am glad he's where he is because he wasn't happy here; not in the end.  I love the memories I have of him when I was a kid. I love the memories I have of him when I was a teen and needed advice. I love the memories I have of him when he would take my kids for rides on the lawnmower or let them "help" him with cabinet building. (They sanded pieces of wood on the porch while he worked in the workshop)

    Love is a very splendid and complex thing. I can love a person without knowing him. I can love a poem without having written it. I can love a dream I will have tomorrow or the one I had last night. I can love and I will love, and if I had anything to say about it, I would wish and pour love onto everything I see, hear, touch, taste, smell, or feel (or think).  I would wrap myself in love if it were possible and I would never let Love leave without taking me with it. I like the verse Corinthians 13:13 "And now abideth three things, faith, hope, and love, and the greatest of these is love."  The King James renders the word "charity" but it is translated properly into the general word for love. Love really is the answer. Love really is the key. Love really is the evidence, and love really is all we really need.  It never ends and it never quits and it never dies, not if it is real love.

Photo Credit: Me. (Yeah, I love Sammy the fat cat too...and yes, I love Amazon and plaid wrapping paper. LOL) 

New Year! New Goals!! Confetti Pretzels!!

 Whoo Hoo!  Right now, as I type this, I am in the middle of cleaning my apartment. I have decided that with the new year, the new challenges, and new beginnings, one of those beginnings and challenges will be to keep a nearly spotless place. It will be more than just a challenge considering I am not the only one living in this space. I still have that red-headed woman who doesn't seem to be able to strike out on her own, nor does she seem to want to allow me to do the same.  It will happen. I will be free from her I promise...until then, the kitchen will feel my wrath on a daily basis! I may as well throw in the dining room since they're connected. Whip up on that, why don't cha!

    The purpose of beginnings is to give us all a head start on the way we want to live our lives. Cleaning is just part of that. I think, and I believe that if I were to keep up with it in a better and more disciplined manner, I would in fact achieve my goal(s) without much effort. It's more of a matter of tracking, and not allowing something to become overwhelming to the point that it doesn't really matter. I get that way with Laura sometimes. I'll clean, she'll mess, I'll clean, she'll mess, and finally, I just let it go. After it reaches a point I just can't take it anymore, she tends to mosey over and push me out of the way as she doesn't like to clean with others. She's a lone scrubber! Fine, be a solitudest, but do it please! If I had a few realistic 2023 goals, the first would be to keep a cleaner apartment, and to get my own place...daughter free. How dull. I know.

    Last night I had a dream or two, and though my subconscious knew that the year was ending and a new one had just started, I don't believe the dream I had about confetti pretzels was actually a dream about starting the new year. Nope. I think it was starting a new something, but not the year. When I looked it up, and I always look it up, the confetti part was pretty self-explanatory. Confetti has and will always represent parties, fun, celebration, victory, and newness. I get that.  The icing-dipped pretzels however tell another story. The fact that the food was a savory and sweet snack, one that is purposely twisted, baked, and salted, has a lot to do with what is going on in my life at the moment. I was shocked to find out what it means to dream about pretzels! Go look it up for yourself, or just follow the link I'll provide.

    Dreaming of twisted pretzels is tantamount to dreaming about finding the power within yourself to stop, listen, learn, and relax. You can now "unwind" because whatever it was that you were fighting or working toward, has been fulfilled as far as you're concerned. You only have to relax and wait. It will happen.  That, and the added bonus and pleasure(s) of being dipped in sweetness, can only relate to the fact that not only will the hard times end, and the good times roll, but that those good times will be wrought with blessings, pleasures, meaningful goodness, and genuine happiness.  Then, yes, to be sprinkled with confetti sprinkles? C'mon! I'm about to have the best year ever both professionally and financially. Those are the two areas I have been struggling with over the past several months. I am just gonna sit back and watch the fireworks!!

    In Scotland, the party is called "Hogmanay".  It literally means "The last of the year" and because the Kirk (Church) had forbidden and outlawed the celebrating of Christmas for about 400 years (can you believe that), the people of Scotland were more than excited to ring in each New Year with what seemed like craziness and endless joyful jollification!! Love it when I can use those words together!  Hogmanay was a time and is a time, of both happiness for the new starts and relief of giving up the old. They literally open up their doors in Scotland at the stroke of midnight to let out the old and to let in the new. I like that. I did that last night. The dog was a bit confused, but she did walk out onto the patio and sniff the new 2023 air for the first time. 

    Goals, resolutions, wants, needs, desires, and passions. What do we all want for the new year? Well, we probably all want pretty much the same things if you think about it. We want good health, we want safety, we want peace, we want to get along with people. What do I do, what can you do, to make these marks? Well, I know for me, the health issue has been lacking lately, so I'll be picking that one back up again. I don't go to the gym, but work out at home, and I walk. I just bought a 20-pound bar to lift and a shoulder stretchy thingy-ma-gig that will supposedly get rid of the back flab and strengthen the muscles back there. I'm hoping!! Here's to hoping. I have two weighted balls, one is an 8-pounder and the other a 12-pounder. I watch videos and lift those. I can keep that up, and I can return to walking. If I don't go to the gym I can go to the mall and walk it. There's nothing like getting your steps in. I can lower the carbs, cut out the sugars, do the right probiotics...you know, the same things I've done but pay more attention to it, and maybe even track it for a minute to get myself back on track.  Holidays...we love them, but they really wreck our conduct!! (that cheesecake was worth it, not gonna lie)

    My job situation is still up in the air, but that's just for now. I have done what I need to do. I have prayed, and I have made known what needs to be made known. I will either return or move forward. God and God alone is in control of that. I have what I need and He always provides. The pretzel in me has seen that the salt has kept me preserved. I am able to know and have complete confidence that I was not at fault, but that I was wronged. God will forgive, and I will forgive. In no time I'll be reporting my celebration, my confetti...my dipped-in-icing moment.  Let God be praised and blessed for the food, the fun, and the comfort of both knowing that this new year is His and this new me is also His. Why would I try to manage what I know I have no power over? 

    Be loved. Be blessed. Love and bless others.  Happy 2023!!  Breathe!

https://www.dreambible.com/search.php?q=Pretzel

Photo Credit: Recipesquickneasy.com

I Won't Be Unemployed for Long.

5, 4, 3, 2....1.  Happy New Year.  New beginnings. New challenges.  With the licenses, experience, knowledge, and skillsets I have, I will be employed soon. If not where I was...perhaps...well, I'll let that cat out of the bag if and when I need to.  For now?  Edinburgh. Hogmanay!

Photo Credit: Stoketravel.com

Free Books are ALWAYS a Good Thang.

 I mean really!! If the good people at Kindle want to give me free books by the boatload, I am more than (MORE THAN) happy to accept this fine giftery and take just about everything I can from authors who have been dead for more than 200 years or just authors who fancy to give their words away. It's sort of a rule, or maybe it's policy, I don't know. I don't argue about things like that. I just went to the Kindle store and typed in "free books Sir Arthur Conan Doyle" and there were so so so so so so many!! I downloaded just about every one of them. I did not download the foreign language editions unless they were written in Scots. I did download a few books written in Scots and/or Scots Gaelic. I can't be happier. 

    It is not just books by Doyle, no, it is books by a lot of people. I just can't stop myself. I may have to buy and register an entirely new Kindle if I go over 4000 books. I mean, I shouldn't actually do that. I know it would be dumb, but this is what Heaven looks like on Earth. Now, if I were actually in Scotland, say in the Meadows, under a Maple tree, reading some steamy Gothic romance that takes place in the 17th Century Highlands with you know...him...well, yes, I would be in Paradise right here on this Earth. I don't care if they're trashy. I don't care if the plot revolves around his muscles, I don't really care if it rains! I'm going to have a backup Plan B, Plan C, and Plan D, but I'm reading about tatty-worn kilts being taken off, filthy black boots being unlaced (slowly), and biceps that are bathed in sweat as often as I can. Please, just walk right past me. I'm fine. (FINE!) What were you saying, Craig? Go on.

    My decision six weeks ago, to buy an Amazon Kindle, was perhaps the most amazingly awesome (too many awesomes) decision I have ever made really when it comes to doing something just for me. Who knew there was an entire genre of tawdry romance books dedicated to the Gothic Highlanders; their mean and ruddy ways, as they forge through battles, and sexual escapades to find themselves nestled on gorgeous purpled moors that go on and on for miles without another human to stop the next vigorous brio from happening? I didn't know. I know now. I am very happy. I mean, I love Sir Walter Scott. I do. I love Rudy Kipling. I'm absolutely thrilled that I can sit for hours on end and consume the likes of Sherlock Holmes, Treasure Island, and the in-depth studies of the Surgeon's Hall, but yes, there are times when the kilty pleasures of my mind will need appeasing. Appease away!

    The All New Kindle is the 11th Generation I think. I'm not sure. It's a different size than the Paperwhite. It has a different charger as well. I think that's dumb, but it is what it is. The Paperwhite held about 1000 books I think. I am right at the limit now if I had to be honest. I think moving over to the All New was a good idea. I have the Paperwhite still, I'm not about to let it go; don't get me wrong. I just have it as a backup and I take it with me if I go places where there may be a chance that I'll end up needing to spend an hour waiting for someone or something. I bring the Kindle. I'm never bored. I may be seen giggling, snickering, and gnawing on my scarf (maybe pounding my fist into the seat cushion) but I am never ever bored...never. Again, just stare a second, then walk right past me. Smile if you need to, but I may not even notice. 

    I blame Mom. I do. I blame that woman because she's the one who brought home trashy cheap novels back in the day. She left a few out and yeah, I read them. I think that's how I found out that a man has a few parts that we don't have...it wasn't long before I realized what some of the words actually meant, and sure, I remember being too embarrassed to even think about asking Mom about it. I just kept reading the books until I figured it out for myself. Never the one to admit I'm ignorant. Best if no one finds out...keep reading. Just keep read....ing. "Oh. My. Gosh....I may never put this book down!" That was me at 15. Yeah, 15.  Before that, I was in denial about such nonsense. People didn't really do THAT, did they? No way!  Oh, OK, what? (giggles...I can't help myself. I giggle)

    The Kindle offers me the advantage of having thousands of books at my disposal and I don't even have to buy them if I go to the free books in the store. I have bought about 200 books, but all the rest are gimmes...just gimme gimme gimme...and hold my bubble bath bottle, I may need to keep reading before I draw that bath. Things are heating up a little over there in Inverness!!  It is NO WONDER that so many American (and probably Canadian) women trek to the Mother Country to visit the Highlands for themselves. It's as if we (they) think or hope that they can spot a rugged hairy-legged brawn of a beast-man walking around the hills in his family colors. Naturally, he'll need to be fully bearded, bare (and bear) chested, and with a neck as thick as a solid oak trunk. He doesn't have to speak. He probably shouldn't speak, but if he does decide to speak....let it be in his native tongue. I knew there was a good reason to join Duolingo and learn Scots Gaelic. I can almost (almost) understand Craig when he whispers. At least I understand him when he smiles.

    Breathe. Keep breathing. Sigh. 

IYKYK:  Craig Allan Mackenzie (or "Craig") is my fantasy husband. I've been with him for over 30 years. He was formerly called "Naked Bearded Man" but this year I decided he needed a name. He has one now. 

Photo Credit: Alyson McLayne. This book was $5.03. 

    

RANT!!!! (You'll Just Have to Forgive Me) Eye Glasses are Expensive.

 NOOOO! You already know that eyeglasses are the biggest scam since college textbooks, right? I mean, you can buy a cheaper textbook, an older edition, and learn just as much as you could with the newer editions (unless we're talking several decades, and if it's Math, you can go that long without buying a new one!).  Eyeglasses are stupidly expensive and here's my rant. Yes, you'll just have to forgive me. If you don't want to listen to me, you can skip the entire blog. This blog is just about me ranting about the cost of eyeglasses and the way I was treated at the vision center in Oklahoma City. I'll let you figure out from that clue who they are. 

    I truly (and I do mean TRULY) believed that I was being treated super well at the vision center that is located in Oklahoma City; but as it turns out I was being (in my opinion) used. I was just another number, and the number(s) are so very very "off" if you ask me. Here's the situation: My daughter was with me in the exam room, and in the area where you pick out glasses. She was with me when we spoke with the lady who orders the glasses for you, and puts the little dot on the glasses to show where the center of your pupil is so the guys who cut and grind the lens will have an idea as to how they will fit.  EVEN when the lady was marking them I remember asking her if she was going for the center of the lens or my pupil.  She said to the pupil. Not so.

    My eyes are not bad in the first place, but there the doctor was testing my eyes, saying I had astigmatism and that I needed correction.  He used a really cool steam punk-looking device to add and take away lenses so he could tell exactly what I needed. He called out to his assistant and told her what I needed. She apparently either wrote it down so very very incorrectly, or he gave her the wrong information after I left the room. I have NO idea, but when the glasses came in (and I'll talk about that in a second) they were way off. They were close to being 3x as strong as my reading glasses, and I see perfectly well with my 1.00+ readers. He had the lenses at 2.75 and get this, he didn't have ANY astigmatism correction whatsoever in the lens! NOPE.  They added the blue-light filter. They added the ultra-lightweight plastic, and something else, I can't remember, but there was NO actual correction and they thought I was going to pay $117 out of my own pocket plus the $175 that the insurance paid. Are they nuts? They must be nuts.

    My daughter wasn't with me today when I picked them up. Had she been she would have given them an ear full as well. As it was, they saw my face. I smiled. I was quite quite polite. I could even say overly cordial.  I looked at the man in the back who thought I was going to be pleased, and I handed him my not-so-worthy pair of overly prescripted readers. I told him I would like to have the $117 returned to my card, and the $275 returned to my insurance company. I appreciated his help in the matter, and I began to leave. Naturally, (you guessed it) he called me back to discuss the matter.  That's the wrong thing to do when I'm pissed. The right thing to do is to smile, nod, and agree with me. Never, and I do mean NEVER ask me to come back and discuss something that YOU (they) have royally fudged. 

    I turned on my heel. I took a deep breath. I walked up to the man and I said with the most reserved voice I could muster "Sir, please don't ask me to say it again. I didn't order 2.75+ readers for $392.00.  I'm not an idiot. These glasses don't address either of my issues. I came in with the need to see close-up without blurring, and I have slight astigmatism. These are overpriced, and they are also misprescribed. I don't want them. Please return the money immediately."   Because I am the way I am, I didn't yell at him in public, it wasn't his fault. He is trained to save the deal. I told him I was also in sales, and I understood his position. I assured him that there was NOTHING he could say to me outside of saying he would return the money immediately, that I wanted to discuss.  I left.

    Earlier in the day, I called to see if the glasses were ready for pickup. I was told they were. I arrived after work, and went to the back, I waited the customary 10 minutes or so, and I was informed that they were being "cut" as we speak. It would be about 30 minutes. That is so not what I was told. I was told they were ready for pickup. Now, I don't know about you, but I am not in the habit of lying to folks. If they were not, or are not ready, someone should have told me that before I took the time to drive to the store when I could have been reading my book. I could have been doing my dishes. I could have been picking my nose! It's MY CHOICE what I do what my time. Let me know if something is ACTUALLY ready when it's ACTUALLY ready, or say it will be ready after a certain time. Is that so hard? 

    Knowing that absolutely all of this situation can be categorized into First World Issues, I do try not to be so blatantly rude or over-the-top upset when there's little to nothing that can be done. However, let me tell you what could have been done.  From my point of view, and keep in mind, I'm JUST the customer, the doctor could have told the assistant the ACTUAL prescription. There's NO WAY in HECK that he would have said 2.75+ when I read perfectly at 1.00+. He could have said something along the lines of 1.25+ with a stigma correction of XX.  I found out from the guy in the back that the stigma was so small that the higher level of the reader would fix it. It didn't fix a damn thing. I couldn't put them on my face without going cross-eyed.  They could have used a better selection of glasses within the $175.00 limit that my insurance paid. The ones they had STARTED at $169.00. Go figure.

    Unless you wanted to look like an idiot wearing the standard military thick black hornrims, you paid extra for your glasses. I paid $117 over the price and you know the frames I picked were middle-of-the-road priced. I don't do really expensive anything. I was livid that I had to pay out of pocket when I could just go to Target or Walmart and pick up a really good pair of readers with blue-light filter for $20! That is exactly what I thought about doing, but I remembered that I can go online to Amazon and get the same set in a box of 5 for $15.00.  NOT JOKING. I just ordered a box of 5 reading glasses, I went up to 1.25+ after trying them on at Target to be sure that would be a better choice than the 1.00+.  I decided to blast the vision center because they could have been so much more professional. If it's happening to me, it's happening to dozens if not hundreds of others.

    While I was there politely taking it out on the poor man in the back, but trying to remember that he really isn't responsible, there was a man standing behind me who said (and no, I'm not kidding) "You know, I was just about to come up here and tell you what I think about this place too. My wife and I picked out these glasses for me and I don't think they're the ones I picked out. I remember I wanted the blue set."  The man I was speaking to spoke past me so he could address the man behind me. He said something to the tune of "Oh, yes, I'm sorry, your frames did break when we were setting the lens. The only set left in that grouping were the brown ones." OK, CALL THE MAN and tell him so! Why should he have to drive up to the store to find that out? What if he HATES the color brown? (Though I can't imagine anyone actually hating the color brown.)

    Anyway, that's my rant.  I ended up just ordering a box of 5 readers that are slightly stronger and since the ones at Target gave me a bit of confidence that the new ones will be just fine, I ordered them.  I think $15.00 is so much better than $117, and I can keep my insurance money intact in case I do decide to try again at another place. The ONLY other time I've ever gotten a real Rx for glasses was three years ago and they didn't listen to me either. They added a bifocal to the outer rim and it drove me crazy! I couldn't use them to read or drive or anything without having depth perception issues. It's a thang. I like to see when I drive. I know, I know, I'm so selfish.

    I hope you have so much less drama when you or if you go get your eyeglasses. It doesn't need to be this eventful. I decided to just bear with the fact that I'll use readers until I can't use them. OH...wait, I forgot, I mentioned to the guy in the back (I don't want to give his name) that if the doctor was wrong about the Rx and my a stigma (because he didn't add it to the Rx) then maybe he was wrong about possible cataracts I had. I told him I may get a 2nd opinion. The man in the back said, "You're more than welcome to do that, I would if I were you, but you'll find that it is so very slight that really, Dr. so-and-so shouldn't have even mentioned it."  Wow...just yeah, wow.  Insurance much?

Photo Credit: Walmart.com

    

Santa Brought Laura a Puppy!!

 Laura told her brother that she wanted a puppy for Christmas. Her dog Yuuki is over 15 years old and though he could go on for a while, he's beginning to show real signs of checking out soon, and to be honest with you, Laura would probably lose it if that happened. She was pretty smart to mention her dog fix to her older brother. 

     It's true that Santa Claus has often been used as a most wonderful excuse for forcing someone to allow them to either give an animal as a gift or keep an animal as a gift, simply by claiming that Santa brought the animal! It works nearly every time. It worked today.

    Reuben was keen to let me know what his sister wanted from Santa, so I was able to connect with a few people, make a call or two, and found a really good source for all things puppy, right here in Oklahoma City.  The dog had to be bigger than small, smaller than large, and to say medium was just too simplified. The dog had to be at least 20" tall so as to walk well with Laura when she's out taking a stroll, but it also needed to weigh under 50 pounds because we do live in an apartment and we don't want to be too confining. Enter the Western Mountain Cur.  I don't believe the dog we ended up with is registered with the American Kennel Club, nothing like that, but it is either a Western Mountain Cur or a Mountain Cur. Both are close to being the same type of cur, but the Western has more of the size, coloring, and marking of the dog we ended up with.

    Here's what Wikipedia had to say about the Mountain Cur breed: "The Mountain Cur is a type of working dog that is bred specifically for treeing and trailing small game, like squirrel and raccoons. They are also used for hunting and baying big game like bear and wild boar as well as being an all-purpose farm dog. Curs are a member of the Hound group, and the Mountain Cur is one of several varieties of cur. It can also be used as a water dog. Mainly bred in Ohio, Kentucky, Virginia, and Tennessee, it has been registered with the United Kennel Club since 1998. The Mountain Cur Breeders' Association was formed in 1957."  (Apparently, the Mountain Cur is the type of dog Daniel Boone worked with and owned.)

    The good folks at the pet store were all too happy to hook me up with names of breeders who they respected and one of them, the one we went with, rehomes for a fee, but the fee is typically given to the animal shelter for food and other things. What good people.  This is their last litter of Mountain Curs as they have had their dogs spayed.  The mother dog is about 8 years old and she is just at or nearly past where she should be for breeding. The father, on the other hand, is only two years old, and he'll be making babies for a minute.

    Laura has a rule about puppies.  She sits in the middle of them and the one that comes to her stays with her, observes, and loves on her the most is the one she picks. Thank goodness I put a limit to only one puppy!  Out of the six puppies that were not spoken for out of a litter of nine, she had three crawling all over her, biting at her scarf, demanding to be loved, and showing her the utmost of attention.  She chose a little boy with a brown body, white chest, legs, and muzzle. He has a black "mask" and nose. He could not be cuter. She named him Tyrian after one of her favorite television characters from Game of Thrones. He will end up standing about 24" tall and weighing about 40 to 50 pounds. So adorable.

    Currently, as I write to you, Tyrian is laying snuggled up tightly in my lap. He's snoring. He's literally snoring!!  He's only eight weeks old as of today and will be celebrating his first birthday on October 30, 2023.  He's the 5th born according to the records, so he's a true middle child like Laura. He's going to need a lot of extra-loving for sure. Not a problem at our house.  He'll be trained professionally for Laura's emotional therapy dog. Laura has both autism and OCD; she requires a bit of extra loving and attention as well.  This dog will serve both as her pet and companion for years to come.  I'm going to be suffering the entire time, as I force myself to love, hold, squeeze, kiss, play, and dote all over his adorable cuteness. It's a sacrifice of the highest order, and I'm prepared to accept the challenge.

    With Santa off the hook now, I'm sure he'll rest easier knowing that Tyrian has Laura's back...and face. He really likes the face.

Photo Credit: Me