I Survived Being Stung!

     Yes, yes, it is true, I have survived (so far) being stung by what I have to assume was a hornet. I say that I have to assume, because I didn't see it! I really didn't see the damn thing when it stung me. I don't know how one misses a huge flying monster coming directly toward them, but there I was, not seeing it. I had gone outside to feed the birds - something I do every day. I usually feed the birds, put out the flag, and check my mail, but today it was a different routine.

    I fed the birds, checked my mail, and then decided to make biscuits. I went back outside to put out the flag, when my eye caught a big rooted stem of what Laura and I call "the weed". It's massive, but since she had cut it down at one point sometime this summer, it wasn't as hard to handle. I went back inside the house and retrieved something to cover my hands. I know sometimes that weeds can be sticky, prickly, etc. I grabbed an oven mitt and proceeded to try to uproot the thing.

    It's not in the ground, but in a planter on the porch; a very deep planter, I will add. I'm over there pushing, pulling, twisting, and not getting anywhere because the roots of the thing are probably swirled around the base of the planter. While giving it a good heave, my knee was suddenly attacked! I did not see it! I only felt it. I knew, of course, what it was, but I never saw or heard it. Makes me think of the Americans in their fancy schmancy machines up around the skies somewhere and how they show up out of nowhere and hit their mark.

    I don't mind being warned, I would have run into the house screaming, trying my best to get away. As it was, I ran into the house screaming and knew I'd been hit! I let Laura know immediately, because I needed baking soda rather quickly. I knew she had some in her bathroom, but was hoping I could find a box in the refrigerator being used to soak up smells, or in the cabinet waiting to be used. I was out of luck. I did remember instantly, however, that when the Kroger delivery truck stops by today, I had actually ordered another box. 

    The bathroom box had to work. We use it to help clean toilets, but I put some in my bath as well. It's a wonderful additive; just so you know. I made a paste of the stuff using a little water, and slapped that thing right over the new red hole in my leg - the one starting the rumble, doing its best to change the landscape of my kneecap from its pastey whiteness to the heated red top that I could see forming. 

    When I hobbled back to the kitchen, I asked Laura for the liquid Benedryl, you know, the one I keep around just in case I get stung!  I haven't been stung in over 30 years, but I still keep the stuff around -- and I'm glad I did. I'm sleepy now, but I'll survive that too. It's imperative that you keep an ice pack in the fridge for these purposes; be prepared.

    I sat on the couch with my ice pack, the baking soda paste covering my knee, and every dog and cat in the house wondering what was happening. They were there for moral support, of course, but absolutely in my way mostly. There, on the couch, I rested. I let the dogs know I was in pain, but I also thanked them for their caring gestures. Kiba licked the baking soda that fell to the floor - but he wasn't all that happy about it.

    We waited the requisite 30 minutes to an hour before saying that I had survived; but I did read one article that says I'm not out of the woods just yet. Apparently, some of the symptoms can show up a day later; diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, and dizziness are the most common. I know why my head is swimming a bit right now, but that was self-inflicted. I gulped down a good swig of Benedryl! (well, CVS brand, but still) Laura and I know a lady who, after being bitten by some exotic bug her body wasn't immune to, died! This isn't that. The thing is probably very native to my home state.

    After being bitten by killer insects as a kid, I still remember the baking soda and ice pack thing. I wasn't stung that many times, but I remember one or two of those times, and the old remedy still works. I'll keep an eye out for anything other than the redness, puffiness around the sting area, and so forth. I've removed the ice pack and as my knee returns to its normal temperature, I am feeling little tingling in the red spot, but nothing too intense.

    AAHHHH...I guess I can garner a lot of little lessons from this. (a) keep baking soda handy at all times (b) keep an anti-allergy drug in liquid form (c) don't pull up roots that you haven't Googled for things that may call them home, and of course, how very grateful I am for my daughter and animals who immediately jumped into action to assist. I am blessed.

    If I do see one of those flying beasts, I'm taking my revenge.

Photo Credit: Oklahoma Magazine.

El Reno, a Hidden Memory.

     My mom is 90 years old. I remember when my grandpa was 90 and when my grandma was 90 - she lived to be 99, actually, and I hope Mom does as well. My mom lives in a city not too far from me, but circumstances keep us from seeing each other in person. I won't go into that, but I do have a chance to call her. She calls me too, and we try to have good talks. She enjoys it when I ask her questions about things, which makes her recall specific stories. 

    Today, I called her to ask her about where all of our animals came from because I knew a lot of them were in our house, because I brought them home, but before I started doing that, around the age of 9 or 10, we had a few dogs, so I asked her where they came from. To my surprise, and I really mean that, one of my dogs, a big, beautiful, full-blooded German Shepherd whom we called Lady Wayne, came from the same adoption center where I bought one of my dogs after I grew up! That was really cool. The center wasn't the town pound, it was an adoption place then, in 1970!

    Well, she liked talking about the old stuff, so I asked her if she had been out to El Reno much, because I love that city. I have a deep love for it, and she said, "Well, I think I know why." Tell me! She said that twice, when I was a kid, really young, under the age of 6 or 7, she and my dad took us kids out to the lake in that city, and once she and I went to the city itself to get groceries to take to the lake. She said I loved the city streets, the brick streets, the old buildings, and that I wanted to live there.

    I don't for the life of me remember the day itself. All of our lake stories seem to blend into one another. We swam in the same lakes we fished in, and we ate what we caught. I remember opening my eyes under water, and yes, it was red, dirty, muddy water, but I didn't care. One of my swimsuits, I recall, changed from pink to a red-brick color after a few trips to one or the other lakes. Lakes were free to swim in, and my parents couldn't afford to send all four of us to the public pools.

    We went to all the lakes and bigger ponds all over the central and southern parts of Oklahoma, and into Arkansas, where my daddy's family was from.  You really can't do that sort of thing now, not with all the pollution and craziness surrounding the lakes. Homeless camps have sprung up around them, and rangers can't always force people to obey the rules. There were transient people in the 60s and 70s, sure, but they weren't like they are now. It was a completely different time.

    I bet you anything that my mind drifts back to El Reno and Lake El Reno, and I remember more than I remember that I know. I can see that being the case, because when I sold insurance out that way years ago, it was as if I knew the downtown area, the streets, and the landmarks. I never knew how I knew, but now I do know. I had been there before. There was an old corner burger joint that we used to go to, and the one thing I remember was that it was down the street from where an old train depot was; I loved listening to the trains coming and going. We could hear them whistle at the lake, but we could see them in town.

    I don't believe there were any passengers riding the trains in my youth because if there had been, my mom would have found a way to take us on the train now and again. She loved trains. I remember that, and have no memory of her actually riding one. She and my sister were able to do it when we got older, but it was to Watonga, because I remember they got off the train and bought Watonga cheese! How fun. 

    So, it stands to reason, and it all makes sense, that my love for the city I may (hopefully) end up in came from a time when I was forming my life memories. Mom told me today that she and Dad considered moving us there, but they were concerned that the school system lacked a well-developed program for students with special needs, particularly for one of my siblings. That's another interesting thing; we never knew they considered it. As kids, we didn't know, so we never talked about it later. It was a parent thing - and since we didn't move, we didn't talk about it. When I mentioned El Reno today, and that I am looking at homes there, it clicked! 

    Well, do what you need to do, and what you want to do. Remember to love one another, and to ask questions. The old folks won't be with us forever -- but while they're here, squeeze all the love out of them that you can.

Photo Credit: Linda McKinney (my sister) - Mom, Becky Stringfellow, born in Thrift, Texas, but raised in OKC.

Amicus Curiae - 1/3 Done.

     It is just after 4:00 p.m. on Monday, August 4th, and I am one-third, roughly, about 32% done with the book "Amicus Curiae". I took off work today to write three more chapters. I knew I needed to. I had the action in my head and needed to get it out onto the white screen of the Word document. It's really starting to take shape. I've written what I wanted to write, I've done what I set out to do - and now, I drink water. I've been working too hard today and realized about 10 minutes ago that yeah, I need to hydrate.

    Nick's family is in Scotland, as is his friend and business partner Eoghan MacRae. 

Photo Credit: Adobe Firefly: This is what Eoghan MacRae looks like.  Close enough.

Pink Salt Diet - Bunk (in my opinion)

     Five years ago today, I weighed exactly what I weigh today, and that's not a good thing. I weighed so much, on August 3, 2020, that when I rolled out of bed, I felt so badly about myself that I took it upon myself to be the warrior I needed to be, and I forced myself to do something about the fat I hated, and I wasn't nice about it. I told myself I was heavy, too heavy, and I would eat correctly, drink the water I needed to drink, exercise, and I would make my body do what science said it would do. Let me say this: it worked.

    Two months after I began, I had lost enough weight, enough pounds, that I continued my fight against fat, and I didn't let up. If anything, I doubled down. I made more time for walking, less time for eating, and I put myself on a very strict diet of what I felt was healthy and nutritious. I did not, did not, did not, starve myself. I didn't give up sugar; I just reduced it. I didn't give up carbs; I just reduced them. I didn't give up drinking alcohol because I didn't drink it to begin with.  I never have really.  

    Today, being the same weight I was, I had to think back on the past five years and show myself what it was that happened, and where it was that I went off track - it happened. I'm right back to where I was. Naturally, to avoid yo-yoing back and forth, I began exploring the various ways people choose to lose weight today, as opposed to 2020. I see too many advertisements for Ozempic and other drugs. I see all the AI-generated celebrity commercials touting the pink salt diet, and I know enough to know that putting a bunch of salt into your system is stupid. Do not do it!

    Why spend $$$ on a drug that hasn't been tested long enough? Didn't we find out that the COVID-19 vaccine was useless, and in fact harmful? It wasn't tested very long, and they were rolling it out, begging us, even paying us to take it. You have to wonder about anything the government is forcing people to use or take without testing and without first knowing the results or effects of it.

     The same can be said for all the superfast remedies they're claiming to be effective. A woman on the air claimed to have lost 28 pounds in just two weeks. Honey, if you can say that, you're both a liar and a fool. Taking anything into your body that could cause such a dramatic change is foolish - and probably dangerous. (Besides, i hate it when I click on  a link to learn about a product and 30 minutes later they're still giving their personal backstory about how they found the miracle cure.)

    Having surgery to remove fat would be fast and effective, but the aftermath, including the healing process and the routine you'd need to keep up, isn't quick. That's expensive, life-altering, and very few people can do it. So, where did I go wrong? How did I end up right back where I am today? I can tell you the exact day it started. It was July 15, 2024. I was literally quite healthy, happy, and trim right up until that time, and for a while longer, but over the next year, from the time I first hurt myself, I grew larger and larger, and not being able to exercise didn't help. I should have seen it. If I can't exercise, I don't need to eat as much as I did. The portions were growing, and so was I.

     On July 15, 2024, my daughter and I moved from an upstairs apartment to a house. We did most of the move ourselves, and that's where things went wonky. I should never have believed that saving a few hundred dollars was worth the stress and strain I put on my knees, back, shoulders, and neck. My entire body paid for that mistake, and it will never have to go through that again. I can assure you that.

    I woke up today. I recalled the date from five years back, and I knew something must be done. I have almost recovered from my injuries, but the year-old comforting and overeating to make myself feel better was another huge mistake. It has cost me, and I have to set down the laws again, not only with myself, but with the truth. I'm not 58, I'm 63. I'm not young, I'm not healthy, I'm not as mobile as I was, and with my sciatica ramping up the way it does because of my injury (I missteped a stair and really did myself in) I have less opportunties to walk; to do what I did before to lose the 57 pounds I had lost before.

    You see famous people touting the pink salt thing. You hear how they lost weight, how they kept it off, and so forth. It's not true.  Your body (ask your doctor) wasn't made to take in that much sodium. Baking soda has zero nutritional value and will not kickstart your metabolism. Read! Google it! Study, don't listen to some washed-up talk show host who has the money to get the surgeries. Do your own homework! Cheyenne pepper is great for seasoning, but can burn a hole in your gut if you overuse it. Don't overuse it. Ginger is strong too, as is apple cider vinegar; the acids are what these people are banking on to drive out stubborn fat. It just doesn't work that way.

    The older we get, the harder it gets. If the goal is to be svelte and look like you did when you were 22, that's not a good goal. It's not realistic, and when you fail, it can only hurt you. Instead, be realistic. Be truthful, thoughtful, and honest with yourself. Become aware of the foods that help and the foods that hurt. You may have developed an allergy to some foods over time, and your body could be pre-diabetic. Talk to your doctor before doing anything crazy. Let them know what you want, and work together to make it happen. You deserve it; you're the only you you'll ever be.

    So, long story short: I'm pitching the empty calories, which will save me 400-600 calories a day at least. I'm not drinking anything caffeinated (a little green tea) and I'm adding more water, more protein, more good carbs, fish, and veggies to the mix. I love carrot juice, so that will have to satisfy the sweet tooth in my head. Grapes are great too, but they are apt to get in the way of my overall goals. I want to lose the weight, but not to model a bikini; nothing so dramatic. I want to get out of bed...not roll out of it. Believe me, there is a difference.

    Be kind to yourself, you are the best friend you have.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com 

Amicus Curiae -The Characters.

     It is kinda weird to think that this time last week the book hadn't been started and now, I'm down six chapters. I could have written more, but I don't want to rush it. I have the whole book lined out already, and I know what's going to happen, but I don't want to rush it. I enjoy getting there - going down those streets, through the alleys, and breaking through the doors I need to break through to get to the meat of the matter. I can't help myself, I truly love writing these Posh books. 

    I have been using AI for a few things over the past couple of years, and one of those things is to come up with picturesque concepts of what the characters of my books look like. I use Adobe Firefly. I love all things Adobe. I love creating, using, watching, and just learning. It's a wonderful format and/or place to hang out. I could use it to make the covers of my books, but I know how to use Canva for that, so there you -- my true nature. I'm a stubborn old coot.

    So, I went to Adobe Firefly, did the expected tasks, and put information into the generator, asking it to come up with images of this or that person. I tried to be as specific as possible; the more information you provide, the better the image will be, or the chances of it being great are increased.  I could NOT be more satisfied with Nick Posh! I'll post him here for you. I'm still working on Ralph Ferguson, Ama, and Elaine, but I have Eoghan MacRae down pretty good. He's a lot like the images I find for my mysterious and fictional husband from the 13th Century; of course, Craig Allen Mackenzie wears his kilt differently...if he wears one at all!

    I love the stuffings out of Adobe Firefly, but there was a moment when I wondered if I'd like it. However, after it did what it did...I like it even more.  I asked AI to make Alistair, the Posh's young son. I wanted to see what the computer thought he would look like. To my surprise, it wouldn't allow me to make a child. Oh...well, OK, that makes sense really. I hadn't thought about what other people would ask AI to do -- I'm over here being cool, but some people have sick minds doing really sick things. I am not one of those people. Good job, Adobe!

    After completing the 6th chapter of my 19th book today, I sat back and looked at my characters again. I like some of the ones I've created, and I'll work on the others. I'll see if I can add them to the books to give people a hint of what they should or would look like, but then again, I don't want to force someone's imagination to do what it should do. Freedom!! I just love the fact that I can play with my mind and never be alone. First, I have these people in my head talking to me. Now, I can print them out and talk to them if I need to. They could be printed out, or halograms...yes, the world is a really wonderful and often scary place.

    Writing is the best job and/or activity ever.

Nick Posh - or a close facsimile.  Photo Credit: Adobe Firefly.

Amicus Curiae - Chapter 3 is Done!

     I wrote three full chapters of the new book today. I'm just over 6200 words, and I thought to myself, there is no way students can say they can't come up with a 500-word essay over a week or a week and a half, depending on when I would assign it. I wrote 6200 words in about four hours, I think. I did a lot of research beforehand, yes, as would any student, but to say they can't type out 500 measly words is just preposterous.  People who want to write will write. People who get into their games and chat with one another are no doubt writing a great deal more than 500 words during their time together. People are lazy. I'm convinced of it.

    OK, so Chapter Three of the new book is done. I've got another 30 to go, and if I keep to the same pattern as I normally do —writing about six chapters a weekend —I should be finished by the end of August. I'll have the book prepped and ready to be sent off around Labor Day. When it's returned to me around September 6 or 7, I'll read it again over the closest weekend to that and have the book ready for publication to be sold on or about September 15, at the latest, the 22nd.

    I like putting books out on the 22nd because it's my favorite day of every month. I was born on November 22; my bestie was born on June 22. My son was born on March 22, and my father was born on April 22. My dog Faith, as well as my favorite singer, Maurice Gibb (and his twin Robin), were born on December 22. My nephew and my niece's father were born on the same day, August 22. I'm sure if I thought about it, I could find other things that took place on another 22nd. For instance, the book "Cask" was published on July 22. 

    So, the new book, which I've titled "Amicus Curiae," is shaping up. I have the notes written out, not the outline. I wanted to write a few chapters to get the ball rolling, and now I'll write out a feasible outline to see where it goes, in which particular direction. I know what will happen, but I like to get it all lined out so I know the path(s) to take.  I'm writing with the AI again. I tell it what I want to say, it spits out a few things, I think about them, use what I think sounds good, but I won't let it write the entire book for me. That wouldn't be fun.

    I enjoy writing with the AI because I have a certain thought about something, and it will add color to it. I reject it, saying I like this part but not that part, and it spits out an alternative or two. From that, I can pick it up and remaster the next few paragraphs. I tend to want to add adjectives, and I think I want to do it, and then I realize I could be overdoing it. The AI lets me see and read what seems reasonable and not overdone.

    Right now, in the first few chapters, I'm laying the groundwork. You have to get the characters in line, show them which direction you want them to go, and then, after you set them free, you watch, listen, play with them, think it over, change your mind, and call them all back to see if they have any input. Most times they do. I love conversing with the characters that way. I even talk to the dead ones to see just how much they knew about their killers. (Ducky Mallard from NCIS taught me that) - fun times!! 

Photo Credit: Me

Nick Posh Line Up.

     A man I work with, and who has made an appearance (sort of) in one of my modern books, a drama titled "Dion", asked me recently how it is that I know what it is that I'm going to write in the future. He said something like, "People write a book and it takes years to do it, but you've written six or so this past year that I've known you.' I don't get it. How do you do that? How do you know what you're going to write?" Well, I have the good answer to that, but when I told him he wasn't sure I was sane - he may be right.

    I told him I have voices in my head that talk to me all the time. I listen to them, and I see which voice is the loudest, or the more persistent, and that's the next book.  As it stands, Nick Posh, the American Detective from the 1930s (now, he'll progress), is the one who shows up more than anyone else. He's inside my brain, living rent-free, and has for well over twenty-five years. Now, my sweet Highland husband, Craig Allen Mackenzie, also lives in my head; he talks to me, but there's no way I could write down what he and I discuss.

    So, I thought I would run through what is now, to date, the lineup for the Nick Posh books. I think I have something like 14 or 15 planned. I've written 6 so far, and will start the 7th, in earnest, tomorrow. Let's see how it goes:

1. Murder Book  (June 1929 to Jan 1, 1930)
2. Pinball  1930
3. 1211  1931 or so
4. Mesa 1932
5. Stratford 1933
6. Cask   (Early 1934)
7. Amicus Curiae (March 1934 to June)
8. Heir (1934 June to August)
9. Shadow (September 1934 - March 1935)
10. Boom (March 1935 to July 1935)
11. Stollen  (late summer 1935- end of year)
12. Kingdom  (January 1936-May 1936)
13. Deathmask ( June 1936 - January 1937)
14. Dance (Spring 1937)

    So there you have it, 14 Posh books. I'm writing #7 now. It will be a couple of years before I finish them all. I have other books in my head too; romance novels, dramas, and more, but Posh is feeding me with stories about his life, his love, his antics, and what happens, and I can't simply ignore him. If I try to somehow pack him away inside my head or force him back with other thoughts, he shows up out of nowhere and demands my attention.

    For the life of me, I can't understand why I let so much time skip between the books at first. I shouldn't have done that, but I did. I may go back and change the timelines on books like "Dance" and "Boom." I may have them use flashbacks as a means to explain it all -- "Dance" is that way for sure. It is a book about Nick's life before he joined the army, before he became a cop, and before he became a detective.  "Stollen" uses flashbacks to explain things, but I think "Boom" and "Dance" will take place in the past.

    

    I don't want to get too far up the timeline - Alistair will grow as the books get written. He can't remain a pre-teen forever. He'll take over more and more pages, and eventually, Alistair will go to law school and begin his life. I haven't decided yet if he'll stay in Oklahoma or move back to Scotland. We'll have to see how it all plays out. I know what Nick wants. He wants his son to stay innocent and carefree - don't we all wish that for our kids?

    

    Well, that's how I decide. I have help. I have the ideas, the thoughts, the voices, the playbook, actually, and before I actually outline anything, I ask what would logically happen, and if I can get it straight, I try not to screw up the timeline too badly. I can't even remember when Nick and Elaine's anniversary is. They didn't get married until either "Mesa" or "1211" -- I'll have to go look. Alistair was 7 or 8.  They're about to have another baby, but Elaine won't go into labor until "Heir" is released. 

Photo Credit: Stockcake.com

Canadian County Historical Museum in El Reno, Oklahoma.

 If you've been keeping up with me, you may know that I love the city of El Reno, Oklahoma, and I may actually end up moving there in May of 2026. I may end up in Yukon, which is just 9 miles east of El Reno and 6 miles west of Oklahoma City, but I'm hoping I can get a good deal in Canadian County's seat, which is El Reno.  That's the plan, but if it ends up being Yukon or even Mustang, I'll be one happy camper. It really is a lovely, quieter, nicer place to live, and I'm looking forward to it. (not moving, but living there.)

    Today, I visited the Canadian County Historical Museum, located in the historic Rock Island Depot in El Reno. There are several buildings in the museum, and I went into three. I was going to go into them all, but I want to save something for when Jeannie can go with me. I'm sure we'll go again sometime soon. If you're in the area, it's only $5 and it's worth every last penny!

    I am not kidding when I say I took over 300 photos today of the wonderful collections from so many people and places. It was amazingly interesting from the standpoint that all of what I saw took place years and years ago, and it literally occurred on the grounds and surrounding areas where I was standing. I love a good museum, and this one does not disappoint. If they had a building 3x as large, they could fill it up with all the things crammed into that one, and no doubt do each exhibit justice. I would love to fund that if I ever get rich enough!

    I went through the depot, and I went through the red barn. I'd love to upload all the photos somewhere and provide a link to them, but to be honest, you really need to visit there yourself to see everything. I bought a coffee mug for $5! You can't do that in most places. I will say that the place is dusty, and if they had a dozen workers or volunteers, they could keep it a little cleaner. However, there are only volunteers there, and I assume the county dusts it from time to time. You'd have to be really careful with so many of the exhibits.

    One of the main reasons I went today was to gather as much information as possible about what Nick Posh would have seen, heard, used, or experienced in 1934 in El Reno. I saw many photos of children wearing overalls and little frilly dresses. I saw something I guess I never knew existed, and that was a carpet sweeper; the type you push. I don't know why I never knew they existed before the 1970s! They did.

    There is an old hotel there, but I couldn't go up the stairs. My sciatica was killing me, and I just couldn't force myself to do it, not safely. I wish I wasn't old and breaking apart, but as long as there is breath in me, I will praise God that there is breath in me!  Speaking of that, I came across an old 1919 autograph book with people's names and sweet sayings inside. You didn't just sign them, you wrote notes, really kind things to people. One of them was a hymn from around the turn of the 20th Century. It's a lovely song, and someone wrote the refrain in the autograph book.

    "Living, He loved me. Dying, He saved me. Buried, He carried my sins far away. Rising, He justified, freely forever. One day He's coming, oh glorious day!"    

    To see that written in ink over 100 years ago, in an autograph book in a museum, simply made my day. I know someday I'll meet the woman who owned the book, and I'll tell her I appreciated her faith. So many days, nights, lives, and stories are wrapped up inside each of the exhibits. Cowboys, Natives, children, grocers, rail workers, soldiers, and so many more. Canadian County hosted (and still does) Ft. Reno, and the Rock Island railway. It's known for having been the place where onion burgers were invented, too! Such diversity.

    No matter where I end up moving, I will always cherish El Reno and love its history, present, and people. I will likely be seen wearing an El Reno Indians sweatshirt rather than a Yukon Miller's sweater, but that's a preference thing; it goes back to when I attended Putnam City West. Yukon was a rival; El Reno was not.

Photo Credit: Me

Why I am an Author.

     When I was a kid, and by kid, I mean when I was under the age of readability, I was a storyteller. I told whoppers! I don't really remember the stories, but I knew who told me their start and who helped me with the middle and end when I needed. It was my dog, Rover. Yes, I really did have a dog named Rover. I didn't name him that; he was named by my sister Andie. Rover was a little younger than me, but wise; so much wiser than I was. He knew things; told me things, and I was to tell my mom. That was his game all along. He wanted something, so he'd tell me, and I was his patsy.

     I decided at a very young age that I would write Rover's stories and try to give him credit, but he wouldn't have it. He insisted that the stories I was telling were my own.  It took me a while to understand, but I assumed correctly that my dog was actually an operative for the Central Intelligence Agency, and he simply didn't want to be outed. He didn't mind if his stories and tales were told by another; it wasn't about fame for him. He wanted the intel out among those who needed to know. 

    Rover, a mixed-breed Beagle and Dachshund type, convinced me that I should be an author, not a writer. He told me that writers write, but authors auth - and they are loved and admired for their craft. A writer, he said, would be employed by someone, whereas an author would be self-motivated, self-employed, and free. He told me, of course, that authors put the free in freelance, and I absolutely trusted his knowledge on that particular piece of brilliance. 

    Doctors, Rover told me, have too many duties; they are expected by too many to do too much, and though yes, it paid well to become one, it wasn't worth it. Take the whole wearing clean underwear thing, for instance. Doctors, I was told, are responsible for checking and seeing if a patient is, in fact, wearing clean underwear when they come into the office. There was a box on the form that had to be checked one way or the other; I did not want to do that. I refused, in fact. 

    I told the dog, my dog, I told my dog Rover, that I would hire nurses to do that job! They could tell me, or just check the appropriate box, but I didn't want to check myself. You can bet, however, that I always wore clean underwear if I ever went to the doctor's office. My mother had a lot to do with that chore, I'm sure, but nevertheless, the fact remains that I wore a clean pair every time, and my boxes are all checked if you go back and check the records from the early 1960s. Done!

    Rover passed in 1978, at the beginning of the year. He was just over 15 years of age. Wise to the end, that one. I was just a teen when he decided he could no longer stay with me, but he was precious enough to tell me that when I grew up, as he knew I would, he knew I would write. He told me that my imagination had grown considerably since the days he first began to train me. He told me that when I would fall asleep each night, he would read my journals, and he could tell that my skills and talents had improved. He made me feel worthy and wanted, even appreciated.

    So, when I finally did grow up and decided to go to college, I did not take any medical training courses; not for me. I was into English Literature, Creative Writing, anything dealing with words, not instruments or math; math was nothing but a four-letter word in my life! There may or may not be those who could have benefited from me becoming a physician, but I can't help that. I believe my chosen profession has its merit! I am an author, and though I do other things to make money to pay my bills, it is the authing that I prefer to do. 

    Thank you, Rover. I will see you when I get there.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com...this isn't Rover, but he looked a great deal like that.

The Battery Challenge

     I drive a several-year-old Nissan, and I like it. I won't sell it because, after six years, it has only 49,000+ miles on it. That's a little over 8,000 a year, and to be honest with you, about 12,000 of those miles were done in three months that my son drove the car.  I go to the store and back. I take the occasional drive to the countryside. I don't drive very often. When my friend and I went to El Reno, a city just outside of OKC (20 miles), we had to drive home in a torrential rainfest. The entire way home was scary...and I mean, SCARY.

    My little car, I call him Stephen, was such a trouper. He just really did me proud, and with God's grace, we managed to get home. The rain and floods did their thing, and Stephen was forced to get his underbelly reattached or tightened; and I had to change out the filters and get a new battery - but thank God, we were OK. The car sat up pretty high, but the water was insistent, and it was persistent too. I thought we'd end up flooding it or doing whatever happens to cars that drive through water -- but it didn't happen.

    Today, I went to Sam's Club to pick up the new battery that AAA was going to install for me, but they informed me that Sam's Club had the same battery for about $100 less. As a member, I receive the installation free of charge, and they dispose of the old one without extra cost; however, they didn't have the battery I needed.  They had a "like" battery, but not the same. The reason they didn't have the same is that around 2023, the manufacturer stopped making my battery -- of course, they did. So, why didn't someone else just make the same one and call it something else?

    Oh no, I found myself at Sam's Club with a 20-year-old mechanic who knew as much as I did, but at my age, I have the ability to (a) ask for help and (b) Google it. I did something that he would never have thought of: I called AAA and asked the mechanic there to tell me what size battery I should get, even if it meant not going to AAA. The man told me, and he was glad to do it. The mechanic at AAA is about 10 years younger than me. He's no baby - the kid I was dealing with was stuck to his phone, sure, but he wasn't researching, he was texting someone.

    I found the store manager because there wasn't a department manager. I asked for help because the kid was up to his eyebrows trying to figure out what he should do. I told the manager what AAA said, and together we found the replacement battery. It was higher in CCA or Cold Crank Amps, but according to Google and the AAA mechanic, that was OK. The kid was concerned that the battery would fall out because it wasn't mounted on all sides - neither was the other one, and it lasted 6 years.  What should have taken 10 minutes took nearly 90 minutes, and I wasn't happy.

    I tipped the kid $10, and he stared at me. Why would I do that? Because I told him I was tipping him for trying, for listening, and for being available. I told him it's not easy being an adult; it means putting the phone down to do your job. It means researching instead of watching videos during downtime. He sort of smiled, but I knew he heard me. He may not do it, but he heard me.

    When I was walking away, a man came up to me and said, "You have more patience than me. I wanted to kick him to the curb, and he hadn't even gotten to my car's issue yet." I asked him if he remembered being twenty years old. He said Yeah, he was in a war. Good answer. I guess we all have to start somewhere. It never helps to get too upset. It works out when we work together, but yeah, kids need to put their phones down and focus on their work. Gone are the days when a boss can demand that sort of behavior. I would never hire someone who isn't as motivated as I am. Unless they were willing to learn as much as I am willing to teach.

Photo Credit: Duracell.com