BLM Doesn't Always Mean What You Think!

 When someone says "BLM" to me my mind does not go to Black Lives Matter. My mind, because it's my mind, has always (and will always) think of the Bureau of Land Management. I say it's the "original" BLM, but I'm not 100% sure about that. What I do know is I will follow that BLM to the end of the planet and back. I will do just about anything they could ask of me. I volunteer for them now, working my networking magic to help as many people as I can adopt from them. BLM, the Bureau of Land Management in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, is one place I could spend days on end at and never once grow tired of the sights, the smells, the thundering vibrating energy, and of course, the stunning faces I would see every day. Faces like that of Norman.

It was the 2nd Tuesday of October 2016, I had taken off work to go to Pauls Valley, Oklahoma to do what I did (and sometimes still do) every 2nd Tuesday of most months. I go to the adoption event hosted by the BLM in one of south central Oklahoma's bigger smaller towns. Pauls Valley has been a host to Oklahoma's feral Mustangs for several years. I've been volunteering there since I returned to Oklahoma from Indiana in the fall of 2015, so this would have been about my 7th or 8th time to drive the 80 miles to watch the adoption process; this time my daughter Laura was planning on picking out a horse for herself to train and possible keep or flip.  I wasn't going for myself, but you just never know what can happen when eyes meet over an over crowded corral.  Hearts quickly find one another. Life changes on a dime.

Among the throngs of younger horses in corrals lining the west gates I found myself leaning against the rails of the pipe fencing separating the 2-4 year old geldings from the 5 years and older geldings; a group most people avoid as the older a feral horse is some say the harder he (gelding) is to train. A mare is often stubborn to the point of being untrainable, but usually they're good up into years 8-12 to be honest.  Feral Mustang geldings (and definitely studs) typically refuse to be trained after about the age of 6 really, anything older than that and you'll have to really put in the time if you want to create the bond needed to fully train one.  I stood on the outside of the pipeline fence and just behind me stood the full figured body of a 1200 pound bay gelding, much larger than most. Aged 6 years, standing at 15.3 hands (63 inches) this guy was a sight for sure.  Before I knew it he had his head completely resting on top of my shoulder over the top of the fence, and he was literally snorting into my left ear. It sounded a lot like "Hey, I know you don't really know me, but I would really like to get out of this place and maybe, I don't know, go home with you." (If you don't believe me you can ask him for yourself. That is exactly what it sounded like to me.)

The BLM will sell you a Mustang straight out, adopt one to you, or let you bid on one and win at the adoption auctions.  They even have an incentive program that literally gives you $1000 ($500 in 60 days and $500 after 1 year) just for keeping your Mustang, and hopefully training it during the year you have it before it's titled.  If you buy one outright you get the title then, but not the $1000 incentive money. I adopted Norman for $125 (which is actually $100 more than it is now. You can literally pick up a full sized untouched feral horse for $25.00 USD) which is what it cost in 2016.  Norman was mine. 

I didn't take Norman home with me that day however, he went to stay with a man named Tim Brock, a trainer in Missouri.  After 8 weeks of training Tim brought Norman back to me, and we began our story, but a short and sad story it turned out to be.  I was unable to keep Norman due to a situation at the school I worked at, and I was terminated following the 2016 Presidential Election. I voted for Trump, my employers were NOT pleased, and though they said I was released for another reason, we both knew the truth. Eventually, after the holidays and such, I was able to find work, but sadly in January I had to find a new home for Norman. Of course, it wasn't hard to do, look at him!  I know it sounds crazy, but I will try to find a way to bring Norman back into my life. If there was EVER a horse that got away, he is that horse. Today he is being loved and used as a trail horse in and around the same area where I adopted him. If I don't have him again on Earth, I've asked God to bring him back to me in Heaven. Norman is MY horse. We are only separated by time and space right now. That will change.

Born in captivity as his mother was pregnant when she was captured, Tim Brock said Norman was easier to train than most horses he's ever worked with.  You just can't understand the loss I feel in my heart when I see him in photos being ridden by people I don't know - - something in me rages, but then God settles me and reminds me that ALL THINGS work together for good for those who love the Lord and are called to His purpose, ALL THINGS.  This too will work its way to being good. Maybe I was just supposed to be the one to free Norman; maybe he was supposed to be the one to free me. Eternity is a long long time. I can wait.

Grateful Thankful, Thank You!

 When I taught secondary education I had a few posters up on the walls of the otherwise boring and standard beige walls of the school's classroom. It didn't really matter where I taught, every school seemed to buy beige paint in bulk. Why? Why is beige cheaper than every other color? I don't think there's even an answer to that other than white is too hard to match perhaps.   These posters were (are) always upbeat, happy, positive, and for the most part challenge the students to be both thoughtful and positive, but I wanted to also put out the message that being grateful or thankful (or both) is an altogether separate goal to achieve in one's mind and life. Having a grateful soul can lead to so many successes in your life.

One of the things I find to be helpful with trying to bring a thankful spirit into your life is to literally write out THANK YOU as often as you can in a daily journal. I've literally taken the time to write those two oh-so-important words over and over, sometimes adding a specific thing I am thankful for, but just as often I will simply write out "thank you" as an open communication to God. I don't speak to the "universe" I speak to God through Jesus. I don't believe a created universe is the way to show proper gratitude considering the universe was made by Almighty God to begin with. I don't even say "an" Almighty God because there is only one....just Almighty God. YHWH. 

Sitting in my big fat overstuffed chair in my living room I have more than enough things to be grateful for. It isn't hard to just start exactly where I am thanking God for my apartment, my landlord, my maintenance people, even my mailperson who literally always delivers on time every time. I don't have to worry about him or her not bringing me my mail. It's a wonderful thing to know. I thank God for the weather no matter what it may be, it's always perfect. Even if there is a tornado I thank God because I know He's producing it to show me His love for me, His protection for me, His strength, power, and dominion. I know no matter what time of day it is I am fully in His control.  I thank Him for the chair itself. It was a gift from my son after he had purchased himself another one. He knew I always loved it and he gave it to me. He didn't have to drive it 30 miles to deliver it (and haul it upstairs). I thank God for the windows that let in the light. We have so very very much to be grateful for, but we CHOOSE to be depressed, saddened by the events of what we perceive to be THE END! So dramatic aren't we? If we just give it up to God and let Him take it all, we really will be in such a better place in our soul.

There are times I don't feel like pulling out my journal and writing all the thank yous and when that happens I sit still and just whisper them to God. I know He hears me. For everything we give thanks for another thing crops up...it's just the way it is. We can't out-thank God. We can't. Let your heart be full of joy today, not sorrow. Don't fret, don't hate, don't hurt, don't worry, give it all away and receive so much more. It's not a promise I made, no, I'm no one - - but God Himself promised that if we delight in Him, and commit to Him, HE will bring us the desires of our heart. That's something to be really thankful for!

My Favorite Color is Brown

True story; my favorite color is the color brown. Like anyone else, I have the right to determine and choose what my favorite color is, and I determined this many years ago.  I have always loved the color brown; with very specific reasoning(s) as to why I like it so much.  It’s such as basic question that everyone asks someone they don’t really know. 

I remember being on one of those flash-date things about 20 years ago because one of my friends wanted to go and participate but she didn't want to go alone. I personally thought the entire thing was both useless and foolish as I thought there's no way a person can "get to know you" in the span of a three-minute interrogation styled interview whether or not you're both asking questions or if only one of you is answering. It just isn't possible. There I was sitting before a man who most would call handsome by whatever that mysterious socially (awkwardly subjective) normal is - he was about my age, about average height and weight, but he had an air of confidence which I suppose made him more attractive. He looked intelligent. That makes a huge difference in my opinion.  He asked me what my favorite color was, and I answered him both quickly and honestly. I do that, I answer questions both quickly and severely honestly. He wasn't really expecting me to say brown. He certainly wasn't prepared for my next confession, which was to explain that the exact shade of my personal favorite color would be "Hershey's milk chocolate brown, the candy, not the wrapper." (I may have even stated there is a difference in the two.) 

Staring at me with a look of utter shock and confusion I noticed the man's eye lids begin to cover his pupils as if to protect them from anything I may be addressing spontaneously in the next few seconds. He then repeated my answer (both wasting time and reiterating what I had just said. Perhaps he didn't quite believe what he had heard.) as if he was asking me to reconsider my own personal preference. "Brown?" He asked. "Hershey's milk chocolate brown", I answered.  There was supposed to be a continuum of questions being bantered and answered, the man was dumbstruck and really had nothing to add or another question to ask. I really couldn't tell you why. I know why I wasn't asking him any questions; it was because I didn't want to be there and I couldn't care less to know what he may say. I was trying my best not to get up and walk away from the entire event - - the love of my good friend kept me planted uncomfortably in my chair as man after man got up and sat down after each buzzer. 

Brown. Hershey's milk chocolate brown, not the color of the candy bar's wrapper, but the actual color of the candy is in fact my favorite color. Why is that so hard to understand for some? I really couldn't tell you, but over the years I have done a bit of self-reflection and research. Here is what I found on the internet about it and to be honest, I actually agree with this assessment. Here you go: (from Empower Yourself)  

You are honest, down-to-earth and wholesome, salt of the earth people with both feet planted firmly on the ground. 

You are steady and reliable and quietly confident. 
 

You are friendly and approachable, genuine and sincere. 
 

With a personality color brown, you have a keen sense of duty and responsibility - you take your obligations very seriously. 

You are a home body - family and family life is extremely important to you. 

You like physical comfort, simplicity and quality. 
 

You are a loyal and trustworthy friend, supportive and dependable. 
 

You are sensitive to the needs of others and sensitive to criticism by others 

There you go! Describes me to a T. It's so much better than saying something like "Oh, you like pretty things that sparkle" No, give me dirt. Give me a rock. Give me a horse and a pasture, and let me go. Give me a brook, a hill, a tree, a book. The only thing I would disagree with on this assessment is the approachable part. I am quite approachable, but I don't do small talk and I don't do the whole "Hey Baby, I'd love to get to know you better" stuff.  I don't have time for it, and it's not going to happen unless I pursue it anyway -- sorry, that's just me. At least I'm honest, trustworthy, and down to Earth, right? (and yes, I do like Hershey's milk chocolate, but dark chocolate candy is my favorite. He didn't ask that.) 

Let the Torture Begin!!!

 Yes! Yes! I have again, (yes, again) joined a gym and this time I think it may last a lot longer than the last two gyms I've joined. Though the YMCA was just steps from my house I thought it was for the employees and relatives of employees of the hospital which it shares a partnership with. The hospital is also only steps from my house so at least if I do die or fall off a machine of some sort I won't have far to travel to be put back together!  Go YMCA! The Y is huge, open, airy, full of great torture devices and it has dance studios upstairs. It even has a BAR...oh wait, that's barre. It has a barre. LOL. I can pretend to be a ballerina! I can't wait.

This particular Y is situated literally across from the Baptist Medical Center, or Integris Baptist, as they call it now. It will forever be Baptist Hospital to me. My three children were born there; Reuben and Caity had the same doctor, the same nurses, and the same delivery room! This Y is huge but it doesn't have a pool, nor does it have any hot tubs or sauna - which is a drawback, but it also doesn't have loud stupid music blasting through it's pipes to distract me from listening to my loud awesome music blasting through my earpiece. Nothing is more annoying than trying to crank up .38 Special in your ear while trying to ignore some boy band from the turn of the 21st Century! This Y has a patronage of mostly older people and that actually attracts me to it because I won't have to walk around giddy girls in their tight spandex or put up with overbearing power lifters dropping tons of weight every 30 seconds trying to show off what they believe is interesting. It's not interesting.  Do you, be you.  If YOU are that guy, you are not interesting.

There's a row machine, bikes, treadmills, and the standard course of machines that you work to pump up the muscles of course, but there is also a set of pulls, rings, a climbing rope, naval ropes to pump, weighted poles, boxing bags, an indoor track, and an outdoor track as well. This weight is coming off, let the toning begin! I've already picked out my new wardrobe which means Caity will need to find another one. I plan on raiding her closet around the first of the year. She won't mind and I'll be in style for the first time in probably many years - - I know I will be. I'll even let her do my make up so we can go out dancing to ring in the new year! 

Goals set. Goals will be met. There are no other options. There are no other outcomes. So let it be written in my soul, so let it be done! Bring it. I'll post as I dwindle and bulk.

Planning My Escape - Edinburgh, Scotland

 I've only been interested in Scotland since about the day after I was born, so not that long, right? Truthfully, about the time I began to read (4 years old) I began reading about places. I thought of places I wanted to go to of course, but because I am one who tends to live in a fantasy based reality, I formulated a detailed interest in the home of "my people", Edinburgh, Scotland. No place else will do. 

Stringfellow (my last name) has a rich and interesting backstory like most surnames. My father's line came from the Lowlands of Scotland, the area bordering England, so there were English Stringfellows as well as Scottish...sort of like the Red River separates Oklahoma and Texas, to be born on the north side of that border is best; always best to be on the right side of history if at all possible. Boomer Sooner!

With it's personal haunting history Edinburgh has been in my dreams, my thoughts, my writings, my hopes for decades and now it seems I may have the wherewithal to make it happen in a reality based reality as well as in my mind. I will probably still need to hire a guide or join a church immediately so that I can find friends who will show me about when it happens. I aim to stay a minute when I do go, not one to board a plane back for the states too soon. I have work to do. I have things to see. I have things to learn, and I have a culture and people I want to love. (fair warning)

Housing will be the first thing to contend with, followed by employment. The two may have to go hand in hand, but my thought process is to work from home so that I may be able to so as much on my own as possible and not be late for work because I missed the bus! I won't be able to drive for a while since I have no idea how to do that in a country where even the steering columns are on the other side of the car. No one will want me behind the wheel in Edinburgh! I'll be safe and take the rails or bus until I gather enough outsided-ness to think beyond the rather orthodox mentality set firmly in my skull presently regarding driving on the left. 

No doubt because Edinburgh is a larger city there will be plenty of places for me to choose from, but it isn't exactly by the sea. I wanted to be closer to the water and near the bigger city, so I may find a place where the rails go straight into the city without too many changes. Before that happens I'll need to study the currency exchanges, how to buy tickets to ride, where to buy food, how to pay utilities, and a host of so many more things that I won't want to find out on the fly. I prepare and I prepare well. This will be a calculated move for sure. 

I'm being told I could go as early as January 2021 if I wanted to take on a position of teaching English. The Scottish government even has a partnership with a teaching union or organization that will willing to pay costs and expenses of the flight and first month's stay if a person signs a one or two year contract. Before taking that plunge I would need to know more about the students and potential hazards of accepting a position I can't wiggle out of easily; being an American I may come off as being a bit brash and being terminated wouldn't be best. I must take it all into consideration. (I am brash, I will say that, they wouldn't be mistaken if they thought so.) I just don't want to end up jobless the first week.

Edinburgh has everything I'll need really, though I know I'll travel the heights, depths, widths and every inch of Scotland, Edinburgh will be the one place I would never mind calling my home. Of course, I'll try to find every remnant of the 13th century Stringfellows and Strongfellows that I can find. I want to make that connection, but I'll be open to new friends with new names and bigger, brighter smiles. Maybe some of them will even think I'm the one with an accent and ask me to say "thank you" a few more times. It seems to make my friend from Northern Ireland happy when I say "pink", "think", "thank" and "really".  She giggles. I giggle at her, and we move forward. 

Just a lot of planning at this point. If you're from the area, please feel free to email me and let me know where the best and worst areas are. Tell me where to stay away from as well as where to visit. Tell me there's more to eat than what I'm seeing online because seriously, I'm not sure I can do haggis...not without lying about it to the host. I will try a few things, as I don't mind experimenting but there are those lines that I draw which will not be crossed. (Scottish stubborn from the beginning) WISH ME LUCK! (Who am I kidding, luck is for the Irish! Scots do things. We don't hope. We do!) email: jude.stringfellow@gmail.com

Making the Bed - Not Happening

 I only know a few people who will admit that they get out of bed and one of the first things they do is either make it up or change the sheets and then make it up before they go to work so they can say they've achieved something. They say it starts their day off correctly, and they feel positive the rest of the day. NOPE! If I were any more positive when I wake up people would shoot me. Can't have that. 

From the second the alarm goes off (and it doesn't matter if it's during the week or on the weekend) I have an 8-10 minute routine that includes dressing, taking Ginger out for her walk, coming back inside to give the dogs and cats their treats, making coffee, cleaning up any mess Laura has left in the kitchen (as the kitchen is my domain) and once all that is done I have journal time! Ten minutes of prep, walking, treating, and coffee-making is achievement enough.  If I took time to make the bed the dogs would mess it up before journal time was over. There's simply no need.

Journal time cannot and will not be shortened or interrupted by anyone, anything, or any event other than perhaps the rapture. I will not complain if Jesus comes back during journal time. Albeit, if He does come back during journal time I won't have time to write about His coming back, so what I do, to cover that base, is to write about the potential of Jesus coming back at any moment so that when He does come back (and He will soon) those who break into my house to steal my things after the rapture comes (please, feed the animals) will find my latest journal (I have over 130) and they'll no doubt pick it up off the floor where it has fallen and read about the fact that I don't ever make my bed. Why should I make a bed I alone sleep in anyway? Maybe if I had a man sleeping next to me I would attempt to make it up so he thinks I've achieved something, but then again, I'm not inclined to give a damn if anyone else thinks I've accomplished anything - - I am my own person. I care. If I don't care, I don't care. (Still, it would be nice to roll over and find a bearded handsome man laying in my bed - - at least he was there in my dreams, does that count? Oh, and in my dreams, he doesn't care if I make up the bed or not. He's really cool like that.)

I like a really cold house too, so when I sleep I can cuddle the covers and be toasty (with dogs) and maybe hang a foot out the bottom of the sheets and covers to regulate the temperature. If you make a bed up correctly (I'm told since I never really do it) you have to tuck in the corners of the sheets and if I do that I'd struggle with my toes poking out to keep me regulated. There would be a fight every night pushing and pulling, tugging, and wrestling with the sheets. I might disturb the dogs and in our family, you just don't disturb the dogs. No, rather than making up the bed in the morning (afternoon, evening, or night) I simply throw the covers over the middle of it, sort of giving it a tug, and expect the animals to burrow, nest, or dig through the mass of covering, keeping it all warm for when I return! Better plan.

If I want to feel as if I have achieved something I'll do something! I am not above taking a 2-3K walk in the morning, cleaning out a closet or learning a foreign language, but there's just no way (unless there's a man involved) that I'm going to take the time to make up a bed.  I would only do it if the man had some sort of an issue wherein if I didn't make up the bed he couldn't get on with his day. I would do that. I would help him out if he needed it. I am actually a fairly nice soul...when I try.

OK...I feel so much better now that I've said that, and I'll just be going to the big chair now to write about it in my journal. I write some of the most mundane things imaginable in those journals. One day someone will find them and think they've found a treasure trove of interesting details about life so full and inspirational only to find out that I've been writing about students, co-workers, kids, dogs, cooking, finding a cool rock on the sidewalk, or a tooth that's been bothering me. Oh well, at least if I do NOTHING else of a day, I've walked the dog, treated the animals, made coffee, and wrote in my journal! Life is good. 

I Am Benjamin Franklin - Stringfellow

Ha! I knew it!  OK, if you ever had a chance to read my blog  https://judestringfellow.blogspot.com/2008/07/spies-radars-and-ranges-stringfellow.html you would know exactly who Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow was. He is in fact one of my ancestors and looks nearly identical to my father Reuben Wayne Stringfellow.  Pictures posted. 

I took a test online called "Which Founding Father are You" and it turns out I am like the actual Benjamin Franklin. I laughed when I saw the results because I've often referred to myself as a "bit of a Benjamin" meaning I take risks, invent things, experiment openly, and take charge of any situation that needs to be wrangled (without asking or being asked to do so).  I am the type that will go out into the rain with a kite on a string with a key attached and just SEE what would happen if I just flew it a bit higher! I'm the type that would (and do) engage in philosophical conversations being held by others, inserting my opinion(s) and fully expecting to be invited into the mix. I don't know why I'm so forward and direct. I don't know why I think it's allowed, but there I am, nearly every time - - butting in where I don't necessarily belong. 

Last night my son, his wife, and myself were at the Gameday celebration of the opening game for the Oklahoma Sooners 2020, on Campus Corner in Norman. People walking by, hustling and bustling by, some with beers, some with water, some just trying to take in the smells and sounds as they passed each other -- all of us wearing our beautiful crimson and cream! (Boomer Sooner!)  Along came a few girls in short skirts and cowboy boots; I asked them if I could take their picture and they all giggled and said yes. I didn't expect them to say no, otherwise I would not have approached them.  I asked clowns, men with beards, police personnel, security, workers, anyone and everyone who was out and about just having a good time. My daughter in law shook her head in amazement and asked why I thought I could just interrupt a gathering (or five) and take photos.  My answer was "People like to be remembered. They don't mind." She said she would have told me no. I reminded her I didn't marry her, my son did. 

Benjamin Franklin was an awesome founding father, but he's not the Benjamin Franklin I think I associate with the most. Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow would have to the man I find myself most likely to be related to in more ways than one. A Confederate spy from before the Civil War, Stringfellow was assigned to the 43rd Virginia Cavalry. According to Wikipedia: "When war broke out, Stringfellow sought a commission in the Confederate Army. Despite four denials due to his fragile health (and 94-pound weight),[3] Stringfellow eventually secured a commission as Captain in the 4th Virginia Cavalry (his brothers also served the Confederacy, although his cousins Pleasant and Robert Stringfellow served in the U.S. Army). Stringfellow rode with General J.E.B. Stuart at Seven Pines, Cold Harbor, and the raid at Catlett's Station. Stringfellow also rode with Colonel John Singleton Mosby of the 43rd Virginia Cavalry, most notably in the raid at Loudoun Heights on January 9, 1864."    
 
 In 2008 I traveled to Manassas and literally stood in the forest at Bull Run where Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow had arranged for a meeting between himself and his cousins who fought on the Union side. For them it may have been their last meeting on Earth; at least at that time they believed it may be. I found the very tree where he placed a metal marker. The cousins were to walk 100 feet to the west and 20 feet south to their actual meeting place where Stringfellow had forged a little hidden "fort" where the three could bow and pray together for God, country, and family.  I knelt there on the ground holding my cell phone in my hand with my son Reuben on the other end of the phone; he was in Alaska, serving in the 180th Cavalry. We prayed and we cried a bit too. 

I will admit that from time to time I would love to have my face on the 100 Dollar Bill, that would be really cool, but if you gave me the option of being known for being one of the forefathers of our great nation or the descendant of a brave soldier, it's a no-brainer.  I am always going to pick the soldier every time.  When I took the test, I thought I would end up being like Thomas Jefferson, a writer, a critic, a philosopher, a person who sees both sides of the story before making a decision. Turns out I'm more pragmatic. Turns out I place value on the masses being held accountable rather than trying to persecute the few for their injustices.  I see that. It's just funny how a bit of reflection can bring back a flood of truth. I am my father's daughter.  We are Stringfellows through and through.