Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 105

Life Dawns on Me From Time to Time

 EVERY now and again I will come out of my constant fantasy world to realize that I have three cats and two dogs living with me in my apartment in the middle of a relatively urban city.  Then, as if that's not enough, I also realize that I share this habitat with another creature altogether; one I am thankful that God only made one of them in the first place; my daughter Laura.  She's way past the age of kicking out of the house so I just consider her a roommate.  I mean, she is a roommate, she pays half of the bills (almost) and she eats most of my food; like a roommate.  One thing I truly appreciate about the kid is that she never puts notes on "her" food that reads "Don't touch this, or I'll break your damn fingers".  That's a plus.

The cats are the cats. I live with them, they exist, they co-mingle, they rule. It's understood by all of us, it's accepted, and we move forward.  There is a rule, however, a rule in our house that we (you or me) can not disturb a dog if one is laying on a person, next to (touching) a person, that person is given a pass to ask anyone else in the household who is NOT covered or in contact with a dog, to get a drink, feed them, answer the door, get the mail, do whatever would be considered a community errand were it not for the fact that that person is now incapacitated by the presence of a dog who must not be disturbed.  In our house, this rule does not apply to cats; cats don't count.  Also, the dogs have ruling status so that if the dog I am holding or next to is "senior" to the other dog(s) in the household, I am, therefore, by proxy, the senior loafer and can give orders to anyone not holding a dog or one who is, but whose dog is inferior or junior to my own. Does ANY of this make sense to you? If it does, welcome. If it does not, well, you may want to re-read that paragraph before coming over for tea; just sayin' and if you DO come over for tea, be smart about it, and grab the senior dog.

Right now, as I type,  Baeleigh, the black and white tuxedo cat with the skin condition no one can pinpoint, is laying across my keyboard. You may or may not realize the difficulty this puts me in while I type this Blogspot. She is the senior cat, however, and my own rules about not disturbing dogs do apply to me when it comes to Bae. I just don't expect anyone else to follow that particular rule. She is the Queen - - long live the Queen.  At the time of this writing, Bae is 9 years old. 

My current job as an author allows me the freedom I need to dream, conjure, fantasize, make-believe, and basically slack off as much as I want to; this can't be a permanent luxury, but it is mine for the taking at the moment, so yes, I'm taking full and open advantage of it. I even pretend I'm pretending during some lull-moments of the day just so I can keep up with my personal expectation of what a leisurely author should or should not be doing.  I find myself cleaning the house and I stop myself to pretend I have a maid. I pretend to be said maid (who I have named Irene) and I clean the kitchen, do the dishes, sweep, mop, empty trash, and change out litter boxes.  I may pretend to be the butler and answer the door if someone knocks on it; why would a would-be successful author deign to get off the couch and answer the door? I can send one of my "people".  Ha! Just writing that out loud makes it seem as if I've lost my marbles, but that would purport that I had marbles, to begin with, doesn't it?

I need to name my cook too; I don't think Irene cooks.  I want bacon and eggs right now and I don't have anyone to make that happen - - Oh wait, I do!  I can literally step over to the bed and grab Ginger, though not the senior dog, she is within arm's reach, and I'm betting that Laura is on her computer because I can hear her screaming at her little sister; words a mom would really never accept if the two of them were in the same room, but it's Grand Theft Auto I think; that or Red Dead Redemption.  Laura will do my bidding -- she has to; I have the dog.  Her only option would be to find Yuuki, her dog, the older dog, the senior dog, and put him on her lap - - and she won't do that because she would DIE in the game! YES...I will win this one.  She will NOT die, as she will be able to express her frustration of obeying family ruling to her tiny sibling; who will then suspend all murdering events on the game long enough for me to be fed. I am so smart sometimes...yes, this is a good, good plan.

I love reality! (sometimes)

Zapping My Weight Away - Let There be Light!

 God said, "Let there be light!" and He saw that the light was good.  I started my new light therapy sessions with grand nutritionist Crystal Wine of Norman, Oklahoma's 405 Body Contouring today.  The clinic is located just off of I-35 and West Tecumseh at 3201 W. Tecumseh Road, #120, Norman, OK. If you wanted to call them you could at 405-615-5567.   Light heals.  Believe me, you are going to WANT to call Crystal and get your sessions started. I wanted to start them about eight weeks ago because I knew I would be sending the book off soon, and I didn't want to send it off without at least blogging about my first real experience with light treatments. I won't go into all the super bright (I mean BRIGHT) details, because I want you to do your own research, but I will do a bit of bragging both on the clinic and how it's run by Crystal, and of course the prognosis of using light to not only lose weight but to tone up my muscles, remove wrinkles and lines, boost my metabolism, lower inflammation and if I had any anxiety, these treatments work on reduction of anything depressing - - it's hard to remain depressed when you're smothered from head to knee in brilliant radiating light; bathing in the promises of looking and feeling so much better!

"How much weight do you think you need to lose, or what do you think you want to lose?" asked Crystal, the tiny, oh-so-pretty nutritionist whose job it is to make me gorgeous! Crystal is the epitome of the person whose photo you should put on your refrigerator and strive every waking hour of your life to become. (Smiles) She is both healthy and beautiful, and I love her positive and helpful energy. Anyone who goes into the clinic will immediately feel welcome and at home. She puts you at ease with her knowledge, and she helps you understand the entire process of allowing modern technology to be harnessed in such a way that it brings forth the healing you deserve and desire.  I answered her with a stoic, "I think I have 40 pounds to lose, but I wouldn't mind being even a tad bit smaller so I could add muscle back, and be fit again. I miss being fit."  Honestly? I haven't been or felt fit since BK - - before kids.  Not joking.

Without blinking, Crystal assured me that the red lights she uses are over 600 times stronger than the lights typically used for tanning and other body beautifying; it is the number one reason she can eagerly stand behind her product knowledge of what it is that is taking place once you lay yourself down and get all wrapped up like a little burrito in the four "pads" as they're called.  Two are used for the area just under your breastplate and extend past your thighs, and two are used for your arms or thighs, you can switch off, mix and match, or just target the area that you think is most needing to be contoured.  The lights (paraphrasing and simplifying things here) penetrate deep into the exposed skin, and they are attracted to fluid-filled fat cells, so you'll want to drink a whole lotta watta before you show up - - and go pee immediately following the 25-minute session - - immediately!

The lights find the fat plump cells and "suck out" or shrink them from their fatness to a shriveled up itty-bitty cell, and yes, you can fill them back up if you were so inclined to do so, but the entire reason one goes to the body contouring clinic is to NOT be fat; right? So, if you think about it, you're getting a fast and furious head start on the entire process. For me, I am halfway to my goal weight, having lost 40 pounds already over the past six months or so. I work out, I ride my bike, I ride my horse, I eat correctly, drink a lotta watta, and I fast from 6:00 p.m. to 10:00 a.m. nearly every single day. I don't cheat unless I feel that my body has adjusted too well to the routine, and then only cheat for a little meal or so.  Crystal blew my mind when she told me that to begin the new regime I'll need to cheat like I've never cheated and eat like I've never eaten, literally over 5,000 calories on Day 1 and Day 2 of the 42-day cycle. WHAT? How does one eat over 5,000 calories? This will be...wonderful.  I have planned a trip to Dunkin Donuts for early in the morning, and I am determined to be as bad as I possibly can be both tomorrow and the next day. I feel a pizza coming on, I feel Braum's fried chicken strips, french fries, and homemade gravy with a big fat German chocolate malt!  I am absolutely sure that I can accomplish this terrible terrible goal - - any takers? Any volunteers to go with me? I bet!

I wish I could show you the red marks Crystal put on my body to measure me before the first treatment, but I've told myself I won't take before and after photos, because I never really trusted them when I saw them in print, and I don't want to put my body out there until I'm in that stupendously fantabulous AFTER phase. Believe me, after I'm AFTER I'll be all over the blog pages! Yeah, you'll see that. You just can't see the whole fat lady thing right now. NOPE. Crystal can see me fat - - she's paid to see me fat. She keeps my secrets. Once the book is out I'll be at the end of my sessions and will be a follow-up blog to let the readers know what we accomplished; it will be one of the first blogs I use for the sequel book as well, sort of a cliff hanger! I don't mind doing the before and after shots then as long as I can fit into my skinny jeans and a bra the size of a thimble. Yeah, that's me, going for the prepuberal flatness that I had when I was a gymnast - - wish me luck; fantasies have a way of really screwing with reality. I'd settle for thin and tight. When I asked Crystal about reducing the boobs she laughed. Most women are quick to say they want the boobs left right where they are - - NOPE, take them, please. I would sell them if I thought they'd go to a good home. I have no need for them. They get in the way constantly, and if I could reduce them to next-to-nothing I'd do the happy dance!

During the light treatment, I listened to a guided meditation tape for the entire 25-minute session. I had to giggle because the man on the tape was talking about the fears and anxiety that people go through when they are called upon to be public speakers. I have never, and I do mean never had any issues opening my big mouth and sharing absolutely anything and everything that I know about whatever subject matter it is that someone has asked me to speak about. The meditation however was peaceful, and I enjoyed every minute of it. After the lights I was measured; this is so Crystal can determine how many inches I lost and she can put together a metabolic plan for me; we all knew I needed one. That was never in question. After the measuring tape party, which if you ask me should have included balloons, I was allowed to dress and taken to a room where a large vibration plate stood on the floor just waiting to shake my brains out of my head -- if my teeth didn't fall out first. Crystal explained to me that if the vibrations get too intense for my brain I can bend my knees -- which I did. I ended up doing deep squats for a few minutes to give my head a break and lift those glutes.

So, there you go. I'm starting the process. So far I like EVERYTHING about it. I'm doing two light sessions a week for 8 weeks. I'm taking special drops formulated for the program, I'm taking their recommended supplement, following their diet plan, and making great recipes to fulfill every meal obligation. Like Crystal, I plan on batch cooking and mixing and matching foods throughout the week, but they do provide you with day-to-day planners, journals, recipes, and success stories to help you stay motivated. I won't chinch on this one. I won't cheat myself. I want this to work, and I want it to work so well that many women in the Oklahoma City metropolitan area will take the time to call Crystal and find out what she can do for them. We need to shake it up folks; we need to get healthy from within so we can be strong and positive on the outside too - - we owe it to ourselves, our families, our community, to the world. We are better when we are healthier. If I can start this journey at 59, most people can do better than what they've been doing. Let's be honest.

Let's be positive! Let's make this happen. Thank you 405 Body Contouring. I look forward to the next few months of this journey!

"Failure Is the Flavor of Success"

     I didn't write the saying "Failure is the Flavor of Success" and I don't know who did, or I would give them credit for having said it.  The truth is, I failed today. I took an SIE (Securities Industry Exam) for the purpose of eventually obtaining my securities license so I can trade on the secondary markets for stocks and bonds. I made a 62% on a test that requires a 70% passing score.  The thing is, I wasn't bummed about it; instead, I look at it as a stepping stone on the path to becoming a successful trader.  I am just not one at the moment.  Because I don't worry about things and have been living stress-less for years, I decided to regroup rather than retreat. It's the stubborn woman living inside of me, but I won't allow myself to give up or quit anything. I will pass this test soon.

    I could give a whole bunch of excuses and say that the test was harder than I expected, but it wasn't. It was just as hard as I expected it to be; I just wasn't as prepared for it, and that's another "it's OK" moment because now I realize that I should have taken more time studying rules and regulations and less time studying the options themselves.  The more you know, the more you can achieve. If I had known what was on the actual test I would have been more prepared, but NOW I'm more prepared and won't spend as much time on other topics. It's strictly about rules, regulations, and how products work! That's the ticket. I think I will make at least a 70%, at least a passing score, next time, but hopefully even more than that. The thing is though; if you pass they don't tell you what your score is; only that you passed! If you fail, they tell you exactly what you failed at and what your non-passing score is - - in my case, I got 53 of the 85 questions correct.  

    I came home and explained to my daughter that all throughout the test I made little tally marks on the scratch paper that they give you.  I made a mark for every question I flat out knew I knew, and I marked it in the "KNEW" column.  There were two other columns I could use as well - - "I DON'T KNOW"  and "MAYBE".  The Maybe column is literally what it sounds like; I may be right, but I have only a fraction of faith in myself; the I Don't Know column is anyone's guess and was certainly my guess. I gave it my best, but you just have to concede at some point, that you just don't know what you thought you knew -- or you just don't know what you know you don't know. I did not know over 30% of the exam, if I were completely honest with you.

    The study guide I used is called PassPerfect, and they really do prepare a person if that person takes the necessary time to go over the questions, the videos, the mastery exams, and then if they review every question they missed - - that would be awesome.  Life happens, you get busy, you fail yourself, I fail myself, and we just end up having to reschedule, restructure, re-do and relax. Life is a roller coaster at times, and there are those times when it free falls and you just can't stop it. We move forward. It will happen! I have no doubt whatsoever that I'll get back into the study materials tomorrow, and go over every flashcard, eliminating the ones I don't need now that I know what I know, and keep those that I have no idea about, and those I could maybe possibly know something about. It's a plan. There is always a plan.

I plan to pass!

I Find Things

 I don't know what it is about me, but I am a thing-magnet. I find things all the time and end up having to call the owners and say something like, "Hey, I found your wallet at the feed store, where do you live and I'll bring it to you?"  Usually, when this sort of thing happens, the other person is shocked clean out of their minds, and they can't believe someone is willing to bring them their lost or stolen item.  I love it. I absolutely LOVE IT because it means I have an opportunity to say that Jesus has blessed me so many times, and when I lose something I know He'll provide the same type of courtesy to me that I show to someone else.  That's been my experience anyway.

This time, (and you can't see me over here laughing) I had to stop posting to answer the third call that the guy made to us to be sure we're not lying to him; he just can't get over how anyone would (a) find the wallet (it was a wallet that I found) (b) go through the wallet to find his correct name and address (c) having found his address, and realizing he is from another state, would try finding him on Facebook (d) having found him on Facebook, would message him and say "Hey, I found your wallet at the feed store, if you tell me where you are right now I can bring it to you."  Well, he doesn't know me very well, that's for sure, because there is nothing else I would ever do! I could not, I would not, and I should not throw someone else's property away. I would never keep it either. I would never take a penny from it, I would never stalk him further than was necessary to find out who he is - - but Laura did! LOL

Laura found out through his Facebook posts that he's not only a bleeding heart Liberal voter, but he did also in fact vote for Joe Biden for president and now the man (owner) is really upset with himself and says if he had to do it again, he'd vote Trump!  I thought that was funny, so she read a few more posts to me while I drove the car.  Turns out the man is Cajun, from Texas, moved to Oklahoma recently, has purebred dogs that he was selling, that's why he was at the feed store, and get this, he's so anti-everything we believe in or stand for.  You couldn't have found someone with more different views. At least he's a Christian man, or at least he states he is on Facebook. We'll have eternity to laugh about what we put ourselves and others through on this Earth thinking and feeling we were always right to think or feel that way we did.

Laura wrote to him on Facebook to let him know we found his wallet, and before we would agree to give it to him he needed to verify his middle name. He did verify his middle name (on the license) and she called him.  He was surprised that a person (Laura this time, not me) who was so different from himself would be so kind. She told him she was raised correctly. I told her we were both raised correctly, and that Jesus does things like this so we can share His word.  Laura mentioned this to the man, and he laughed, agreeing with us, and saying that he was very grateful that Jesus led us to his wallet and not someone who would take money, credit cards, throw away pictures you can never replace, and of course licenses, banking information - - you name it.  

Interestingly, his Facebook posts could be considered racist; but he stated that you can't be racist toward a white person. I find that to be both racist and offensive; and here we are, returning his wallet, not stealing a dime, and thankful that he will be able to get on with his life without the inconveniences of having to cancel cards, get a new ID, etc.  He laughed a second (or third) time when he found out we were Trump supporters.  "Really? Are you serious?"  He asked.  "Yes, we are, and the only reason I mention it is because of what you said on your wall. You said we were all crackhead crazy.  I'm not really all that crazy, just maybe a little bit", was Laura's answer.  He apologized and said,"Well, you know what? That's God right there. He knows I need to change my heart about things. He knows I have been too critical of others, and this just proves it. I'm sorry."  

Recently, maybe over the past year or so, I've found two wallets, a few dogs with and without collars, a horse blanket that was worth well into the $$$, and I found a shoe that was literally just randomly placed in a marked parking spot where I live. I knew the shoe didn't belong to the owner of the parking spot, he was a man, this was a smaller woman's shoe, and something about it told me to leave it where it was, but take photos of it, and let the manager know.  When I did let the manager know, she mentioned that the police had been by earlier asking about a kidnapped woman who may have lost her right shoe. The woman was found (safe) and now the cops knew that she could have been taken by someone who lived in our complex or at least knew someone who lived in the complex. To my knowledge the shoe was returned; I can't say the same for all of the dogs. Some were rehomed when no one claimed them.

So, one down, and God only knows what to expect, or how many more to go. I'm here if He needs me. I count it a blessing since I know I've been silly enough to leave my purse (and other things) on top of my car before I took off without them -- the struggle is real.

The Blog Book -- It's a Real Thang!

 Check it out! My new book is a real thing! I will submit the manuscript on Monday, in just a few days, but the cover is out now. The design company at Palmetto Publishing did a bang-up good job. I didn't ask for anything specific, trying to keep it as simple and as creative for them as possible. I am the writer, they are the cover masters, so I don't want to invade into their space even if it is my book; I feel that they are professionals, otherwise I would not have hired them to publish my baby - - my first blog book.  I've written five books now; no, that's not true, I've written so many more than five, but I've published five books now, and this one is not about Faith, my dog, but she is mentioned in it of course.  This one is a collection of stories literally pulled from this very site.  I didn't ask the design crew to come up with a color scheme either, but I am bowled over that they went with blue and gold lettering!  I LOVE it. 

I have about 700 blogs on the site, and I pulled about 100 out to make Vol. 1.  I added 15 poems, and I stationed them in the middle of the book, separating Part 1 and Part 2.  I didn't specify or make any fuss over what went into Part 1 or Part 2.  I could have put the blogs in chronological order but decided against it. I want the book to be something anyone can pick up, read a bit, maybe three or four blogs, and then set the book down and come back for more. I did (and/or will) add a Table of Contents, and the publishing company will paginate the book for me adding the correct numbered page for each blog -- good thing  I paid for that; what a headache! 

What I did not pay for is an additional editing master.  I am using Grammarly to go through the book myself, but you and I both know I'll miss something and that OK. As a human, as a creative human, I don't mind making mistakes and I certainly don't mind anyone pointing out my mistakes if they are in fact mine. I own them. I think it's OK to be less than stellar and still make your point.  As a professor of English, former professor of English, I would not have allowed many mistakes to be presented in a graded essay or prose, but in a book - sure; it is what it is.  The best of us use a ghost to clean up our little messes grammatically; I just chose to use Grammarly than to pay an additional $$$ for their premiere editing program, which I'm sure is either Grammarly or something very similar.  (Did I mention I was Scottish? I don't spend money unless I have to.) 

So today is February 24th; the cover is out. I'll submit the manuscript on March 1, after I attend my first 405 Contouring session. If the light contouring works I'll blog about that, and if it doesn't work I'll be sure to blog about that fact. I wanted to add the story to the book- - as it is part of my transformation into a new creature. The butterflies on the cover of the book are a GREAT way to illustrate my life changes right now. I'm going through a wonderful transformation from being old to being young again; using prayer and everything available to me to feel, look, act, and be much younger than the calendar says. I have lost over 35 pounds so far, slimmed up, trimmed up, changed my style, changed my hair, changed my outlook -- and I'm really feeling great about it. Life is just too short to feel too old. I was not cut out for geriatrics.  I so much prefer being Jude instead.  I hope you like the book - - I loved writing it. 

I Wish I Could Rescue Them All

Between Angie Koontz-Pike, Robin Moorhead, Laura, and myself, we've probably rescued more than 1,000 horses, mules, donkeys, ponies, goats, dogs, cats, and cows over the past few years. It's a thing, not a competition, but if it were a competition, Angie would beat us all!  Not only does she have the truck, trailer, and acreage to host over 200 animals at one time, she has the 501(c) 3 non-profit status to back her up, and THANK YOU, JESUS, for that, because there have been moments when we (meaning Laura, and I) will make the same mistakes Robin makes, and go out onto Facebook and look on the kill pen sites, you know, "just to see what's out there", right! No one ever goes onto the kill pen sites thinking they won't find something that has to be taken home right then, and right there.  I can usually resist, but that Robin, Lord have mercy!  I think I'm being 100% honest when I say she even named one Merci. Merci currently lives with Angie. Did I mention that Angie has wings and can be seen playing the harp now and then? She's our rescue angel - - and we love her. 

I can't tell you how many times I have called Angie up on the phone, texted her when she didn't answer, and then emailed her if she refused to text me back!  If I still can't reach her I've gone through Messenger, but let me tell you, I am not over and above getting into my little Seamus (car) and driving my happy ass over to her place in the far outreaches of the country and unhooking her gate lock to hunt her down to tell her we simply MUST drive up to Stroud THIS VERY MINUTE (of course, bring the truck and trailer) and we have to save Reagan! We have to save Zahara! We have to save Ava!  We have to save Sable! We have...you get the picture. We are always and forever saving someone, something, or two or three things at once; don't get me wrong, Angie is not so much of an angel that she isn't just as guilty as we are. Yes, she is! The best thing about that is, she doesn't have to drive 40 miles in the pouring rain to tell herself she needs to go RIGHT NOW and save some animal that is being hauled off in a few hours to Mexico to be slaughtered. It's a real thing; and it's just heartbreaking. 

Our vet Sammy Crosby, Jr., not to be confused with his father, our other vet, Sammy Crosby, Sr., is our large animal vet. Sammy Crosby Sr., is our small animal vet. We like to keep things simple.  Sammy Jr. is usually the second person to be notified as soon as we pick up a four-legged, skinnier-than-should-be "poor" creature, who just couldn't be turned away.  Sammy has brought our loads back to life a few dozen times, and when he can't bring them back, he's the best at sending them on their way over the Rainbow Bridge. A job no one wants, but we appreciate his connections with the gatekeepers up that way; so far as we know, no animal has ever been turned away from the Bridge, and we rest so much easier knowing they didn't suffer another day here on this wretched Earth because someone either threw them out for losing a race, threw them out for being pregnant, threw them out because they couldn't produce the right color foal, or threw them out because their daughter went off to college and they didn't want to mess with feeding and watering their kid's animal - - that happens too. 

When Angie is called and she's hooked up that trailer, some animal out there in the wild world will be saved and saved for eternity.  With her connections and her non-profit, horses mostly, but other equine, bovine, canine, and feline will never be sold or given to anyone who may end up dumping their charge back at the kill pen; no way, it just won't happen.  They say you can't save them all, and I get that, but for the ones we can save, we try our best to make the world of difference in their lives that was needed; and we try over and over and over again to the point of eating ramen while we spend $$$ on trimming, chiropractors, vets, livery, floating (teeth work) and more. Every horse deserves to be pampered, right? I say it over and over again; "If God ever lets me come back as something I'll come back as one of Robin Morehead's horses" because that woman knows how to spoil a pony! If I believed in reincarnation, which I don't, I would or could just as easily come back as one of Angie's rescues because I know that my freedom ride will mean I am given a forever chance to live my life the way it was supposed to be lived - with love. 

Thank you, Sissy! I love you! 

To donate to Angie's 501 (c) 3 rescue, you can send money through paypal.com at: Countryphilly2002@gmail.com 

Acquiring Children

     It happens now and then; I'll be minding my own business, because that is what I always do, and my life is turned upside down, sideways in less than a second's time. There was a moment in my life when I was not the other mother of about 13 young people, all of which hung on and clung to me as if I had actually given birth to them.  One of these graciously sweet, rugged, and oh-so needy children is my boy Jonathan. How I obtained Jonathan was right out of the pages of a Stringfellow novel for sure; he's more of a victim than anything else -- Reuben happened to him.  Reuben's happen.  I tell people all the time, "Be careful, Reuben's happen!" Sometimes they listen.  I didn't have the opportunity to warn little Jonathan, he was unceremoniously dragged home from school one day by my son; I think they were in the 4th grade.

    "Mom!" came the bellow of my oldest; a 4th grader who was big, bulky, and brilliant of course; "MOM! Where are you?", he continued.  "I'm on the couch Baby Boy", came my answer, and as I began to straighten myself and get ready to welcome my children back home from their 2nd day of school, I noticed there was an extra kid standing before me, this one a boy, and he was a bit taller, more bulky, brawny even at the age of 10, and he was dark complexed.  We live in the Southwest part of the U.S. so I made an assumption that so many people probably make; I assumed our new visitor was Mexican - he was not.

    "Mom, can I have a Mexican friend?" asked Reuben. I know my eyes popped right out of my head at the sheer rudeness of the question, even for a 10-year-old; I thought I had raised my kids to be a lot more respectful of people and their cultures than that! Before I could answer my wayward son, the boy himself retorted with a quick scolding to my son saying, "I've told you, Reuben, I'm not Mexican. I'm Puerto Rican on my dad's side and my mom is from El Salvador."  My nod toward the bigger kid was genuine; I wanted to thank him for helping me straighten my own flesh and blood out, and help him to understand we have friends, not Mexican friends, not Black friends, not White friends, not Asian friends, we have friends. I continued nodding, and I gave my answer to Reuben as well as to his new friend, "Yes, you may have any friend you wish, but you can't call them names or use words that may seem insensitive at best, and racist at worse."  I asked him, "Remember when we lived in Arcadia, and you and the girls were the only white kids in the area? How would you have felt if Tyrelle had asked his mom if he could have a White friend?" To my shock, Reuben told me that's exactly what Tyrelle had asked his mom when the opportunity presented itself.  Just, wow. "Yes, " I said, you may have any friend you wish."  I then turned back to the bigger boy and asked him what his name was. He told me it was Jonathan Rios. From that day, that wonderful end of a summer day, I've been Jon's other mom, and it's been a tremendous pleasure.

    Jon's family is the family that gave us Faith!  Jon's dog Princess was Faith's mom, and though Princess was a full black chow, and Faith a yellow short-haired mutt, Princess was not the motherly type. Reuben literally had to rescue Faith from out from under Princess as the mother dog was trying to smother the little deformed puppy - - but that's natural; I mean, it's not cool, no, but it is natural.  Besides giving us Faith, Jon has given me a grandson as well, little Jasper is almost three, and he couldn't be any cuter. Before Faith, before Jasper, before most of the grown-up adult things that Reuben and Jon have been through; standing with each other at weddings and formal occasions come to mind; Jon and Reuben have been on the raw side of trouble too.  I think I recall a time the two of them and their friend Crayton found a real dead guy at the park near our home and rather than calling the cops they poked him with sticks and ran home to tell me about it.  They've walked the wrong way to a school event and ended up needing a ride home from the other side of town. They've partied at places they had no invitation to be at, and again, ended up calling me for a rescue! 

    Today, standing just over 6'3" and about 240 pounds, Jonathan is still a bit bigger and bulkier than Reuben; but their smiles compete with each other, neither boy (man) can stop laughing once the giggles start, and you know, you just know something happened - - but no, neither of them is going to be willing to squeal on the other; so, yeah, you just have to walk away shaking your head sometimes.  I think one of the funniest "Jonathan" stories I have now took place at Reuben's wedding to Josie in April 2019.  Jon of course was expecting to be Reuben's best man, though I don't know that it had been discussed; Jon made the assumption that he would be, and then when Reuben's good and close buddy from Indiana showed up, a man Reuben had hung with during the four years (more recently) that he lived in the Hoosier state, Jon began the whole I-May-Have-to-Pee-on-You thing; something men do I guess to show both dominance and possession.  Sizing up J.J. wasn't that difficult for Jon with his bulk, it was the subtle moves that J.J. was making, just sort of flanking around, moving into position at the right time.  I, of course, knew the outcome; you don't spend years and years camping with, bar-b-queuing, fishing, racing, hot-wheeling, playing ball, beating each other up and/or out doing each other for over twenty years to be 2nd man...no way!  My champion! Jon walked straight up to Reuben at the service, head held high, chest out, arms pushing J.J. to the side almost - - it was epic, just EPIC. 

    Last night Jonathan posted on his Facebook that he had a hampster to give away to someone who could take care of it. I think it was on his wall about three minutes before Laura was knocking on Jon's door with her hands held out. "Why didn't you call, Bro.?", she asked. "You don't have to post it, I'll take it. Is it a Dwarf?" she asked Jon?  I loved his answer, he said, "Laura, I'm surprised at you; you know your mom raised you better than to be rude like that, the hamster has feelings you know."  I swear, sometimes I just want to smack them all, but Jon is just a bit too tall for me to reach now.  He gives great hugs though!  I love my boy.

Why Don't You Act Your Age?

 Act my age? What the hell does that even mean? Who would want to act like an old woman even if they were in fact (as told by the calendar anyway) an old woman? Hell no! I mean heck no! I shouldn't be cussing this much; I'm old. I blame my kids - - I'd like to say I blame them for most of what takes place to me and I'd be 48% correct if I did, but I have to at least admit from time to time that my antics are in fact my own. Today will not be an exception.

I bought an LED light mask to put on my face to use every single day. You hook it up, rev it up, pick your colors and set your timer, and BAM! You're 30 years younger in just 40 minutes. Well, I mean, you are if you believe the advertising and the photos plastered on the brochures.  The company knows the product is catered to the older gals, those of us who refuse to settle down and accept that we may soon be comparing walkers and lift chairs. We're the ones who refuse to accept the fact that time slipped not only out of our hands but right past us; leaving us to wonder where all the cannolis went, and whose dog is under the table anyway? Does anyone remember picking this one up at the shelter or did he just walk in the door on his own? Can someone go look at on the poles to see if he's officially missing? Is anyone even listening to me? No, they are not! No one is in my house, it's just me, and me alone with my new LED light mask - - and someone's Beagle. 

The light mask was told to have great healing abilities, and the low low price of only XYZ, it was going to change my life! I was going to be able to literally watch the wrinkles and fine lines in my face disappear, but wait, if I used their special, handy-dandy collagen serum on my face and neck before I subjected myself to laying alone (with some random dog on my bed) for the next 40 minutes, I could not only see the changes, but I could feel the changes too - - the tightening of my skin, the closing of my pores, if that wasn't enough, I had seven (count them, seven) colors of lights I could choose from; each with their own healing promises and properties.  How could I possibly resist? I mean, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't say to myself "Gosh darn Jude, I wish you looked 30 again instead of 32"  You can't see me laughing, I'm 59 at the time I'm writing this, but dammit I look good! (smiles)

It's not just the LED light mask. For the past several months this old woman has been working out nearly every day at the YMCA, losing weight with diet and exercise, riding my bike, riding my horse, walking the parking lots (I'd say the streets, but that carries with it an entirely different connotation you know) and I've been doing the best I can to not only stop the aging process but to ward off all the would-be suitors who find my new skinniness and tight-pants wearing self to be a bit more attractive than I was when I was really actually old; last year.  I'm not going to lie, it's rather curious to me how men will write to me without knowing me and ask me not only where I'm from, but if I'm married, what I do for a living, and if I'll hang out with them in various chat rooms - - I know the new me is so freakin irresistible, I get that fellas, but no, I'm the same ol' me when it comes to wanting companionship. If I want it, I'll go to the shelter and .... wait, I don't even have to do that anymore; apparently dogs just show up at my door. Does this Beagle like me now that I'm 30 pounds lighter? What?

I dance at home too; and I dance in public, which absolutely embarrasses my kids. If I can embarrass one or the other of them at least once a week I feel I've done my duty; dancing helps me keep my glutes in place and someday very soon I'll be stealing all of Caity's clothes and because of my new light mask she'll think it was Laura who took her things - - Ha! That's the real plan, right there. Just 30 more pounds and about 100 wrinkles to go and BAM...yes, BAM...I will be ready to be a Barbie model for Mattel! They can call this one the Boomer Barbie; she can wear an Oklahoma University t-shirt and really be sportin' because that's the only BOOMER we know; I'm not about to admit I'm aging not when I'm having too much fun flirting with this Beagle from behind the red flickering light of the LED mask.  It's a thing, it's a real thing. I'm going to have to post pictures to prove it, but it's a thing.

George.

     The most perfect dog almost ever had just passed away of cancer; I was devastated by the loss of my best friend Matrix.  He was around 12 years old, not nearly long enough for me, but because he was in fact my best friend, I let him go see Jesus when it became obvious that he couldn't stay with me and not be in pain.  I have Caity and Brandon to thank for being so kind as to take him into the vet's office for his one way ticket to the Rainbow Bridge. I just couldn't do it. I had done that so many other times for my own dad and for friends, this time it would have been too hard on my soul.

     As I lay on the couch in my house on that cold, cold, cold, Indianapolis evening, praying and crying, thanking God for my Mr. Matrix, I got a text from my good friend Gordon Dean Flick; I have to say his full name because there's another Gordon Flick in my life, believe it or not, a Facebook friend in Oklahoma, but this text came from my good Confederate buddy GDF, who lived just a few miles from me in Indy, and he and I were going to discuss a particular event that took place during the Civil War (he doesn't call it that; he calls it the Northern Aggression.)  The text started off with a sweet condolence about my friend Matrix, and Gordon's recalling of a dear memory that swept across his mind when he last saw my dog during the filming of a Australian animal show with Faith. Gordon had been invited as part of our family for the shoot -- he was in charge of wrangling Matrix so for Gordon, Matrix's passing was a moment of sorrow too.

    Later that week, not long after the grieving began, I got another text, and I thought it was from Gordon, but it wasn't. It was from a woman named Gordy who lived in Ohio, just over the Indiana border. She ran an animal rescue and wanted to know if I could help her out. Apparently, she had seen the Australian animal show, she had seen my name, recognized it on her Facebook home page, and decided that I may be able to help her since I had posted about Matrix's passing.  Seems she had a little weenie dog that was about to be put down due to his food aggression, but she swore up and down that he really wasn't like that, he just decided to be a boo-bear during the intake testing.  He was literally on death-row!  Could I help? 

    Gordy explained to me that the way it works in her county and her state is that when a dog comes in there is an intake, he either passes the test or he doesn't. If he doesn't pass the tests he could be immediately put down, or they could post him in another jurisdiction, but it had to be one that crossed both the county in Ohio, and the state line if the dog was to be retested and given a chance. She wanted to know if I would foster the dog for a week and then she'd come back to collect him, retest him, and if he passed the test this time he could be adopted.  I told her no. I would not foster the dog for a week. I told her I would take the dog.  I had no idea.  

    The snow was ONLY a foot deep outside, it was not quite a full on blizzard, so yeah, the girls and I decided to drive sixty miles to the East of our little house in the center of Indianapolis and meet the unknown, aggressive dog I was about to give the next several years to; why not? We're brave and adventurous souls; we can do this. We rescue horses in worse conditions, why not a dog? He was, after all, a weenie dog.  Weenie dogs get a bit more leniency in my world - - OK, they get the entire world, we'll go with that. They get whatever the heck they want -- before they even ask.

    We met around 11 p.m. and it was cold; did I mention it was freezing cold? It was OH MY GOSH cold, and it was dark and there were virtually no lights to light up the grocery store parking lot we had decided to meet at; it was just miserable and there we were with our smiles and our hopeful faces waiting for Gordy to pull into the parking lot with an untamed maniac with a short legs, a long body, and probably an attitude the size of Godzilla; he was, after all, a weenie dog.  She pulled into the parking lot next to my car, and we said our howdy-dos, we hugged even though we didn't know each other because I'm from Oklahoma, and it turns out Gordy is from Southern Mississippi, so yeah, we're gonna hug, it's a Southern thang; it will be done. We talked for a minute, we exchanged vet information, and the moment she opened the little cage door to retrieve my new friend -- he bit me.

    Gordy's face sunk. She was not sure what to do; she was not sure what she would say, but she knew that this meant the immediate end for the little dog.  She hadn't met the Stringfellows before, so she had no idea what to expect.  Laura grabbed a blanket from the back of the car and wrapped the little shivering brown Dachshund in the blanket so tightly he had no choice but to settle down; and his muzzle was not free to make a second dig at my hand.  "Thank you" Laura said to Gordy, as she loaded the new dog into our car without his kennel.  She decided she would hold him all the way back to our home and if he bit her she said she'd just bite him back! That's my girl.  Gordy cried, then she laughed. We're still good friends all these years later.

    What are you going to name him, Mom?  I looked at my daughter and said, "You remember the Bugs Bunny cartoon where the abominable snowman was holding Bugs and petting him?"  Laura said she did remember it.  "I'm going to love him, and squeeze him, and call him George."  Was my answer.  And that is exactly what we did.  He came home with us on December 31, 2012, and he was my best friend for about 8 years before he too made the decision to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For George it wasn't cancer, it was an accident that left his back end paralyzed.  Oh, I cried. Oh, I wailed and wailed. I only thought I missed Matrix. When we all see each other again, it will be a fight to the finish for them I'm sure to see which one I grab first; but oh, they don't know about Rover.  He was my first weenie dog; and he will be my forever right hand companion. There will be a few falling behind that dog, but I'm positive that Matrix and George are already deciding who follows Rover most of the time.

Preface to my Book

 Preface

Now, before we get started, there is something I need to do.  I need to tell you a little story about my three children so you can better understand where it is that I’m coming from, and why it is that I said what I said about each of them. Remember, most of the blogs were written years and years ago; my children’s lives have changed dramatically since these writings, but for the most part their personalities have remained intact.  This is a little story I made up to explain the differences in my children. This event never actually took place. 

******* 

One day I was sitting on the couch in the cold den because the heat had been turned down below 60 for some reason; no one really knows why, no one with three children in their almost teen years anyway. As I sat freezing under a couch pillow, contemplating getting up and finding a blanket, my son Reuben came into the house; big, brawny, bulky, he was covered in mud and had a really excited gait to his step, half breathing, half talking, he asked me, “Mom, where are the matches?  I want to burn the barn down out back behind our house so I can clear it out to play football?”   Did I just hear him correctly? If I did he’s not done it yet, and he’s actually asking my permission in his weird little way, letting me know both his intention, and saying he needs my help.   

As I was no longer sitting on the couch, but flying to the kitchen and over to the third drawer where I keep the matches, I blocked my son from taking them out of the drawer long enough to begin to explain to him why it would be that we should not, cannot, will not be burning any barns down any time soon!  Before I could finish my little mom-rant, my 2nd child Laura, cute as a button, never actually looking her age, and just smart as a whip, came walking into the kitchen with her little notebook. She always carried her little notebook so she could write out things she was thinking, or calculate things she needed to know. This time was no different. Her big brown eyes glanced at Reuben first, then at me, noting that I was blocking her brother from the third drawer she said, “Mommy, I took the matches. I saw Reuben coming and heard him talking to Jonathan outside, so I knew what he was about to do.  I hid them so he won’t get them, but here’s the deal; I made a list of all the reasons why Reuben should be allowed to remove the barn, and even made a chart with graphics to explain how it could be done without actually having to burn it down. Do you want to see?  To be honest, her actions even took Reuben by surprise this time, not me. She’s always been that way. 

Just as I was about to let Laura show me her drawings and have her try to engage Reuben into her means and ways of finding a better way to facilitate whatever it was that he needed or wanted to do, my ears were pricked by the sound of the city fire department’s truck and engines barreling down the side road behind my house.  Upon looking out the back window all three of us could see black smoke billowing upward into stark, twisted, dark plumes...it didn’t take any of us long to figure out what was happening. Caity found the matches.  

******* 

Enjoy your read.