Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 11

I Didn't Murder Him, but I Did Unlive Him. (in the book)

     Sometimes, the most unexpected things happen to me while I'm working. I usually mind my own business—if you know me, you know that's what I do. I was doing just that, working a claim, when the phone rang in my ears, and I answered it. I announced the name of my company, said my name, and waited for the other person to start speaking. 

    When he did, when Mr. Donald Wilson began speaking, he was rude. He must have gotten up on the wrong side of his bed, or maybe he had his pants on backward, I just couldn't know for sure, but he was not being very nice to me, and when that happens I make the active and very purposeful decision to remain quiet so that I can't be dragged into some awful and worthless conversation; usually on the defense.  This man was nothing more than a baiter and was pretty good at it, too.

    As he continued to berate me, and cut down my company, I waited for that perfect lull in the conversation, and I asked him point blankly, "Are you done?" I know, and you know, that when someone does that, it can only bring about the exact emotional response that it always brings about. He flew off into the sky of skies and continued to besmurch me, my company, the methods I used, my training, he wasn't satisfied with just being a rude fool, he had to go the extra distance and be sure that I would forever remember him; he called me a name.

    Now, in the past, as I have done, when someone calls me a bitch, I would come back with, "That's Dr. Bitch, I have earned my Ph.D. and you have probably not; so yes, it is Dr. Bitch, thank you."  That's my normal comeback, but I've been told I can't say that at work. That's why I simply remained quiet again, allowing Mr. Wilson to blow up the recorded telephone call with his ugly -- very ugly -- words.

    After he became a little calmer, I asked again if he was finished. Then I quickly, before he could say anything, let him know that due to his flagrantly unprofessional and crude language use, I would now terminate the call. I instructed him to call back when he felt he could do so, with grace and consideration. I let him know, before he could butt in again, that I would not accept his call within the next three business days. He could email me, or he could wait a while and call back when he had settled down a bit. Before I hung up, because I am a Southern woman, I did say "Bless your heart", just before I disconnected the call.

    Mr. Wilson did call back. He called back immediately, but I refused to answer. He wrote to me using pretty much the same language, and I copied the email and put it into his file. I noted the account, and when time passed, he decided to call again, and he was in no better mood than he had been. He was still yelling at me as if I was the problem, when he, and his crew, had dug a huge hole in the ground without a legal right or authority to do so. He cut a large conduit with hundreds of pairs of copper cables, dismantling communications for thousands of people and businesses, but yes, somehow, it was now all my fault - at least he was saying how unwilling he was to pay the fees my company was asking him to pay.

    Again, I explained how two-way communications would go from this point forward, but Mr. Wilson was adamant that the rest of the world could do sexually explicit things to themselves, while he relaxed and ruled or lorded over us. Again, I excused myself and terminated the call.  Before I did, however, I reminded him of his past name calling. I explained that, although I was not an excavator, I did hold a Ph.D. in administration. I would exercise my rights and training by terminating the call and then escalating the claim through the recommended legal review process. 

    Then, because I can, I killed Mr. Donald Wilson in my new book "Dion". He will not be identified to the point that anyone can say it was this particular Mr. Donald Wilson, but I may send him a copy of the book and then highlight that paragraph. I may do that. I will do that. I'm very nice like that. I will give you a free copy of my book if I write about you in it -- so kind.  Mr. Wilson (in the book) digs without a locate, and there is no legal authorization to do so. He cuts a 400 pair 24 gauge conduit and cable, which ends up electrocuting him, before throwing him from the excavator, up and over the arm, into the hole, and then the heavy 5000 pound bucket head of the excavator plows through him - cutting him in two pieces.  It's not murder, but it got done.

    Oh, how I love my job. I love my job, and I love to write, and when these types of opportunities pop up - well, I am so very pleased to take full advantage of them.

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Blue Tea - Butterfly Pea Flower Tea. (Harney & Sons)

     There is another tea in my life, a very recent find on Amazon. I am now drinking (besides my two cups of lemon juice and ginger tea with honey) a cup or two of Butterfly Pea Flower tea, which if you've never seen it, is bluer than blue. You'll love it if you're into peacock colored drinks.  I know I am.

    I do like to be a little extra from time to time. I have reading glasses that look as if they came out of the 60s psychedelic times, and I love them.  I work from home, wear my pajamas all day, and most of the day I find myself drinking something hot; beginning with coffee in the morning and then switching to tea sometimes around 10:00 a.m., this lasts until around 5:00 p.m. when I switch again, this time to straight water, always bottled. I fear the tap.

    My tea and coffee water comes from the tap, but it's topped with a great filter and I end up boiling the tea water and putting the other through the hot coffee maker, so again, I'm scorching the heck out of any and all bad bacteria. At least, that's what I tell myself. I tend to believe myself most of the time.

    I found the Butterfly Pea Flower tea online while searching for something by Harney & Sons that wouldn't put my wallet into a frenzied fit.  I can run up to the Asian market and get their brands as well, and I love them, but I do find that the flavor in the brand of Harney & Sons to be good - I wanted something different; blue is certainly different.

    The tea is quite blue. It's not too strong, and it has been around for centuries apparently. The tea does have another name, but it sounds a little too sexual to say; well, I mean, I can say it, but I'm not going to.  Here's a fun fact about it (to get your mind off the sexual nature of its other name): when you add lemon to the tea, it turns purple. It's fun, right? Let's go over some of its known benefits. You knew there had to be a few, right?

    As are most teas, it's an antioxidant. It helps neutralize pesky free radicals that run rampant in our bodies at any time.  This keeps us all looking so young -- so very young.  It also helps to boost the brain cells, making us more likely to think clearly -- we all need that from time to time, don't we? It also has been credited with stabilizing one's blood sugar - and if that isn't exciting, I don't know what is!

    It's a stress reliever, helps with inflammation, and enhances the collagen in our skin, hair, and nails, making us so much more beautiful than we were before we began drinking it. If you think I'm wrong, just give it a try - and see for yourself. Even if you disagree with the benefits I've thrown out at you from what I read on the internet, you can't argue that the color is glorious.

    Somewhere in all the research I did about its benefits, I found that Butterfly Pea Flower tea assists with improving one's eyesight and night vision. Who knew? It also supports heart health, and your gut will love you after drinking it, because it also (yes, if you can believe it) helps with your digestion. One would think that all one must do is sit around drinking this tea to be healthy and gorgeous, but I wouldn't put that much stock into it...but it is blue. 

    I can't lie. I bought the tea because it is pretty - I do things like that. I may buy myself a clear tea glass just so I can really enjoy it.

Photo Credit:  Pinterest.com

Lemon Ginger and Honey Tea ( a True Testimonial)

     If you're like me, you've been trying to lose weight most of your adult life, and it's not been easy. As we age, (dammit) we get thicker in places we don't necessarily want to become thicker. I can remember a week after I gave birth to my firstborn, how very big my breasts became when the milk came in fully, and there I was, loving it, because before those days, I was in fact, a member if not the committee leader of the local "Itty Bitty Titty Committee". Yes, at 24 years of age, I was still wearing an A-cup bra and could barely fill it out. Let's just say, those days are OVER!

    I didn't get "fat" or overly round until after my third baby, and even then, it took another three or four years of less fitness training because I was running around in shorter spurts trying to wrangle children. Despite what people may tell you, it doesn't do much for your body image - it leaves you really exhausted, ragged, and in some ways, because I didn't watch my diet either, I was literally causing myself so much self harm healthwise. I was the epitome of what anyone would say was "normal" or "average". To say I was pleased or accepted my fate would be wrong, but I really didn't see where I would have time or money to go to the gym and have someone watch the kids if I did.  

    Over the next two decades, I really let myself go, and was up to about 215 pounds in 2020 when one morning, the morning of August 3, I woke and decided to do something about it. Back in those days,  I had horses and could use the land they were boarded on to walk and I began doing that. I walked around 3.0 miles a day, and I'd come home and walk more if I could. I would go to the gym and work out, and it helped GREATLY. 

    By Christmas 2020, I was down to 165 and felt really good. Keep in mind, I'm 5'7" tall, so at 165 I was still thick, but not the way I was -- it felt really good.  You would be surprised how many co-workers, friends, family members, and others would tell me how happy they were that I was losing weight - these were the very same people who told me I didn't need to! I do wish people would stop lying to those they love. Tell the people who need to lose weight that they need to, and support them; don't lie to them -that's not love.

    That was literally 4.25 years ago and over that amount of time I've somehow slipped right back to where I was before. I typically don't weigh myself because I get upset if I weigh more than I think I do. Today, I wore a T-shirt that I often wear, which was tighter than before. That's when I knew I needed to take charge again - I had to do more than what I'm doing. It's not about impressing someone else; it's about me. It's about me loving me, and me doing what I know I should do. I've already given up most sugars; not all, but most.

    The weather is starting to improve, so I'll start walking again. My hip hurts, I know it does, and it was what stopped me before, but I simply must push through it until I can afford to get it replaced if the doctor says that's what I need to do. I can't go on feeling the way I feel -- that, the feeling, is much more unhealthy than the way I fit into my clothes. The mind is too close to the soul -- I need to feel good about myself as well as knowing my clothes aren't going to be too tight on my body.

    ENTER -- the one drink I used to drink as a kid, the one  I used to drink when I was running around in Hollywood working in the film industry, because I saw the "stars" doing it, and thought I needed to be as thin as they were. This is a fun fact. For a minute, I hung out with a group of women who shared a flat. There were 5 of them in a one bedroom flat, and they had turned the top closet shelf into a bed for the littlest member.  I was 5'7" and weight 125 pounds and I was the thick one in the flat when I visited.

    Starting today - I will drink at least 2 cups of my old concoction, the one my ladies swore by. They drank it cold, I like hot tea instead.  Here is the "recipe" if you want to call it that.  Water, lemon juice, ginger, and honey. I blend (in a blender) water, lemon, and true root ginger and I pour a little more water in, heat it in the microwave and add honey. It is tart, it is strong, but it is good, and we'll see what happens. 

    I promise to try and keep the calories to around 1500 a day. I promise to try and exercise at a moderate rate, and I promise to get at least 7-8 hours of sleep. This way you'll have a true account of what I am doing and I also promise NOT TO LIE to you -- if I don't lose weight, I'll tell you, but if I do, I'll tell you. I will weigh myself EVERY SUNDAY and tell you how much weight I've lost. I won't tell you what I weigh now.  You don't need to know, but it's up there.

    I'm not going to mention it in every blog, but every Sunday I'll come by and send up a little message to keep those who are interested in the loop. I have something like 25K followers now, maybe after I lose the weight and can prove it that number will go up -- but their bodies will go down!!! HA!!

    Let's hope it happens. I am so sick and tired of going online and reading all these stupid result blogs about how someone lost 60 pounds in 2 weeks -- give me a break. I'm thinking 2.5 pounds a week. I want to lose 50, so that's 20 weeks. Twenty weeks from today is July 20, 2025.  I'll call it my goal date. We'll see how it works out for me. I'm not going to lie to myself or try and harm myself to push something that is supposed to take place slowly.  I'd say wish me luck, but luck has NOTHING to do with this quest.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

DION - A Name Change - A New Path

    I really didn't like the name "Grace" for the new book. I like the word, or course, but not for my new book. It didn't fit, it didn't feel right. In fact, it was too nice, too neat, too tidy, and the book will be anything but those things. I am hoping to use AI in a new way, giving it ideas and concepts to see what it spits at me. If I like it, I'll write around it, and if I don't, I'll excuse it. I thought about it, and "Grace" wasn't the word to use.

    If you know me, you know I love Scotland, its history, wealth of stories, etc. I couldn't see myself keeping the title "Grace" when very few of the characters demonstrate the concept of the word. No, I chose another word, a Scots Gaelic word that means to defend, to protect; the word is "Dion." The new title of the book is "Dion". I'm having fun researching it so that I may use it more intimately from one character to the next.

    I've written three full chapters of the book so far, and while I won't publish them here one chapter at a time, you can read the first chapter and get a hint of what to expect; it won't be your typical romance, and it won't be your typical dramatic story. I've decided to use edgy people, secrets, taboos, and other means to get my point(s) across in this one. The lead character herself isn't necessarily interested in much more than proving a point, so her dogmatic behavior, though irritating, will eventually win out, and because I love a good twist, there will be one or two of those as well.

    While the woman isn't a Scorpio or a witch, she will prove to be formidable, someone who should not be crossed. Revenge isn't always served cold. There are times when a good burn will suffice; you'll have to wait and see what she (Elle) can come up with for those who try to stop her from taking what is rightfully hers. (Hint: the words "scorched earth" could be a reality.) In military jargon, the term means to leave nothing of the enemy behind. Elle Finlay never actually served in combat, but she reads well enough to know her way around a good comeuppance.

    Chapters 4-7 will be written next weekend, and I will likely set the pattern at four chapters a week. At that rate, the book will be finished by the end of March and be reread-tweaked and prepped by April 7-10. I'll send it up around that time and have a copy sent back to myself so I can read it as a book. That will take another week, so around April 22 or so, I'll send it up for the final presentation.  When I have it published for printing, I'll also pay for the Kindle edition. They take another 3 weeks to prepare, but they're worth it.

    I sell more Kindle editions now than print books. At $4.99 a pop, it's so much cheaper! I always buy a copy of my own books to keep digitally as well. That way, I can meet with, converse with, and discuss life with the very people I know well enough to say that they'll agree with me if I need them to. What good is a character if you can't commune with them for years to come? One of the things I love about "Dion" is that it takes place in and around Stirlingshire, Scotland - actually between Stirlingshire and Glasgow. So much history. So much to see and so much to explore.

    The cities are every bit of what constitutes a character in the book. I could no more rewrite their history than be the proverbial Man on the Moon, but there's simply no way I would ever want to rewrite the stories of those places when their reality becomes the needed truth behind my fictional story.  Every good story has to have a little truth to carry it! Don't you agree?

    

Photo Credit: Me

Dion - Chapter One is Done. (and yes, it's copyrighted because I just published it)

 Chapter One

 (* mistakes may still be lurking )

Elle Finlay’sdark eyes narrowed behind her stern gaze, scanning Judy Marchmont’s face forany signs of deceit. “A prop? That looks awfully real to me,” sheremarked, her arms folded firmly over themselves. Elle’s voice was low buteven, betraying no emotion except perhaps a hint of skepticism. The wholesituation reeked of ingenuity; something was very wrong, and it wasn’t just thefact that the headless body of a yet-to-be-identified community playparticipant lay bleeding at stage left; its head being left exactly where ithad rolled after being unceremoniously severed during what Judy Marchmont wascalling a “freak accident.”

            Elletook a step closer to Judy, her tall frame towering over the stage manager. “Andwhy on earth would anyone go to such drastic lengths to create a fake executionfor a play? What kind of people do you have working for you, Judy? Where didyou get the ‘prop,’ don’t tell me this was the first time someone decided totry it out to see if it really worked. You know they have lettuce for that sortof thing!” Elle’s voice rose slightly while emphasizing what she believedwas necessary to point out. “How do we explain the blood? The body? Who thehell is he anyway? I don’t even recognize him. He’s too old to be one of the students,and the only teachers or school staff involved were women, so far as I knewanyway.” She asked.

            WhenMarchmont’s eyes met those of the Deputy Mayor, her silence filled the roominstantly. Several pregnant seconds of dormancy passed before she answered. “He…heis my husband; my husband David.” She said. “You’re absolutely right; we hadtested it on the foam rubber pumpkins we found in the back as well as with ahead of cabbage, not lettuce. In every case, the blade remained in place, whereit should be; it didn’t…it didn’t push past the safety nub. God knows why itdid this time; I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s…you know howhe is; he was insistent! He all but dared…he pushed me.  He told me it was safe, Elle; I believed him.He made it! He would know.”

            Elle’shand unconsciously clenched into a fist at her side, her body tense and readyfor action. She was far from the type who backed down easily and wouldn’t startnow. “You called the police, haven’t you? I mean, you called me, of course,but please tell me you’ve called the police!” Her words biting, each syllablelaced with disbelief and anger. Despite the chaos this would cause, sheremained laser-focused on Judy, waiting for her answer, hoping it would makesense.

            AtJudy’s revelation, Elle’s expression softened slightly. She could see thegenuine fear and confusion, perhaps even regret, flooding over herold friend’s face, and her heart ached for her. However, she couldn’t let herguard down completely until she knew the full truth. Elle’s mind repeatedlyrolled the words “my husband” as she processed the scene, instructing the womannot to touch anything. “Leave it exactly as it is. Don’t go near the head,don’t move. Stay exactly where you are until the police arrive.” Dialing9-1-1, Elle’s fingers shook, but she managed to connect the digits and place acalm, if not too calm, report into her phone, addressing the very real need forboth police and an ambulance forthwith. “The man is dead; there is no needfor sirens; just hurry, please.” She stated as she ended the call.

            “Ido understand your concern, Judy,” Elle said, her voice still strong enoughto show courage at that most bizarre moment. “But we can’t rule anything outyet. When the police arrive, don’t lie, don’t try to make up something, don’thide anything, nothing will do you more harm than to try and say it wasunavoidable; tell the truth and trust the system.” She told her, thinking thatit wasn’t necessarily the truth that she was doling out, but at least she couldcomfort herself in knowing she had seen Marchmont backstage when she heard theblade fall.

            Ellepaused, taking in the sight of the destroyed stage and the panicked stagehandsbehind the curtains where she had purposely told them all to stay. “Lockthat door, Michael! No one leaves! The police will probably come through the frontdoor, but we don’t need anyone making an exit before they arrive.” She toldone of the crew, a lack-lustered youth in his later teens. Glancing back towardher, Michael Bower informed her and everyone else that the door had been left opento let in some air. With the stage having been locked up for several months beforetheir rehearsals, it needed an airing; he couldn’t be positive that someone ormore than just one person had already left through the backstage door.

            Turningto address the group gathered on one side of the stage, her gaze hardened again.“I want everyone to stay exactly where they are. The police must take yourstatements even if you don’t think you have anything to say to them. If any ofyou know who did this, please don’t make up a story to be in the papers orsomething; just be as honest as you can be, and by God and all things Holy, donot go near that contraption again! It is absolutely off limits to everyone; itwill likely be firewood by morning!” her words carried throughout the halljust as the sirens of the police cars could be heard approaching the hall'sfront entrance.

            Puttingan older woman from the school in charge, asking her to stand in front of the others,not allowing anyone to move, Elle walked off the side of the stage, making herway through the auditorium to the hallway leading to the entrance of the hallto meet the police. As she strode off, her long legs ate up the distance, and shedisappeared into the blackness of the entertainment hall. Before reaching thedoors, she called back again to ask for the lights to be switched on; someonehad to move to make it happen, but at least she would know where they were.

            Elle’smind raced with possibilities. If this was indeed just an accident, she wantedto find out what caused the malfunction in the guillotine.  Perhaps it worked perfectly with stage propslike lettuce and the foam pumpkins, but when David’s full weight was on thething, it could have triggered the blade to bypass the safety nub and fallfurther than it ever had when he had tested it. This made physical sense to her,her mind turning rapidly during the few seconds it took to reach the uniformedofficers waiting for her at the locked front doors. 

    “Good afternoon,officers; I am Deputy Mayor Rachelle Finlay, managing the community outlet. We’reputting on an original play written by one of our students, the winner, infact, of the school’s yearly writing contest. It’s something we have done foryears. Believe it or not, it saves the community thousands of dollars inroyalty payments.” Her words faded quickly as she realized how stupid shemust sound explaining the play’s financial valuation at this time. 

            “I’msorry, I’m just not completely sure I’ve lost my head on….oh God, I’m sorry, Ididn’t mean to say that.” She stopped immediately, faced the two men beforeher, and asked them if they had been told what they would see. “Has anyonetold you what happened? I don’t want you to get in there and be surprised. Aman has been killed; we don’t know the mode, but we know the method. He hasbeen beheaded by what was supposed to be a harmless prop, a prop he himselfmade for the play. We don’t know if he was testing it or if someone else wasdoing so. I’ve asked the crew and stage actors to remain exactly where theyare. They are backstage behind the curtain at stage right.” Elleimmediately realized she needed to explain that stage right was, in fact, onone’s left as they entered the room.

            Asthe first officers entered the hall, Elle melted inside herself. Noticinganother set of police officers, both women, this time had made their way to thefront doors as well. Giving the first responders instructions on where to go, shemade her way back down the tiled floor and across the foyer to greet the new uniforms.“This way,” she said, not feeling the need to try and explain as much asshe had, not wanting to make a fool of herself for a second time. “I’mDeputy Mayor Rachelle Finlay; I am usually called ‘Elle.’ The others are mostlikely at the edge of the stage where the man’s head will be; I don’t know ifyou’ll want me to bring the others through the stage door and into the hall soyou can question them, us so you can question all of us.” She said,allowing herself to breathe while she spoke.

            Sittingin silence, Elle phoned her boss, Mayor Thomas Barnaby, apologizing for nothaving called him sooner, but as she explained, it was all rather desperate,and her first duty was, of course, to maintain the scene, keeping it as pristineas it could be for the police. “When I finally managed to get the actors and crew into the hall and seated, I noticed that two of them had already left. They either did so before everyone milled around to theright side of the stage by the stands and gears, or Michael could have let themout as I was greeting the police; I could tell he wasn’t as apt to keep thescene as he needed to be. He’s a kid; he probably doesn’t watch as many cop showsas we do, Tom.” She tried to make things a bit lighter despite the direcircumstances.

            “Ihope I’m wrong about this, Tom. I hope it was an accident and that JudyMarchmont didn’t want her husband dead. They’ve not had the most amicable marriage; I think we both remember the Christmas party fiasco when DavidMarchmont decided ten or fifteen drinks wasn’t nearly enough.” Even whileshe said it, she regretted having done so. Her dark eyes closed; she was tryingto find a moment of peace before admitting that Judy Marchmont wouldn’t havebeen the only one wanting to see David Marchmont dead. “I’m just beinghonest, Tom. I’m just being honest.” She told him.

Photo Credit: Mickey Rogan

Grace - Chapter One is Done. (and yes, it's copyrighted because I just published it)

 Chapter One

 (* mistakes may still be lurking )

Elle Finlay’sdark eyes narrowed behind her stern gaze, scanning Judy Marchmont’s face forany signs of deceit. “A prop? That looks awfully real to me,” sheremarked, her arms folded firmly over themselves. Elle’s voice was low buteven, betraying no emotion except perhaps a hint of skepticism. The wholesituation reeked of ingenuity; something was very wrong, and it wasn’t just thefact that the headless body of a yet-to-be-identified community playparticipant lay bleeding at stage left; its head being left exactly where ithad rolled after being unceremoniously severed during what Judy Marchmont wascalling a “freak accident.”

            Elletook a step closer to Judy, her tall frame towering over the stage manager. “Andwhy on earth would anyone go to such drastic lengths to create a fake executionfor a play? What kind of people do you have working for you, Judy? Where didyou get the ‘prop,’ don’t tell me this was the first time someone decided totry it out to see if it really worked. You know they have lettuce for that sortof thing!” Elle’s voice rose slightly while emphasizing what she believedwas necessary to point out. “How do we explain the blood? The body? Who thehell is he anyway? I don’t even recognize him. He’s too old to be one of the students,and the only teachers or school staff involved were women, so far as I knewanyway.” She asked.

            WhenMarchmont’s eyes met those of the Deputy Mayor, her silence filled the roominstantly. Several pregnant seconds of dormancy passed before she answered. “He…heis my husband; my husband David.” She said. “You’re absolutely right; we hadtested it on the foam rubber pumpkins we found in the back as well as with ahead of cabbage, not lettuce. In every case, the blade remained in place, whereit should be; it didn’t…it didn’t push past the safety nub. God knows why itdid this time; I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s…you know howhe is; he was insistent! He all but dared…he pushed me.  He told me it was safe, Elle; I believed him.He made it! He would know.”

            Elle’shand unconsciously clenched into a fist at her side, her body tense and readyfor action. She was far from the type who backed down easily and wouldn’t startnow. “You called the police, haven’t you? I mean, you called me, of course,but please tell me you’ve called the police!” Her words biting, each syllablelaced with disbelief and anger. Despite the chaos this would cause, sheremained laser-focused on Judy, waiting for her answer, hoping it would makesense.

            AtJudy’s revelation, Elle’s expression softened slightly. She could see thegenuine fear and confusion, perhaps even regret, flooding over herold friend’s face, and her heart ached for her. However, she couldn’t let herguard down completely until she knew the full truth. Elle’s mind repeatedlyrolled the words “my husband” as she processed the scene, instructing the womannot to touch anything. “Leave it exactly as it is. Don’t go near the head,don’t move. Stay exactly where you are until the police arrive.” Dialing9-1-1, Elle’s fingers shook, but she managed to connect the digits and place acalm, if not too calm, report into her phone, addressing the very real need forboth police and an ambulance forthwith. “The man is dead; there is no needfor sirens; just hurry, please.” She stated as she ended the call.

            “Ido understand your concern, Judy,” Elle said, her voice still strong enoughto show courage at that most bizarre moment. “But we can’t rule anything outyet. When the police arrive, don’t lie, don’t try to make up something, don’thide anything, nothing will do you more harm than to try and say it wasunavoidable; tell the truth and trust the system.” She told her, thinking thatit wasn’t necessarily the truth that she was doling out, but at least she couldcomfort herself in knowing she had seen Marchmont backstage when she heard theblade fall.

            Ellepaused, taking in the sight of the destroyed stage and the panicked stagehandsbehind the curtains where she had purposely told them all to stay. “Lockthat door, Michael! No one leaves! The police will probably come through the frontdoor, but we don’t need anyone making an exit before they arrive.” She toldone of the crew, a lack-lustered youth in his later teens. Glancing back towardher, Michael Bower informed her and everyone else that the door had been left opento let in some air. With the stage having been locked up for several months beforetheir rehearsals, it needed an airing; he couldn’t be positive that someone ormore than just one person had already left through the backstage door.

            Turningto address the group gathered on one side of the stage, her gaze hardened again.“I want everyone to stay exactly where they are. The police must take yourstatements even if you don’t think you have anything to say to them. If any ofyou know who did this, please don’t make up a story to be in the papers orsomething; just be as honest as you can be, and by God and all things Holy, donot go near that contraption again! It is absolutely off limits to everyone; itwill likely be firewood by morning!” her words carried throughout the halljust as the sirens of the police cars could be heard approaching the hall'sfront entrance.

            Puttingan older woman from the school in charge, asking her to stand in front of the others,not allowing anyone to move, Elle walked off the side of the stage, making herway through the auditorium to the hallway leading to the entrance of the hallto meet the police. As she strode off, her long legs ate up the distance, and shedisappeared into the blackness of the entertainment hall. Before reaching thedoors, she called back again to ask for the lights to be switched on; someonehad to move to make it happen, but at least she would know where they were.

            Elle’smind raced with possibilities. If this was indeed just an accident, she wantedto find out what caused the malfunction in the guillotine.  Perhaps it worked perfectly with stage propslike lettuce and the foam pumpkins, but when David’s full weight was on thething, it could have triggered the blade to bypass the safety nub and fallfurther than it ever had when he had tested it. This made physical sense to her,her mind turning rapidly during the few seconds it took to reach the uniformedofficers waiting for her at the locked front doors. 

    “Good afternoon,officers; I am Deputy Mayor Rachelle Finlay, managing the community outlet. We’reputting on an original play written by one of our students, the winner, infact, of the school’s yearly writing contest. It’s something we have done foryears. Believe it or not, it saves the community thousands of dollars inroyalty payments.” Her words faded quickly as she realized how stupid shemust sound explaining the play’s financial valuation at this time. 

            “I’msorry, I’m just not completely sure I’ve lost my head on….oh God, I’m sorry, Ididn’t mean to say that.” She stopped immediately, faced the two men beforeher, and asked them if they had been told what they would see. “Has anyonetold you what happened? I don’t want you to get in there and be surprised. Aman has been killed; we don’t know the mode, but we know the method. He hasbeen beheaded by what was supposed to be a harmless prop, a prop he himselfmade for the play. We don’t know if he was testing it or if someone else wasdoing so. I’ve asked the crew and stage actors to remain exactly where theyare. They are backstage behind the curtain at stage right.” Elleimmediately realized she needed to explain that stage right was, in fact, onone’s left as they entered the room.

            Asthe first officers entered the hall, Elle melted inside herself. Noticinganother set of police officers, both women, this time had made their way to thefront doors as well. Giving the first responders instructions on where to go, shemade her way back down the tiled floor and across the foyer to greet the new uniforms.“This way,” she said, not feeling the need to try and explain as much asshe had, not wanting to make a fool of herself for a second time. “I’mDeputy Mayor Rachelle Finlay; I am usually called ‘Elle.’ The others are mostlikely at the edge of the stage where the man’s head will be; I don’t know ifyou’ll want me to bring the others through the stage door and into the hall soyou can question them, us so you can question all of us.” She said,allowing herself to breathe while she spoke.

            Sittingin silence, Elle phoned her boss, Mayor Thomas Barnaby, apologizing for nothaving called him sooner, but as she explained, it was all rather desperate,and her first duty was, of course, to maintain the scene, keeping it as pristineas it could be for the police. “When I finally managed to get the actors and crew into the hall and seated, I noticed that two of them had already left. They either did so before everyone milled around to theright side of the stage by the stands and gears, or Michael could have let themout as I was greeting the police; I could tell he wasn’t as apt to keep thescene as he needed to be. He’s a kid; he probably doesn’t watch as many cop showsas we do, Tom.” She tried to make things a bit lighter despite the direcircumstances.

            “Ihope I’m wrong about this, Tom. I hope it was an accident and that JudyMarchmont didn’t want her husband dead. They’ve not had the most amicable marriage; I think we both remember the Christmas party fiasco when DavidMarchmont decided ten or fifteen drinks wasn’t nearly enough.” Even whileshe said it, she regretted having done so. Her dark eyes closed; she was tryingto find a moment of peace before admitting that Judy Marchmont wouldn’t havebeen the only one wanting to see David Marchmont dead. “I’m just beinghonest, Tom. I’m just being honest.” She told him.

Photo Credit: Mickey Rogan

My Big Lots Special.

     If you know me, you know I love Big Lots. Surprisingly, it reminds me of TG&Y, the five-and-dime store I shopped at (and worked at briefly) as a kid. I absolutely remember the aisles and the place's layout; is that weird? Is that an odd thing to think about so many years later?  One of the strangest things I recall about going to TG&Y was going to TG&Y -- how I got there. I would walk (by myself) from 2212 N. Mueller to the "little store" about six blocks away, or if I was feeling exceptionally adventeous, I'd walk the 2.2 miles to the "big store".  So what, you say! People walk that far all the time. I did it, too, all the time. I was literally 7 years old.

    Walking places back in the '60s wasn't hard to do, nor was it uncommon to see kids doing it. When I was under five, just under, I walked from 2212 N. Mueller in Bethany, OK, to the 3500 block of N. Mueller to the city library. I did that almost daily. My love of books is very, very well-seeded. I'd take them home, not realizing I wasn't supposed to. We'd find them under chairs, beds, in the bushes, wherever, and return them. I wasn't so much of a thief as I was a cherished fan of the place.

    Anyway, back to Big Lots. It is literally one of my favorite little stores, and I will miss it terribly. I think Dollar General could be a good replacement, but it's not the same. It's like going to a petting zoo instead of one with big cats, polar bears, and gorillas. I mean, you still get the senses full, but it's just not the same, and it never will be. There is no replacement for TG&Y, and there will not be one for Big Lots either. (My mind is running through the days when I loved shopping at Tuesday Mornings!!)

    So, it was today, another ordinary Friday, when Laura and I made our way to our Big Lots, the one that is in the neighborhood. We love it. It's going away permanently, and we know we'll miss it terribly on a weekly basis. Today, I decided to buy as much of the Caribou coffee as I could get my hands on since it was literally more than 60% off.  I can't really express how happy I was to see a full 4o K-cup box for $7.80.  If they had 10 boxes, I would have bought them all. At 17.7 cents per cup, you bet I would. I found a 90" x 90" fluffy blue blanket that is normally $19.99 -- I got it for $6.70!

    Just as I was leaving, in fact, while I was going to check out, I found a really good sturdy dog chew toy that looked like it would withstand the jaws of a pitbull -- I bought it. It was only $2.00 (80% off), and that really put a smile on my face. I saw about 50 signs that said that February 27 is the last day the store will be open, so I may go back tomorrow just to score one or two more good deals. I'll think about putting them in my new "Christmas" box -- and hoard the items for 10 more months - that way, when I pull the box out and start wrapping the presents, I won't even remember what I bought! What a fun thing to do!

    I think going back for anything I need, such as pens, paper, cleaning products, socks, candles, and yes, more good dog toys, should be done one more time -- as a way to say goodbye to the store as well as being the frugal and sensible person I am. It's a sad day but a good day -- and I really do hope another store like it will crop up. Then again, with all the online shopping I do and others, I imagine, it's no wonder the brick-and-mortar stores are closing.  Life changes, times change, we all change -- some for good, some for worse. 

    Memories are made along the way.

Photo Credit: BigLots.com

TAKING a BREAK from WRITING

     Lately, I have not been in a writing mood. I really can't explain why that is exactly the case. It could be because I've felt the need to change the name of my book to protect the possibility of upsetting those who have family or loved ones in the actual cemetery that I was going to have my character live in, but I think it's something else, too. I just don't know what it could be. I'm not in the mood to write.

    I got the outline written. I know what I'm going to say, and I know what I'm going to write, but I don't feel like doing it just yet. There isn't a reason; there isn't a problem. I just don't want to do it. I'll take off a few more weeks and write three or four books in 2025. Maybe I won't write another one. This entire year will be about the one book I finished...but I doubt it. I doubt that statement. I'm lying to you and myself if I could mean it.

    Writing does take all day when I do it. I start around 10 or 11 and work til about 4 or 5 in the evening. I usually write at least three chapters a day when I write. I even told myself that this time, it would be a weekend thing, where I only wrote on the weekends. I'm just in the mood to not write. I think I'll pick it up again; I know I will, but not now. I have no real reason that I can pin down -- or pen down. LOL.

    I just happen to want to watch Midsomer Murders on Prime, and since they have 24 seasons....you know, I could be there for a while. I hope to gain from them. Not every show online has at least three grisly murders in each episode! I take that back; there was one episode that only featured a single murder! That was crazy!  If you haven't seen the show you should watch it -- Prime on Amazon. The time frame is from 1999-2011, I think -- or maybe 1997-2011 -- but there about. So, the little baby in season 8, born in 2001, has already graduated college by now! WHAT? (I Googled)

    Well, anyway, that's me in a nutshell, telling you that I'm not writing, but I haven't given up murder - no, I'm still watching it and thinking about how I can use lines and thoughts from what I see and hear -- I do that. I recycle. At least I don't plagiarize. I do change it up a bit -- I'm not completely barbaric, just enough rough around the edges to be considered suspect.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

BEWARE of WOVENFIT -- SCAMMERS (in my opinion)

     This is one of those times when I admit to you that I was scammed and taken advantage of. I don't pride myself on being too observant or clever, but I hate it when I'm taken over and lied to when I should have seen it coming. I should have seen it for what it was; instead, I saw it for what it could have been - my mistake.

    It was just after Christmas, and as you know, you can buy clothes on sale during the season because they're on sale. Most clothes are sold at higher prices the season beforehand - you can get a bikini in February for a regular price, but in July, you can get it for half price; you get my point. Well, I wasn't buying bikinis, but the sweatshirts on sale seemed reasonable, and since I had purchased them from the Love in Faith site before, I trusted them. The problem, as it turned out, the problem was that it wasn't the Love in Faith people I was buying from! I got swindled yet again!

    In 2024, I was taken by three separate companies who used a credible site as a means to piggyback and sell items that are typically sold by those credible sites for so much less; and all the while, I believed I was getting the merchandise from a credible site. It was then explained to me by my banker, that fraudulent companies (usually Chinese) will use Wayfair, Temu, even Patreon, and other sites to piggyback on - and when you buy, you actually send your money to a third-party vendor that the credible company allows to sell their wares on -- BE CAREFUL when you hit the PAY BUTTON to see where it is going!

    I bought three sweatshirts and two tee shirts from Love in Faith this past January. Then, after a few days, I checked my bank, and there was a withdrawal for the same $38.02 from a company called Wovenfit.  I hadn't knowingly purchased from them, so I waited to see what would happen -- I should have just shut it down, but I am one who typically gives someone a chance to be a fool. I think I need to change that practice. 

    By February 5, I hadn't received the package, so Wovenfit sent me a tracking site showing the package had been delayed in China but was now in Los Angeles and was on a truck or plane for Oklahoma City. If I could just be a little more patient. They would refund me 20% of my purchase. I didn't want a discount, I wanted my winter clothes in the wintertime! I should have known better.  By Valentine's Day, I had had enough! I wrote to them and canceled the order, demanding my payment to be refunded immediately. They wrote to say it would be 15-25 business days -- and that's when I went all TRUMP on them.

    I wrote back to them, telling them that I would now report them to Attorney General Pam Bondi and ask for severe tariffs to be placed on them for any and all sales they do in the future. I told them that my over 1M followers would read my reviews. I told them I wouldn't tolerate being lied to again and that I would take every measure to close down their little scheme as well as to weasel them out individually if possible -- and low and behold -- as if by a miracle -- my money was back into my bank account the next morning!

    Can these RATS be any dirtier? They can. The answer is yes, they can be. They prey on the average person who trusts a good company or brand to do business with. They steal from hard-working people and think that they'll get away with it. Google WOVENFIT and find their reviews. I wish I had done that before I ever got involved with them. On Monday, I will close that bank card and get another one, but dang! I hate it. I hate that I have to. It's 100% my fault for not being all eagle-eyed and on task, but one shouldn't have to be that way 24/7/365!

    Please, learn from my mistakes. PLEASE be more careful when you hit the PAY BUTTON!  Know where you get your merchandise from, and though it seems impossible to say this, I am saying it. I won't trust another foreign site. I just can't. I've been burned by them too often.

Photo Credit: VECTEEZY.com 

GRACE -- The Outline.

     Well, there you go; I didn't start the book last weekend or the weekend before. I mean, I did, in my mind, but not inside the computer where it actually counts.  Today, I finally got around to writing out the outline of it, to write out the content of each chapter as a guide to use when I start the book in genuine. I'm not as quick to start this one as I was to start some others.

    I started "Stratford" on a whim because I was so upset about the whole issue behind it. I was forced to pay a seventeen-year-old false warrant after the courts in that area decided to pull out old files and add fees to the ones they felt needed to be paid. It was a forgiven debt, but that didn't stop them from steamrolling over me and holding a warrant over me to get their $738!  (I paid it, and then I got even)

    When I wrote "Of Kilted Pleasure," it was because I had been terminated from my employment and knew I couldn't get hired for at least a month, as it was at the end of the year, and people tend to wait until February to hire people for some reason. Check it out. December is the worst month for hiring, but January follows it quite closely. So, since I knew I would be home alone for at least 4-6 weeks, I wrote a book.

    This time, because I'm both gainfully employed and I have just written another book, I wasn't all that excited to get back into it. It's a grind that I place on myself, which isn't fair to me, but it's only me who suffers by my own hands. I really should have a conversation with myself about such matters. I would like to know if it will help. The main way to stop me from being so egregious is simply going on strike and refusing to get started.  That's been my go-to method of rebellion.

    Well, today, I decided to write out the outline. I did so in about an hour, having thought about what it was I wanted to do in the book - I had a basic idea. Then, for personal reasons, I decided to change the city where the book takes place as well as the name of the book. The book was going to be named "Grange," and it was going to take place in the real cemetery in Edinburgh. I changed that. I first decided I didn't need that association becoming angry at me if I used their name, and then I decided that the City of Stirling needed a little love as well, so I changed the location of the book to Stirling.

    Stirling and Edinburgh have so many things in common, but they have so many things setting them apart. I plan to discuss those in the book as well. I hope to; I will do it.  I am the one writing the book -- I can control that much. I have also decided that there should be a lot of controversial topics in the book - both discussed and just played out. People will simply have to like or not like them; that's not up to me. I write, and it's fair to say that whatever it is that I choose to write about is and/or are topics and subject matters that actually take place in the real world. 

    Again, it's my book. I'm not going to ask permission to write it. I'm not even going to pretend to be polite about it. It's a good book, and it will be received well. I don't write to sell; I don't write to please. I write to write. I have these stories floating around in my head - they must come out - so they do eventually. I have a few more up there, too, so after this one, two more detective novels will probably come. I can't wait to get to them, so this book won't take me too long; I know that much, too. Once I get started -- it's just the starting in this case that took a little longer than most.

Photo Credit: Pinterest  (Stirling Castle)