Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 58

Too Much Fun!! (Coffee Time)

Here I am, minding my own business. As you know, I often do that. When OUT OF THE BLUE I decided to buy a small, one-cup (tiny) stovetop expresso maker. I do that from time to time; I stir the pot in my own head to thicken the plot! There must be a plot. There will be a story!! If there isn't one I will create one. Today's story is the fluff that I'll use when I write the murder book. I'm home for a while, having just been "relieved" of my employment. (I won't go into details. With my experience and licenses I won't be unemployed long.)  I decided to continue writing on the murder book, and guess what, I have a new twist!  I'm going to include a beautiful human resource manager and perhaps a manly-looking woman of a supervisor in the book! Oh yes, you don't piss me off without sharing the pages of my venting for prosperity. Rather than having either of them bumped off, I'll just have them treated the way I was treated and we'll see if it makes for a good print. 

    My new stovetop espresso maker is too adorable. I'm not kidding. It's fun and snazzy.  When I saw it on Amazon I was actually looking for a type of camping or outdoorsey type of coffee maker. I'm going to have my hero and his sidekick (Spoiler: the sidekick has been kicked in the side...literally. He took a tumble off of Arthur's Seat and was left to die. He pissed me off too, so instead of killing him, he'll be found two days after the fall. He'll be found by a nosy Jack Russell Terrier named "Wallace". The poor singer will have his face peed on, but he'll survive. He'll limp and be in considerable pain for a while, but he will survive.)  The outdoorsey coffee pot was a good thought, but when I found the stovetop espresso maker and researched to find that they did have them in the UK in the 1930s, I bought one for $10 to try it out. You know me, I have to be as authentic as I can be for the books. If I have to make these types of sacrifices for the writ, I will do it.

    The "machine"  if you will, is no more than a two-part contraption that houses the water at the base. It has a little screen-type funnel built in so you can add the coffee directly, put the funnel into the base, screw the top part on, and stick it on the stovetop.  A few minutes later the pot begins to boil and you (if you're fast enough) catch it before it spews out of the spout!  I was fast!  Almost fast enough! After pouring the less than 8-oz "cup" into a Victorian porcelain bone China cup with little roses on it, I decided a spot of cream would go best. Oh...MY...goodness.  I think the handsome ruddy detective Nick Posh may be a bit unposh for this one. He may have to use a stoneware cup or something. He may complain about it. I know the vessel will need to be an 8-cupper, not my dainty little tiny thing, but I don't need more. I'm not in a police station. I don't need to share. The dogs nor the cats really cotton to coffee at this point. I haven't asked either lizard...I just haven't.

    Since it's the weekend of the last week, last month, of the year 2022, and I have no plans for at least a week or two, I think I'll head off to the land of Heather to write.  I think I'll flesh out the details of the book. I think I'll align the characters. If I don't have room for the HR manager, or if I think she wouldn't have been given the privilege of that position in the year of my writing, I can always pull her gorgeous blond locks back into a severe bun on the top of her head and drape her in a simple linen frock with dim tiny flowers; perhaps a thick crocheted collar for the hell of it. She'll not have the courage to speak. She'll not have permission to think. She'll be a nameless, faceless idiot, someone the men throw catcalls to from time to time; that is if they even notice her.  As for the butchy supervisor, the men do in fact notice her, but they call her "Bob" and allow her to hang out with them as long as she doesn't try to hone in on their work. Women don't have that power yet; not in 1930. Not in the Borders of Scotland anyway. She's lucky they let her draw a paycheck.

    I know I love to trade. I know I love to work and bring other people the money I bring them even if it only supplies me with an adequate paycheck. I do it for necessity sure, but I write because I'm free to do so. I write because no one (and I do mean NO ONE) can say a damn thing about it. I am my keyboard. I am my pen. If I had to pick or choose - - money means very little. Freedom is God-given.  I'll drink to that! (and by drinking to that, I mean it may be time to put on another cuppa!) Happy New Year!! Happy Hogmanay!! 

Photo Credit: Me.

Free Books is ALWAYS a Good Thang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Breathe. Keep breathing. Sigh. 

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

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

    

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credit: Walmart.com

    

Santa Brought Laura a Puppy!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credit: Me

Murder and Me.

 My mom read crime novels. She was really more into the funny ones, and the ones with characters like the cats who solve the mysteries; but there still had to be a mystery to solve, right? She read Agatha Christie, and the romantic mistresses of literature, while I was more into the gore and guts if you will. I found myself watching Perry Mason and later Quincy; in order to find out all I could about the when, where, why, how, and who done it! I wanted to know the details. Mom was more or less swept away by the costumes, the fancy, and the gallant events spoken and written about. She liked the glitter. I liked the bloody trail.

    As time went on, I pretended quite openly, that Della Street was my real mom, and Perry Mason (though they were never married) was my real dad. Paul Drake somehow became my famous uncle and I was in heaven inside my wee little brain, as I helped my parents solve the latest murder that had taken place in my neighborhood under the watchful eyes of the corner lamppost and the shrubs and bushes in everyone's front yard (or back) where I would hide and read novels. I think I was seven when I decided I was their baby. I know I snuck the "adult" books home when Mom would take me to the library. I couldn't check them out, but she would. She knew they were a bit racy I think, but she also knew I had no idea what "those" words may mean, so I was good to read whatever whenever wherever I wanted to. Heck, I was reading! 

    I never misplaced a book. I "lost" a few that never made it back to the library and Mom had to replace them. I didn't really lose anything. I kept them. I had a big drawer crafted into the bed my dad made me, and I hid the paperbacks there. I had quite the collection by the time I was in high school and realized just how much money I had cost my mom in Library fees. I think I may have even attempted to pay her back. Not sure. I think I did. If I didn't, I made her a red-headed grandbaby, so it's all good. We're even.

    As a kid growing up one would have thought that I would have wanted to become a medical examiner or a detective due to the way I consumed all things forensic. I was into it. I mean I was INTO IT. I watched what I could, I read what I could, I went out of my way to find evidence about this or that and make the puzzle pieces fit. If someone told me a lie I scouted it out to the nth degree until I had fully proven it, and that really didn't win me too many friends, not in high school! When I graduated (a year early) I went to Hollywood and yes, I worked in the movies and on sets. I was there, in the middle of it, and no, it was NOT the same in production as it is when you watch it, let me just tell you that right now. I preferred the books and films to the 12-16 hour days of hurry-up-and-wait while someone set up shots and fifteen others told me what to do. It wasn't really all that fun.

    Later, as I got older and now, as I'm older, I have scoured the internet and every forensic show there has ever been made both in the U.S. and in the U.K. for all things murder. I say that I don't like funny ones really. I want the real details, I want to hear the disposal stories. I want to try to figure out what the hell that person was thinking when they thought they could get away with it - - C'mon! I get it, in the 1800s maybe, even in the 1900s, but when you step into the 21st Century, thinking you can murder and get away with it - you have not seen as many shows as I have! I know that. The U.K. with their CCTV is enough to scare anyone straight. You can't sneeze without being seen on one of more of the public cameras! 

    Becoming an author was a natural step for me. Writing about murder was and is the best escape for me. I don't do it as often as I think it. I am always looking for a good place to murder someone, and even more so, I'm looking for a better way to dispose of the body. Anyone can murder someone. That's just an act. Disposal is a FEAT! Putting the puzzle pieces together and dismantling them over and over again so that I know what I'll pen or keystroke into existence can be tricky too. I have a t-shirt that reads "Careful, you could end up in my next novel" and I mean that. Some people (I won't say who) have become frequent flyers off of cliffs, in my mind. I play the scene over and again, and I wonder out loud often if I'll allow his crumpled bloody body to be found, rescued, or just pissed on by a Jack Russell Terrier three days after the "accident".  Sometimes it really is an accident. Sometimes I push hard.

    My bestie and I both watch too many murder shows. She's into Dateline. I'm into British shows like "Killer in my Village".  We text extremely inappropriate things to each other regarding the idiot moves of killers and would-be murderers. I may text her at 2:16 p.m. in the middle of the day on a Tuesday and say "Don't throw the damn knife in the river" to which she would say "I know, right, bury it, but do it in the country where no one will see you."  I come back with "CCTV sees you."  She'll respond with "Damn, I know!"  We cringe sometimes when the woman goes back into an abusive relationship and thinks it will be different this time...dead.  Or when the man calls emergency services and wails like an alleycat for the recording, we're like "He did it."  I think we're a little jaded at this point, but that only makes me a better writer. I know what to write, and what not to write. Keep it real, drop the drama to a realistic dull roar.  Sometimes truth trumps fiction by spades! Sometimes spades are found stuck inside people's heads.

    Whatever it is or has been that keeps me returning to the world of the villain and his or her actions, I am happy and also a bit too content to write it out, draw it out, revamp it and redo it to the point that I think maybe I need to ask myself if I want people to really think I know what I'm talking about? Maybe that's not a good thing. I think it was 1977 when I first read about the William Desmond Taylor murder, and the fact that it has never been solved. When I went to Hollywood I met several, many people who were still alive who had been part of the 1922 murder plot and cover-up. The papers were sensational with it. It was just a mess! A glorious and disastrous mess, that still continues today. Of course, I know who did it. Isn't it obvious? LOL....you'll have to read all I've read, watch all I've watched, and make up your own mind. It wasn't the butler. I'll say that. Not this time.

    Murder? Mayhem? Yes...for entertainment, but no, not in reality. That's never the answer. Just so we're clear. 

William Desmond Taylor: Actor/Producer Murdered Feb. 1, 1922.

Photo Credit: nacion.com

Too Cold to Snow?

They say if you don't like the weather in Oklahoma you can wait a minute, it will change. That statement isn't entirely false, nor is it entirely true. I've lived here for most of my life, and yes, it's predictably unpredictable, but it may take up to a full 15 minutes to make any real changes that can be seen, felt, or assumed.  Keep that in mind if you're planning on visiting.

    Like most places around the world, Oklahoma has four distinct seasons. We have hot, cold, storm, and football seasons. We're right up there with Texas in terms of the classic challenges that Nature can spring on us; and where we're gonna complain, and usually rather loudly, we're also quite familiar and comfortable with the way we're all subjected to the elements. We'll complain far more, far louder, and far more often about a loss to Texas than we will about the sweltering heat or the unexpected drop in temperature that can leave a person stranded at the fishing hole wearing shorts and flip-flops. I mean sure, the weatherman said it was gonna happen, but no one really believes them when they say things like "Winter Vortex" over the next 16 hours. We gotta start paying more attention.  They actually have better equipment now and can pretty much pinpoint that stuff. 

    Today was no exception.  Though we were told that the winter jet stream was comin' we just kept right on shopping, dining, eating, moseying, and working like we had all the time in the world to run by the store and pick up those needed items for when you're snowed in for six days. Who am I kidding? When was the last time anyone in Oklahoma was snowed in for over three days? We have over 280 days of sunshine in the Sooner State, and most of the time if it snows one day it also shines and we have wet grass and icy streets for another two days. Dogs don't like it. We don't like it much either.  Today we didn't get our promised snow! The dang weatherman said it was "Too cold to snow" and that really just goes right through me. That makes so little sense -- until you think about it.

    Unless others, Oklahoma has the privilege of housing, hosting, and/or having the world's renowned weather know-it-allers N.O.A.A., which stands for National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association.  Ha! That makes me giggle just a little, because the nearest ocean to Norman, Oklahoma is really the Gulf Coast, and it would take half a day to drive it - - best time, 9 hours! Just crazy if you ask me, but we have more atmospheric events than most, so OK, again, if you think about it, it makes more sense.  People come from every nation on this Earth to visit N.O.A.A., and by every nation, I mean they come from literally everywhere and then they take photos of themselves in Norman, Oklahoma on the great campus of the University of Oklahoma, where N.O.A.A. is, and they post those selfies proclaiming just how awesome it is!!  (Except today, no one is really posting much, it's too cold  to breathe outside, so yeah, no posting is happening today.)

    I woke up this morning thinking how stupid I was for going into work on a blistering blowing frozen morning. Our normal temperature was six (6) degrees Fahrenheit, but the 30-mile-an-hour wind kept the windchill around -20 to -24 degrees Fahrenheit. So, yeah, why was I facing these elements to drive to work? Because I'm employed? Yeah, that's it. I'm employed!! My car had other plans, however, and he decided to say no. No. That was basically what he was saying to me as I cranked the key - - no.  I called AAA Roadside but they told me I would be way way down the list as I had a warm shelter and I wasn't a priority. I get that. I do. My neighbor was wanting to test out his engine jumping skills, so he volunteered to assist! OK...sure, let's stand around and die while we .... OK, it worked. Thanks!

    I went to work, and through most of the day, most of us who were silly enough or brave enough to fight the frost stared outside the windows from the lofty 21st floor of our highrise building, where we could see any and all traffic troubles that were caused as the flurries turned to dry crystalized sleet stuff, blowing harder and making little drifty things along the edges of the road. No snow. Still too cold to do that. I was actually pretty happy about that fact once I made it to work. I would have hated to drive home in that stuff. It's better just to look at it from the crow's nest. I don't want to actually have to engage in physical activity in it at -20 degrees! No thank you.

    My friends in Indianapolis are writing to me this evening, telling me that they have a positive for a White Christmas this year. They expect between six and eight inches of snow today, tomorrow, and even Christmas Eve. They can keep it. They have a real Autumn there, something I dearly remember with fondness, but alas, they don't have the ever-important Football Season up that way. They have that round ball, it's sort of orange. Where they have storms, they don't really know how to gauge a twister. We do. We stand around outside watching it right up until it can be smelt pretty good, then we duck into the closet and pray. Prayer has always been a really intricate part of Storm Season. I mean, yeah, we pray a lot during Football Season too, but it's not the same. We're begging for action then. During Storm Season we're praying that the action stops. God controls both.

    Winter is a funny thing here in the land of sweepin' winds. We can have a bitterly cold day followed by a balmy frozen day, followed by a heatwave that can catch you off guard at the local BBQ joint wearing flannel when a tank top would have been a better choice - - bring both.  If you don't like the weather in Oklahoma you can wait a minute, but if you don't like the BBQ....you can leave.

Photo Credit: GoFatherhood.com

Such a Bore! (Me, not You)

 I bought myself a Kindle for my birthday, which was in November. I have been downloading and reading everything I can get my hands on and it's really been so disgustingly wonderful. I have literally given up computer time, television time, and even family time so that I can read. I'm so lying; Laura stays in her room most evenings playing on her computer and we don't talk. I just thought I'd be overly dramatic for effect. 

    The truth is, I've always been a reader and I've always been a writer. Before I could actually read the words I was looking at the pictures and making up stories. My poor mom, I subjected her to listening to me. When she became annoyed with me she got me a dog. OK, that's another lie. I have always had a dog. Before I could walk I was sleeping with a dog, but I'm not lying when I tell you his real name was Rover. Rover and I would talk for hours. I would "read" to him, discuss the stories, even the details, and if I couldn't come up with a good tale he was certainly there to coax me along! He had the best ideas. I told Mom about them sometimes. She smiled at me. She did that. She still does that. I still force my dog to sit with me when I read. Some things never change. Rover gave up. He died at the age of 16 and was really happy to trade my company for that of Jesus. He's not coming back. That was in 1978.

    My Kindle holds over 4000 books. I saw today that I can buy a lot or series set of Erle Stanley Gardner books (Perry Mason) for $176 for 57 books. Yes, before you ask, I'm doing that. It's my personal Christmas present from me to me. I'll be busy for a while. Erle and I have a long long-standing relationship. It hasn't been as old as my engagement with Sir Walter Scott, Robert Louis Stevenson, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but I do love me some Perry Mason mysteries. Yes, I was that kid you saw (and may still see) who carried a book in her purse if I carried a purse. I don't really remember doing that as a kid. Scratch that. I was the kid you saw just carrying a book wherever she went. Now I carry about 600+ with me, and I can still see where I'm going. I don't have to worry about dropping them.

    Whoever invented the Kindle needs to be given an award of some sort. I'm not sure what you give a person that would be more rewarding than a book, but to be able to give them 4000 books all in one handy-dandy tiny 6.5" tablet would be good. That's awesome. I can go places and do things and if I get really bored (who am I kidding? I never get bored) I can pull out the Kindle and read. I used to carry a particular book with me when I traveled by plane. It was first written in 1724 and the reprints have been in my house since about 1975. It wasn't really a book for a 14-year-old, but there I was borrowing it and then not taking it back to the library, claiming it was lost. I then really lost it, had to buy it (besides paying to replace it) and then I think I gave it away and bought another one. Well, NOW it's on my Kindle, thank you very much, and the pirates and I can become reacquainted again! 

    The other day I cleaned out my house of any and all books that were just sitting on my shelves. Most of them were printed in smaller print, and most of them were read well over 20 years ago. I gave them all to the local GoodWill store and now have space for so many other things I don't need. If I want the books inside my Kindle I can order them. I really don't read too many books more than twice. I have some favorites of course; the "Agony of Lewis Carroll" is one, and the companion book "Jack the Ripper, Light-Hearted Friend" both by British author Richard Wallace. Damn good books. Highly recommended. They will blow your mind.

    I just finished three books, one each day over the past three days, all from author M. MacGregor They are her DI Lorna Gunn series, all about 150 pages, short and good. They are well-written and fun for an evening's read. They take about 3-4 hours to read. If I had ONE complaint it would be that she sort of relies on some of the same ideals, and she mentions Charles Rennie Mackintosh over and over again, to the point that I wanted to write to her and say "OK yeah, sure, we get it. You like his work!" I'm not going to do that. If she reads the blog I guess I just did, sorry, not sorry. LOVE the work, but yeah, once is enough.  It does show me what not to do when I write my books. There's a silver lining! I gave each book 4 out of 5 stars, and I do recommend them.

    OK, hey, it's past 10 and I turn into a pumpkin if I don't get my beauty rest. Gotta run, but just for fun, maybe I'll download a few more books for the Christmas holidays. Who knows, maybe I'll find a few more Perry Masons out there for under $2.99 each? Could happen. I mean, it did happen, so it could happen again...and again...and you get the idea.

Photo Credit:  M. MacGregor.  READ THIS and all her books.

Christmas in Oklahoma Vs. Scotland.

  Granted, I don't have nearly enough personal experience on this topic in that I have only been in Scotland during one Christmas season, and to be honest, it was after the holiday had ended. I even missed Boxing Day, which would have been a rather interesting experience, to say the least. Every time I have been to my adopted land(s) I have been fortunate enough to go during the Spring or Summer, with the exception of the one time I did find an unbelievable discount on literally everything, so I just couldn't pass it up. That was before the Pandemic. I don't know that I would have had a very exciting time during 2020 or even 2021. I will say that I do WISH I was there now, as I know most venues have opened up and they are almost back to "normal", whatever that means. Do we even know what NORMAL looks like in 2022? Which normal are we referring to? The beginning of the 21st Century perhaps? Yeah, we'll go with that.

    So, let's just dive right in and go for the jugular on a few issues. America smacks the tartan pajammies right off my Scots friends when it comes to decorating houses.  You can't go a few yards (meters) without seeing another gaudy and over-the-top light show on most of the houses in the U.S. even if the houses are situated in smaller and lower economic housing.  Inflatables much? I don't think I saw more than six inflatables throughout the entire city of Edinburgh, and just east of Musselburgh, Portobello, Craigentinny, and surrounding areas. Six. I mean, no, I didn't count them, but what I mean by that is, there were so few that if I did see them I sort of began keeping track of it in my head.  Flashback to the U.S., and my niece has six inflatables in her front yard...garden. My niece is rather typical actually in some ways. Her house is lined with lights, and her trees are covered and wrapped in lights. You can pull up to her house and tune your radio into her personal frequency...and hear Jolly O' St. Nick singing to you.  Point U.S.A.

    Presents. I am SO out of this category. I am not the one to use to boost the commerce points for the U.S. Nope. I am the one spending less and giving more time and service. However, the average American adult spends about $560 on gift giving in the Southwest, U.S.A. where the average Scot spends roughly $312 dollars; I had to do the conversion from Pounds to U.S. Dollars. I'm not saying that more is better, or less is best. I'm just saying there is CLEARLY a difference between the two countries when it comes to gifting.  Also, Americans tend to give tiny and smaller gifts to co-workers and friends at church, the mailman, the UPS driver, and of course the Amazon driver...please, he's like family! (and no, I can't forget my bankers. I love those people.)  That's not the case in Scotland, nor really in the UK according to the sources I've been drilling through to find my information. I guess I could have listed all the credits. I didn't.

    Gathering. Again, don't use me as your Southern hospitality Queen example. I am so not that.  If I drag myself out of bed before noon I'm doing good. My daughter and I vie to see who has to cook and often we just don't. I am an anomaly!  In the U.K., and of course, I'm supposed to be comparing Scotland rather than the whole of the United Kingdom, you'll see smaller gatherings. Families do gather, but they don't often include all of the extended family members. Obviously, there will be exceptions to these statements. I am an exception!  In Scotland, among my friends who I asked personally, the average dinner is at 4:00 or so, and it is rather formal in that they dress well, perhaps in a new jumper (sweater) and nice trousers (pants) for the event.  Mom, Dad, kids, maybe an uncle or aunt, maybe the grands. In the U.S. we tend to have blowouts. I remember being one of 48-62 that would show up for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas at my Granny's and she lived in a two-bedroom bungalow (Ranch) house. The good thing about it was my aunt Wilma lived next door in a three-bedroom Ranch style (bungalow) and we went back and forth. Maybe that's why I am such a minimalist now.

    Fun and entertainment:  I decided to go here because where I'm from we do have plays, pageants, walk-around lights, and such, but in Edinburgh, they have what we would call a mini-fair. They probably don't call it that. It's really awesome and has rides, booths, food, face painting, people dressed up, and food...did I mention food? It has a Ferris wheel, the swinging carousel, and other things. It's just so freaking awesome, and you can go at night and see the lights and hear stories, and take tours. It's just great family time. It starts pretty early, say around the 2nd week of December, and goes through the first of the year I think.

    Food.  It's really a toss-up on this one. A great deal of the families I spoke with in Scotland told me that they stuff themselves silly with food and so do we.  Americans have turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, deviled eggs, yams, green bean casserole, dinner rolls, some sort of "salad" with marshmallows and gelatin, and we always have pecan pie, pumpkin pie, and usually some sort of cake for those who don't really like the pies.  In Scotland, you'll find lentil soup to begin the dinner, roasted turkey, boiled potatoes, Brussels sprouts, mashed carrots with turnips, gravy, bread sauce, oatmeal stuffing, and sausage stuffing. Desserts will usually be mincemeat pies, shortbread, and a parfait sort of thing called a cranachan. (It's really good) There is no shortage on either side of the pond when it comes to food, that's for sure.  We need a birthday cake you know. Happy Birthday, Jesus!

    The one thing that happens in America that will rarely happen in Scotland is the pick-up football game out back or at the nearest public park.  Now, having said that, I realize that when I say "football" I'm talking about American football. Naturally, the Scots aren't going to toss around the ol' pigskin when they can kick the checkered ball instead! More and more Americans will likely transfer this traditional game over to the "soccer" (football in the UK) family sporting fiasco than the other way around; if I had to place money on it. Again, I am so not the person to ask. I'm always too stuffed to play and would prefer walking around the block 100 times to get the calories off and my steps in. 

    I mentioned Boxing Day, which is the day after Christmas. It's more of a somber and relaxed day with far less running around and virtually no stress whatsoever. I think my Christmas Day is a lot like their Boxing Day. I just don't bother doing much, and since my gifting is done, my food is nearly picked through, and all I have to do is read or talk on Facebook, I think I like that day just as much as I do Christmas Day. I don't get to celebrate it usually. We don't recognize it in the U.S. (sad face) and most of us return to work. This year, however, because Christmas falls on Sunday, I will be able to fully appreciate the famous and fabulous Boxing Day!! YEA!! I am truly looking forward to it. Sir Walter Scott and I have a date. I'm in the middle of his Waverley novels - - it's gonna be a minute. I will absolutely cherish and embrace every lasting hour of that glorious Monday. Thank you, U.K. Thank you for Boxing Day.

    I think Scotland would be my preferred location for celebrating Christmas if someone were to ask me. I mean, if someone said, "Hey Jude, where would you prefer to be on Christmas morning, in Oklahoma, or in Edinburgh?"  There wouldn't be a delay in my response. I'd take Auld Reekie!  You have to know, and if you don't know you don't know, but it's worth finding out why Edinburgh was once referred to as Auld Reekie!  I would walk the Royal Mile. I would trek the Meadows. I wouldn't be able to go into the museums, shops, or public buildings, but I bet I could find a pub or two that would let me sneak in for a cup of cocoa and a game of darts. I'm pretty good at it really, it would make my day to spend time on the cobbled streets, among the aged and towering former tenements. Just to stop, pause, and gaze at the castle, and sit by the Ross Fountain for a minute would bring so much joy to this face and to my heart. Maybe next year. I hope.

Merry Christmas to you all, and wherever you are, and with whomever, you are with, know you are the key to someone's merriment. You are their present! Be blessed.

Photo Credit: Rachelehphotography.com 

Christmas 2022. (Don't Expect a Blowout)

 I think (I know) I did myself a huge favor when my kids were really little, and I didn't spend more than just "enough" on their individual presents to present to them on Christmas morning. Like most moms, I lied to my kids about Santa, and we had a really good angle on that story for sure. My brother Mike used to hang around wherever I was living at the time, and he'd jingle the sleighbells outside the house, apartment, trailer, (caravan) or sometimes we spent Christmas Eve with my parents. There he was, Uncle Mike, outside at about 10:30 p.m. just after we had told the kids that the news crews were tracking Santa's sleigh over and/or around our roof! The kids even asked to call Santa and Mrs. Claus one year as the weather was exceptionally poor. I was really impressed by their caring.

    As they grew up, the most important message about Christmas of course, was that we celebrated the birth of Christ on December 25, no matter what day He was actually born on; I personally believe it was around the 2nd week of September.  Another strong message, and one that stuck, was that we buy for others first, then ourselves. We start the gift-giving season off by buying a gift for a kid whose name appears on the Angel Tree at the local shops.  I had three kids, and we picked out three names. It was and has been the best thing ever. My grandkids are now picking up on that tradition. I can't tell you how proud that makes me.

    Next, and this is HUGE; we don't spend much on each other because we realize that if we do then the others feel obligated to do the same. We don't exactly set limits, but we do. You know what I mean. Smaller, more meaningful gifts are the way we exchange.  Most families "buy for the kids", and we do that of course, but we do still exchange gifts for the adults in our lives, but not everyone...just us. I think it's more personal that way. We don't draw names. We just exchange sweet and meaningful, thoughtful gifts, and we sit around talking. That's so much more important. We don't even do the big dinner thing. My house is the last house or the first house that my kids show up at on their way or as they return from other houses. I have never been one to obligate or force anyone to be with me at a certain time on a certain day. If December 25 is a busy day for them, it's OK if we meet on December 14, 19, or 28, you name it. 

    The dinner thing went out the door after Daddy went to see Jesus back in 2017. I just couldn't see myself driving so far out to have dinner with folks I barely speak to or even get along with. Why do that? Sorry if that's not traditional or "proper", but it is what I call "better" and what I have come to cherish about the holiday. I don't hate it now. I can actually enjoy myself and not feel pressured or stressed. I do not stress for anyone. On Christmas morning it's a sleep competition between my daughter and me to see who can stay in bed the longest. The first one up has to start the cooking prep!  I usually give in, but not until after 10 a.m. We don't have a set time. We don't have a must-have menu. We don't demand this or that from one another. We just love on animals, eat when we want to, and when we do get around to opening presents we wait on the others who may or may not show up for days. We don't care. 

    When I go into the grocery stores this time of year and I see that they tell us what to buy it makes me sort of sad. We're literally encouraged to have (or make) the same dishes every year, and though they typically place those food items on sale, it just doesn't make sense to me that we're coaxed into a rut year after year after year with the staples of what would be considered the right things to eat! Screw that. Sorry, I don't mean to sound mean, but I'll eat what I want when I want. Sure, I love yams. I love green bean casserole. I love mashed potatoes.  I love smoked ham and turkey with dressing. I love gravy. I love pecan and pumpkin pie, and yes, I love cranberry jello "salad" with little marshmallows. I do.  I just don't want to be told when to eat these things. I'll buy the items because they're on sale. I'm not stupid. I make what we want to eat, and that's what we eat. Last year, I kid you not, it was a very traditional Christmas with the exception of eating chicken breast rather than turkey, but it was all pretty Americana if you ask me! I even had the little tartan napkins and table runner!  See, I can be reasonable. Sometimes.

    My coworkers are just a mix of really cool folks. I love them, and I laugh at (and with) them all week long.  I listen to their stress stories and I shake my head. They know me well enough now, after experiencing Thanksgiving tales, that I'm not going to go out of my way to bother. I don't bother. They bother. They all bother. One of them doesn't want to bother, she's the kid in the whole scenario. She'd rather just not, but she "has" to show up "or else".  Or else what? Can people just not be so rigid? Can people just not be so thick? Let others join you if they WANT to join you, that way you know who wants to be there. Obviously, I don't want to be anywhere but home. I wonder how many tears I've saved myself, and how many arguments, how many headaches, and how many miles on my car!  Isn't Christmas about celebrating Christ? Besides a staged prayer over dinner is there really any of that worshipping going on at these reunions? Asking for a friend because I know the answer.

    When I lived in Indianapolis from 2010-2014 I relished the fact that I didn't have to be at the family reunions. We had our own of course, as we all lived under one roof for a while; but we weren't forced to smile, pretending we care, and we didn't have to answer uncomfortable questions about our life, our finances, our choices....nope. We were just a tiny unit eating food, and talking! Love that. We could dote on babies. Which to me is the best part of the holidays anyway. Babies. So there you have it. I'm not a humbug; I promise. I am actually rather liberated and free from any past, present, or future chains to hold me to any traditional rut and/or routines that others find cringe but still conduct.  Not me! I mean yeah, I still buy myself a new pair of jammies for Christmas morning. I'm not that far gone! Please.  It's just that I think my smiles are real now. Much more real.

Merry Christmas.....and I mean that. 

    

Photo Credit: Pinterest (believe it or not)

The Beautiful People.

 I think we all know where I'm going to go with this one. I think, if you know me at all, you'll figure out right away that I believe we are all "beautiful" and that we have our own very unique gifts. These gifts are not from our fathers and mothers, that may be the case with literal or blunt beauty, but not with grace, kindness, politeness, servant attitude, or gratefulness; those gifts come from our true Father. When I say we are all beautiful people I'm not just making up something to make someone feel good about who they are.

    I recently finished a novel written in 1816 by Sir Walter Scott. The title is The Black Dwarf.  In the book (and there is actually a four-book series) the dwarf is a man who was held back due to his deformities. He was repulsed, he was hated, he was lied about, and he was mistreated. Who do you think Scott used to prove to be the hero of the book? You guessed it. The man formerly known as Sir Edward Mauley. He was yes, a disfigured and grotesque-appearing individual; many feared him because of it. His rude and unsociable attitude and mannerisms only solidified their beliefs in that he must be a devil, he must be a warlock, he must be this or that. We do that don't we. Hey, guess what, Ted Bundy was a handsome man, wasn't he? Do you see where I'm going with this? I thought so.

    Many people, both men, and women seek out the self-help sites on Instagram, Tik-Tok, and other social media platforms today whereas before they would rush to the nearest drugstore and pick up their copy of Cosmo, Muscle & Fitness, and so on. You understand. They would read the articles, see the precise and pretty poses that the "beautiful" people do, and then they'd rush home and try their best to do exactly whatever it was that these beautiful people say works for them. Can they not get it through their heads that the money they spend, the time they spend, the effort they make is only (and I do mean ONLY) supporting and forwarding the wealth of these paid celebrities or in today's age, the self-proclaimed gurus and experts who don't actually give a damn about you, they only want your clicks, likes, and Patreon donations. "Don't forget to pay every month so you can hear how YOU can be like ME!"  Was that snarky? Sorry, not sorry. 

    I am 100% and all-in for helping others. I am 100% and all-in for sharing with others your secrets to success, and your beautifying tips that may make you feel a bit more secure and confident about yourself. Yes, by all means, wear makeup if you feel it makes you look, act, and be better. There is nothing wrong with dressing up, dressing down, wearing that particular outfit, going to the gym, and making changes to your physical form to be the better you. I get that. What I can't seem to understand is when "Life Coaches" tell people that in order to "have sex at dawn" or "be told yes", are doing so in order to bring about a false sense of security or a false sense of self. Get a grip, people. If you're with someone who doesn't want to have sex at dawn, talk about what you want!  TALKING is the key, communication is EVERYTHING!!  I think the internet has sort of taken that gift from us.

    Lately, I've seen an increase in people who have a bit of lower self-esteem either due to being told they are not attractive, or because they themselves have never felt worthy. I'm seeing an increase of these friends of mine (mostly men actually) following social media sites where they are being encouraged to "be a real man" by taking control and being that fantasy book-style masculine hulk who swoops in and saves the woman from ultimate loneliness and of course they end up as lovers and create new memories for themselves. Most lives these days are a bit more complicated than they are in the books. Most novels don't create characters who are working a regular job, going to community college to get a certificate in I.T., while paying a ridiculous mortgage and beating the system now and again just to put clothes on their children's backs! Forget energy prices, food costs, and other bare necessities. Most novels are escapes....they are not real. 

    We shouldn't want to be, or even try to be something we were not made to be. We are the person, the being, the one that God Himself said "Hey, I'll make this one now." We are absolutely unique, and by being absolutely unique, we are in fact and in all ways "beautiful".  Can we improve? Sure. Can we strive for a better way of life? Absolutely, and don't think I'm saying otherwise. Life coaches are great when they actually do their job. They are infectious, callous, and cunning when they tell you what you should do knowing it will cost you too much, cause issues in your current relationships, and/or pull you from your relationship with God. Don't laugh, a lot of these people think and say (to you) that YOU are the one controlling your life. They tell you YOU are the savior of your destiny and what YOU decide will happen will in fact be reality. Wow...Satan sort of said the same thing to Eve.  Didn't work out that well for any of us.

    You are enough.  You are like a bowl full of ingredients just waiting to be mixed and baked into the most rewarding and amazing cake ever created. You have all the right stuff. You are just not there yet. Maybe stop looking online for the answers on those sites with fantabulous photography showing off muscles and mass that could only come from the use of expensive and dangerous steroids. Maybe stop thinking you need someone else to tell you how great you are. Maybe go to the One who made you and decided you were going to be you. Maybe look at what you've done in the past to make others smile. Maybe you can realize that you didn't get this far, far enough to read this blog anyway, without first having been trained to read and that in itself is a gift. YOU ARE AWESOME. Don't let someone else convince you otherwise if you don't have the right clothes, the right shoes, the right hair, and the right dimples....C'mon. How long are we actually on this planet?

    We are the BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE.  We don't need to pose in fancy sexy poses to prove we're stunning. We are stunning. We don't need $$$$$ sweaters or haircuts that cost more than a car payment. We don't need it because they want us to put our money into their pockets. YOU need your money. YOU need your time. YOU need your face to be YOUR face and it is. Don't let someone else cheat you out of the life you were created to live. Improve, yes. Learn, yes. Create, yes. KNOW you are the best you, and in fact, the only you. You aren't less than anyone. You aren't more than anyone because there really is not a competition as to who is best or worst. The CROSS is blind to what you look like. When the world tells you you're a mistake just remember God doesn't make them. When the world tells you you'll never make it, remember that He has!  There's no reason not to believe that ALL THINGS are possible through Christ...not some would-be hack online with a square jaw, precise beard, bulky biceps, and perfect teeth lying to you about what you need or could have.  Ask yourself, do you want to spend eternity with that guy, or with Jesus?

    You are already there. The facts are true. YOU rock, and you are you forever. Be the best you that you can be, but please don't think you need them to shape you when you have a brain and can pretty much know both your limits and your needs. We can't all be "fill in the blank with an amazingly gorgeous person's name", because that person is that person, and that's what THEY do. You do you. Thank God!

Photo Credit: Kobo.com