Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 94

Hog Tie or Piggin' String?

 Here is just one more example of the varied differences between two regions of the South, here in the United States of America. Some of these differences can be worlds apart, others not so far off, and still, others blend together at times you just can't tell which or who is from when or where. We Okies say things a might differently at times from our cousins out in Tennessee for example. I may say "Hey mom, what's for dinner?" and my cousin from outside of Nashville may call the meal "supper", but you know (and never have to worry) that whatever it's called, there will be plenty of it to go around. If there's one thing we do here in the South (and Southwest) is cook.  (I'm supposed to say "to cook" if I'm being a bit more proper with my English).

    The other day I received an email from a police deputy in Edinburgh, Scotland, the place I very much intend on moving to soon.  He informed me that it would be highly unlikely, strongly recommended, and even ordered that I should not try and bring any firearms to the United Kingdom. He wasn't specific about as to why that was exactly, but sent me a fair warning that to do so would mean not only confiscation of my weapons but a possible jail sentence should I somehow make it past customs and actually enter the country with them.  I can't tell you how sad that email made me, but I can tell you that it didn't (and hasn't) detoured me from making plans to escape to Caledonia. I'll just have to make do without my pistols, rifle, and shotgun. I can do that. I'm quite resourceful, besides they do have knives in Scotland - - and of course, there's my piggin' string. I am bringing my piggy.

    You may ask, "What's a piggin' string?"  and the answer is simple.  It's a 4 to 7 foot nylon or hemp rope that's been fashioned with a loop at one end and a frayed knot at the other. The loop is cut and sewen back into itself, held together usually with a piece of rawhide for security purposes because you don't want the rope to slip out of place when you hogtie a cow for branding - - or when you take down a man and hogtie him for whatever purpose you deem necessary at the time. (I would assume that branding would not be a suitable nor acceptable purpose really, but there are legitimate reasons why you may need to subdue a man with a piggin' string now and again.) 

    My cousin in Tennessee informed me this morning that my piggin string was in fact called a "hog-tie" where he's from, and that it only makes sense to call it a hogtie if, in fact, that is what you use it for. My immediate response was that he way very well be correct, but we call our national pastime sport "football" when we mostly use our hands to pitch, throw, and pass it, now don't we?  We call soda "Coke" no matter what brand it is, and we say we "might could" when we know we damn well can. It's a thing - - we're all a bit different down this way. Either way, piggin string or hogtie, it's a nifty little gadget that was created and designed for good reason, has served that purpose well enough, and when or if a woman finds herself in a foreign country without the use of a handgun by her hip, she can rest assured knowing she can at least hold a would-be assailant to the ground wrapped up in a hooey tight enough to bust his balls if he decided to try and wiggle out before the cops could assist with his disposal. It's all good.

    Something else my good cousin would say is a little different between the two of us, and how we were raised. He believes you can't change a horse's name or it brings bad luck to both the horse and the owner. I've never had a problem naming a pony what I wanted to.  When we were growing up here in Oklahoma, before his family moved off to the "far east" as my dad put it, he shot quail and rabbits like the rest of us, holding out most of his ammunition for the later part in the afternoon when the animals were more likely to hover around the creekbed.  I was never into hunting myself, I could never bring myself to shoot an animal even if we were going to eat it -- I can catch a fish, that's not a problem, but to shoot a bunny? No...not going to happen.  My cousin literally lives off the land now. He was telling me how he's been in the mountains so long he didn't even know what Netflix was, and he's not that impressed. Makes me wonder what the next 100 years will bring to this country. Kids today can't walk outside without their phones in their hands but I doubt that most of them have held a fishing pole.

    Yep, I may be the only woman in Scotland carrying a piggin' string on my hip, but I'm sure it will make for good conversation at the Wee Cafe in Edinburgh.  You know, there may just need to be a wee demonstration from time to time as well, something to both entertain the customers and keep my swing in practice. I'm cutting in on a six-second wrap time, but that's nothing to write home about, nothing to brag about, especially if you're from Oklahoma and God forbid, in a rodeo family. Pulling a 6 would be rather embarrassing; wouldn't it?  I count on my charm at that point. If I can keep my calm while I throw, turn, twist, wrap, and pull, long enough to sweet talk the fella into not fighting the inevitable, well, I just might end up improving my time - - we'll have to see what happens.

Photo credit: Jude Stringfellow

By The Short Hairs

 We all know those men who, after they are married, become so "whipped" as my kids say, that they just can't seem to stand on their own two feet long enough to make a stand, let alone rule the roost. You do realize that they call a rooster a rooster because he roosts, right? Hens have another role entirely, not one to sneeze at mind you, without both the chicken and the rooster there would be no eggs, and no one would be waking up in time to do the work around the farm. Everything has its worth, and for everything, there is a season - - "turn, turn, turn", and yes, a time and purpose for it as well. 

     Let's talk about it. I'm not saying that a man has to be the breadwinner, no, not at all. Those days are gone. Roles can be reversed, but respect should be present from the beginning to the end, and respect doesn't mean that you get to humiliate someone publicly when they don't do what you think is best or what you wanted. You talk about it, you come to an agreement, you don't force someone (you said you loved) to say things online they don't mean, or to "clean up" and "look respectable" at your whim. He came home late, maybe he was smiling about the great weekend he had and you weren't there so you get butt-hurt? You decide that he should be punished for what, enjoying himself with friends? (Look at me, I'm talking to someone specific again, and all the while trying to make this a public service announcement for everyone.  I'll try to do better.) 

    No marriage (or relationship) is perfect, there is not one union out there that is without problems, I get that, but to me, there has to be something incredibly wrong in a marriage when one or the other of the partners can control their partner by either withholding sex as a punishment or worse, rewarding the same partner using sex. It just exasperated the fool tar out of me when I hear about it being done.  So, knowing that this is happening to a friend of mine who lives far far away, I went online this weekend to see how he was handling his current home and hearth issues.  What I found was how well behaved my good friend was "carefully acting", choosing his words, through his social media; differently than he normally would.  That's all the answer I needed.  I cringed when I saw the recent posts with his new haircut, beard trim, and oh-so "lovely" words he posted about his wife's kid being superior in all ways, I wanted to barf. Sorry, was that too harsh? 

    I just wanted to reach through the screen (again, as he does this every so often) and scream at him, "Hey, you're not really the light of her life you know that, right? In fact, she's using you, she's abusing you, and this only proves it! Get smart, give it up, walk away, and find someone who will stop calling you names when she's upset with you and then who won't force you to say and do things you don't mean so you can get a little somethun-somethun."  Isn't that really just a form of prostitution anyway when a woman (or a man does that?) Believe me, when I say, I'm asking for a friend. I know the answer!  If it happened only once to a man or woman, you'd think they'd be hurt and watch out for it to happen again. If it did happen again, you'd think or hope they'd have enough gumption to take a stand and let their spouse know that they are not to be toyed with, the vows they exchanged (so long ago) may have been old-fashioned, but they were, in fact, a promise - - TO CHERISH...you know, FOREVER, not just when it pleases you to be pleased. Call a spade a spade. 

    This again folks, is why I am not married. I am not married, but you know what else I would never do to the man I was married to if I were married? I wouldn't force him to cut his hair and shave his face if he didn't want to. If he wanted to do so, sure, that's his face, he can do it. But to ask him or worse, tell him he will shave "or else", that's another matter.  To tell him that he's going to say something great about your kid publicly "or else" is entirely unacceptable, and to demand (yes, demand) that you and he are photographed being seen together as said husband/wife, and then posted with pretend smiles on your faces so the world can see just how very very happy you are...that's appalling. That ceased to be a union years and years ago.

    You may as well throw the rings into the fire and be done with it - - no one believes you at this point. Your words and actions of the past two years outshine the one act that notably shows a forced hand - - was it worth it? You said she was cold before, was she better this time around? Fifteen minutes is still just fifteen minutes. Sorry, too harsh? No wonder the courts are full and the pantries empty.

    If she'll post on her private accounts about your performance(s) thinking no one can see it who isn't her friend; do you really think she isn't telling co-workers what she thinks? Do you wonder why they laugh or giggle when you come to the office or the little parties at work?  Did you think she wouldn't try to put herself out there as being the good guy, the white hat, and make it seem as if you don't contribute, you don't hold up your end of the bargain, you gave up long ago, she says, and now she has to carry you until you get another gig or another invitation to do something that you should have been actively seeking on your own this entire time? Wait, did you think she wasn't posting? Maybe that's it. Maybe you thought she was just all smiles; but friend, that's only when the cameras are on, you know that. You may not be from Texas, but this ain't your first rodeo, son, now is it? Where I come from we call that a "wake up moment".  You know, Rooster?

    God is too gracious to me. He has kept me from being ruder than a skunk's butt at a family barbeque a few times. He has held my tongue too often it seems because it would seem that I've gone off and failed another man-friend who just can't seem to put two-and-two together without coming up with sex-on-the-brain syndrome. Fellas, there really (no, I mean really) is more to this life than that; please get that through your big head at least if you don't get it through to the other one. WAKE UP. If she isn't willing to cherish you, follow you, love you, help you, protect you, honor you, and most of all, treasure you beyond anything she could ever imagine (other than maybe yes, her kid) then you are not going to be in a solid situation and you'll be playing ring-around-the-rosy with yourself on this one. She's not concerned if you fall down a few more times either, in fact, she's expecting you to! 

    I can't say women don't get the same treatment, but there just aren't that many women out there that I know personally who would jump through hoops to be sexed up if they just apologized ONE MORE TIME and altered the way they look, feel, talk, walk, post, and/or display their emotions and feelings. Gosh darn, wasn't it a bit easier before the internet? Not so many people knew your business, at least, and there wasn't all this public grandstanding for the world to see so they'd be able to KNOW if you or your beloved were falling in step at home.  I mean, sure, there was "Dear Abby" but most men didn't read it so the friends of the duped soul wouldn't KNOW he was (or in really rare cases she was) being held out to dry, (dry being the operative word) and forced to comply before being allowed back into the bedroom. 

    No thanks. If I am ever to marry again, God please, give me a man. That is all. Just give me a man. He's the one who should be wearing the pants in the family - - or yeah, a kilt would suffice as well.  If he's your man, God, and following you, then I won't have any problem following him. Believe me, God, when or if you ever decided to grace my heart with another precious soul, I won't ever threaten or punish him using my body as a tool or weapon - - I just can't imagine the pain it causes and I also can't imagine the stress and anxiety it would bring to someone who blames themselves for having fallen short "her good graces" when in reality, he is the one with all the grace - - well, most of the time he is.  I know this particular one, and yeah, he's gracious. God makes good ones from time to time, and it's just a pity that so many winches end up holding the short hairs in their grubby little twisted fingers. Sorry, a bit harsh. Sorry, not sorry. 

Photo Credit: 123RF 

DNA Don't Lie!

 They say "DNA doesn't lie", and yeah, I threw in the "Don't" for a quaint colloquial thing, seeing how I may be 30% Scandanvaian by blood, but this girl is 100% Okie!  I am who I am, right? Well, let's go over this damned report I paid for.  I knew when I sent off the money that I would be really hacked off about the end result, but I didn't realize the (b-words) would have added in my ancestors from pre-historic times! No, I'm just kidding about that, but they did add in the relatives from around 1000 A.D., the Vikings! 

    Yes, yes, yes, all is well in Scandanavia today, having the right to claim nearly every soul's DNA who has walked in or around Europe since before water was invented. The Nordic Vikings invaded England. They invaded Scotland. They invaded Ireland. They invaded Wales. It does make me wonder who was there before they arrived, that's one thing I've not really studied much.  Think about it, those islands became the "New World" for many a Viking, but I also think it was more for plunder and gain than hope for a new society, taxation, and/or religious worship.  Maybe history really was written by the literate and the winners of every known war.  The unknown wars and the illiterate don't stand a chance of any of us knowing their story, do they? 

    OK, so my story starts with my two parents meeting, falling in love, marrying, and making a baby; me.  I was born November 22, 1961, and though I'm nearly 60 years old on this Earth, I can't say that I feel even a day older than 20 most of the time due to my inability to grow old. Call it the Peter Pan syndrome if you wish, but I just don't see the need to grow old, and therefore I haven't allowed it in my life. Every now and then my body reminds me of the date-to-remember fact, but for the most part I am just barely out of my teens and hyper as ever, looking for new and adventurous ways to spend my time, my efforts, and of course, my money.  I didn't spend too much on the MyHeritage DNA test. I think I paid $59.00 USD for it, whereas my sister spent over $100 on her Ancestry test over ten years ago, so yeah, things have changed a bit I suppose. We have better and more accurate Science now, and it's a bit less expensive.

    My parents had parents. That fact shouldn't shock anyone. I think where the lines get hung up on DNA is when someone is adopted and they don't tell anyone, this corrupts all the data naturally.  I know for a fact that as far back as my great grandparents there were no adoptions, and through birth records, we have evidence of where my families from both mom and dad came from, but there were a few tricky steps along the way. We had to use military records at one point just before the Revolutionary War, and from that point, we were able to track it back to the original origin of at least that family line. Like every one of my family lines, they all traced back exclusively to Scotland and England. There was no Irish blood, no Welsh blood, nothing other than Scottish blood on Dad's side clear back to 1615, but that boy's parents were both from England, so from about 1600 and beforehand, I am 100% traceable to the Yorkshire area on both my dad and my mother's sides.  

    At least with Mom's side, there were a few wandering Edwards, Free (or Friar) and there is a bit of Manchester blood rolling inside of me, but for the most part, it's Yorkshire way into the 12th century where it stops as far as recordings go. The one record that proceeds that time is unstable and so the family (and me of course) tend to use the 1215 record of a Stringfellow (possibly James) being a part of the court record as a witness in a land dispute in a matter not pertaining to him personally. He was just a witness as a landowner in the area.  He is presumed to be our kin. It is foreseeable that he is/was because his line does match up neatly with Sir Robert Stringfellow, who was Scottish-born, but English knighted, probably out of duty to King Edward. We were given a family crest, which denotes we were at one point, loyal to the Crown. That ended. I would have been a Jacobite, I'm sure of it.

    When I think about it, and I do, many of my ancestors were either privateers, pirates, rebels, outcasts, settlers, revolutionaries, revilers, and/or spies for the rebel side. As recently as the Civil War, my people were spies on both sides of the conflict, my dad's direct ancestors being on the Confederate side, his cousins were soldiers for both sides.  From the English Lords to the Scottish Revilers, my people had difficulties with authority. Perhaps that's why I can't seem to stay employed unless I'm working for myself. It stands to reason; it's in my blood. I'll go with that.  I would, however, consider myself to be more of a privateer than a pirate. I don't do things out of sheer gain, but for the betterment of others and for the establishment of a new good in society.  Still a rebel by their account.

    The MyHeritage DNA test came back today after four weeks of intense testing.  I am (as you can see in the photo) over 30% Scandanavian, but that's simply not true. It is true in that before my people settled in England and Scotland around the years 1000-1050 A.D., I was of Scandanavian blood, but I think the test should draw a line at around 1500 A.D. since records are less apt to be found, and most if not everyone in those areas were in fact from Scandanavian blood - - at least I think so, perhaps I'm wrong. I get it, I am 12% Iberian and yes, there was the one Italian that slipped into the picture somehow.  She was probably a lady, and she was no doubt beautiful, sexy, and creatively wonderful in the kitchen. I think I like her.  She adds spice to my otherwise oatmeal life.

    If you take the 51.3% of my life that is proven to be both Scottish and English, and you add to it the over 30% that is shown to be Scandanavian, you have basically a 99% truth that I am of English and Scottish blood. It's not only 81% because it would by default, claim somewhat of the other as well, and there is a factoring involved that the MyHeritage people gave me to use as a means to distribute the Scandanavian bloodlines if I knew where and when they came from; but as I do not, the basic way to determine it is to do the factoring using England and Scotland as the two more likely countries to have been invaded and to go from there. If I do that I am around 99% English and Scottish, and if I divide it proportionately I would be 55% English, 44% Scottish, .8% Iberian, and .2% Italian, which equals one still very pissed off woman who would prefer that the Crown stay out of my life entirely. (Although I know that isn't possible) Viva la Rebel!

    All that being said and done, my sister has her test, I have mine. Hers showed that we were Nordic, mine says Scandanavian. Her test had a more German influence, and that would make sense considering my grandmother's stout little body and stumpy legs, but it doesn't show to be true in my DNA test, perhaps my sister was in fact adopted. We always said she was, maybe we were striking a chord and mom just didn't want to admit it.  The older I get the more I think it was me who was or must be adopted because I don't really relate to a single family member whatsoever. I just don't. It's as if I'm an island, and to be honest, that is perfectly OK by me - - I would actually prefer that to be honest.

    Well, I can't say that I am happy to know what I know, but I sort of already knew it. I didn't know about the Iberians or the Italian, but there's room for love in my heart -- except for the English, no love there....well, maybe for the Bee Gees; there's that. OK, and scones, tea, lemon curd, and maybe the aeroplane. Did you think it was an American who invented heavier than air flight? No, think again, that my friends, was an Englishman by the name of John Stringfellow, and yes, he is one of ours. I'll accept him. He didn't like England either and wanted badly to move to Ireland. I don't know that he ever made it, but he did manage to get his invention accredited to him rather than the Wright Brothers! (Of course, it was over 100 years after his death that this was made public!) Life. History.  Written, as I said, by those who are literate and those who have influence over others. (and a good publisher)

Photo credit: MyHeritage 

So Freakin' Human.

 WARNING:  THIS POST DESCRIBES ME AS BEING VIOLENTLY SICK. I USE WORDS.

Last night just after my best friend left my apartment, say sometime around 10 p.m., I decided to take another shot of BHB powder with about 4 ounces of water.  This was the 2nd time I think that I had taken more than one dose of the pink powder in a 24-hour period. My thought process, as is the thought process of any idiot who doesn't take the time to do her research before making complete fool-hearted mistakes, was that it should be a good boost to the whole "lose fat while you sleep" ploy. I saw something about a Keto pill that two sisters had created and they were telling people it was safe to use it at night. I thought OK, the BHB salts are what make up most of that handy-dandy, oh-so-marvelous pill, so it should be OK for me to take. I should be fine.  Ha! Those could have been my "famous last words".  It was not fine.

    If you have been reading my blogs and maybe if you've read my book "Jude's Almost Daily Blog Book" you would know that as a writer I can be prone to exaggeration now and again, and also again and again. I tend to like the fantasy world a bit more than I enjoy the real one -- that being said, when I write to you now and tell you that I have never been sicker in my life, I am also including the time I was 7 months pregnant with Caity Baby Baby Caity and had kidney stones. I'm including the time I had a massive gallbladder attack and felt that I was having a heart attack. I'm including the time I had an acute bout with extreme indigestion and again, thought I was having a heart attack, and there's that time I actually had a heart attack, but to be honest, it wasn't nearly as bad as either the gallbladder or kidney stones - - not really. I was just laying there on the floor about to die, but I wasn't sick. I wasn't reeling and thrusting, heaving and wrenching, I wasn't having explosive diarrhea at one end and literally pouring bile and worse from my upper intestines at the other.  When I say it was the sickest I have ever been I am not exaggerating.

    From just after 10:30 p.m., thirty minutes into the mix, I began feeling ill to my stomach, feeling that I wasn't going to make it back to the bathroom to throw up so I did so in the kitchen sink.  While standing at the sink wretching I realized I had no control over my bladder. This was actually a first for me. I was truly splitting my mind thinking this was a most interesting situation to be sure, but I was also upset that I didn't have the control I had always believed I had possessed over my own body. Nope. It wasn't there. Just not there. What was there was a puddle of water, well, urine, at the base of my legs, surrounding my feet and soaking my socks. I managed to clean both the floor and myself before realizing that I had no time left before it was about to become so much worse than even I had or could imagine.

    Because I'm a sweet and gentle soul, I won't tell you exactly what happened over the next several hours but I'll give you a quick overview.  I couldn't lay down, I couldn't sit up, I couldn't stand, I was dizzy beyond common sense. I should have been OK to stand, but there I was, wheeling and rocking, about to fall over, and the bed was truly the only place that called out to me as a safe haven. My haven didn't last very long, and I was in and out of it more than 10 times, literally every 15-20 minutes, racing back to my ensuite bathroom, pulling my panties down so I didn't soil them, and filling the toilet with liquid waste from my backside, my urine was long gone at this point. There was no more coming out of me from that orifice. My bum was not the problem, though it would seem to have its own mind. My real issues lie with my constantly wrenching and upheaving things that weren't supposed to come out of my body the way my body was forcibly insisting that they must be produced.  Over and over with great grunting and wailing mind you, I was unable to stop my body from this heaving and I was unable to control any of it - - not the top half, not the bottom half, and crawling to the tub was more or less a duty rather than an option. 

    Dragging my naked wet body out of the tub, into my bed, and wrapping it in a sheet that felt too hot to cover me but I knew I needed to be covered, I realized for the first time in a very long time that I was not going to get out of this one. I was going through it and it had to be dealt with.  There's a meme out there with a death soldier walking through Hell - - the meme says "If you're called upon to watk through Hell, walk through it like you own the damn place."  At that moment, that made a lot of sense to me. I did what I knew to do, I prayed. Mind you, I had been praying all along, and Jesus and I hadn't stopped talking about it, but I knew I needed to force myself out of my bed again to get dressed so my daughter wouldn't have to see me naked. She was so worried about me, to begin with, she was about out of her mind with wondering what I could be going through. Neither of us was thinking anything about the BHB at this point.  No, we were racking our brains trying to figure out what I could have caught. If I had been strong enough to do so, I would have checked the symptoms with the internet, but the symptoms just really read off like the flu - - so in these wild times, I thought maybe the COVID-19 virus had attacked me. 

    Laura kept asking me (with each mini-trip to the bathroom to heave my lungs out) if she needed to take me to the hospital. I thought about it, but what can they do that I can't do for myself? They may be able to hook me up to a saline drip, but maybe I could force electrolytes down my throat, raw as it was, and stave off any unnecessary health bills that would certainly keep me begging for years if I did choose to pay them.  No. I had to stay in my own bed, doing what I could, and praying my way through it. That's when I started to sing a bit too. I decided to find a couple of good old hymns in my head and I began singing silently and whispering prayer-like hymns to God. Didn't He said He liked a joyful noise? Well, that's what He got.  I was halfway through "Come Thou Fount", a new single that was just released yesterday by my favorite Scottish Christian band Celtic Worship. I started laughing at myself and with God because being a "good Baptist" I didn't know the 3rd verse of the song! 

    I begged God to let me sleep. It wasn't happening. I decided that singing and praying beat the time back a bit and when I found myself dreaming I realized that I had my prayers answered. I was sleeping. I woke up, of course, repeated the hell-and-back actions from before, and went right back to prayer and singing long enough to find myself dreaming again. This went on for several more (more) hours and when I finally got out of my bed this morning (at the noon whistle) I realized it was noon, and I was standing on my own without wavering. Something had happened, I don't know what it was, but I wasn't falling over and I could hold the Gatorade bottle with one hand to sip from it instead of using both hands to shakily bring it to my lips to try.  I was getting better.

    Throughout the next hour or so I decided to look up my symptoms online using my phone as I lay on my back on the bed with my dog and my cat curiously wondering why I was still in bed at that hour, not giving them treats, not taking them out, not being the dutiful master I usually am. I discovered that my symptoms were flu-like, but if I was already getting over it, it couldn't be the flu. It was too violent or that diagnosis anyway. When I say violent, I'm really being rather polite. I was enthralled in something I had never experienced before. I found something that could explain it but thought to myself that I may have to blame myself if what I'm reading is correct. There's nothing wrong with accepting blame, mind you, but damn it I don't make mistakes like this! I don't do that! This was a cold hard fist to my own soul and I knew I was the culprit. Me and my impatience - - we are joined, but we are not friends.

    There it was in front of my face. I had poisoned myself with a legal chemical known as Keto BHB lemonade powder. It's something that many people use and hey, it works too. It staves off the desire to eat unhealthy foods. It really works when you do it correctly, and it really freaking kills you if you don't use it as recommended; something I do not recommend for anyone - - and I do mean ANYONE. Yes, I lost nearly five (5) pounds last night, pounds I am super happy to lose, but no, no, and again no. I don't recommend anyone going through what I went through to lose five, ten, fifteen, or twenty pounds. It is not worth it. I just had to laugh at myself this afternoon while I popped aspirin, drank Gatorade, nibbled on dry toast, and reminded myself that I'm human - - I may hate the fact that I'm stuck on this green ball of a rock for the time being, but I am in fact, (reality) stuck on this green ball of a rock for the time being. I don't need to hurt myself intentionally or unintentionally while I'm here. Nope. No, I do not.

    So, learn from MY mistakes. Don't be stupid kids. Do not be stupid. Research, and then do the right thing. The good news is that I did see Heaven in one of my dreams, and yes, I would rather have been there instead of where I was, but that will also happen in time. There has to be some good reason I'm still here - - maybe I'll figure that out soon, too.

Photo Credit: Sierra Fit

    

Letting Go, Letting God.

 I feel as if I have already written this blog in the past and it may not have been so very long ago really.  I just feel the need, the draw, and the pull actually to get it out again and to state it as matter of factly so that I myself can benefit from reading my own words and following any direction I may choose to give to myself. I'm truly the only person I ever expect to read my blogs and to possibly follow my good advice. I can't advocate for anyone else really, no one other than myself, but I am the best advocate that I have personally. I work myself over and over again until I believe whatever it is that I'm trying to get across to myself. My head and heart battle over the do's and don'ts all the time. I blame it on the fact that I'm nearly as much Scottish as I am (damned) Engish, and therefore, I can't stand myself at times. Surely I know better than to trust the British side in me; but there I go folly, folly, folly.  It's just such a great thing to know that God is there waiting on me to once again (and again, and again) call upon Him to settle matters.

    Every day I have a daily Bible verse pop up on a phone app telling me this or that, and leading me into either a time of devotion with God or maybe it just reminds me of something I already knew but needed to hear again. That happens more often than not.  Today it was letting me know that a woman (or man) who fears God is blessed. That person who knows and fears God is not only wise but on the right track to being able to literally leave every single issue or burden down and just walk away from it knowing God will take care of it. Today is one of those prayerful, burden-leaving, trust-and-obey days. I'm just at another down-to-the-wire moment, and I have nowhere to turn so what I do is always, always, always, fix my eyes back on God, head for the closet, sit awhile, pray, listen, and talk. I know by the time I get up off the chair and walk out of the closet two things will happen; one, the dog will be waiting for me outside the doors, and two God doesn't stay in the closet. He's with me too. I know this. He never leaves me.

    I have an assignment that I'm having difficulty with. This particular assignment, which I know was given to me directly from God, has been not only burdensome, but increasing frustrating, and it really does seem to be going nowhere. I've been working on the assignment for nearly two years and nothing seems to feel satisfactory to me so I know it's me. I know I'm the one with the problem. I'm not called upon to analyze the assignment, but to do it. Just pray. I'm called upon to pray for one particular person and I may never know what goes on in his life, but I'm to continue to pray and let God have it, whatever "it" is. 

     It just seems from what I see, read, hear, and know, that this man won't let go of his burdens; holding onto them as if he doesn't trust God to take them from him. He won't let go and let God heal him from inside out. It seems as if he's bent on remaining in a bad situation, pretending to be happy, pretending all is well, but all the while the outward signs point (very obviously) in another direction. He's gained an enormous amount of weight over the past year due to stress eating; he's a recovering addict so he has to eat rather than take drugs or drink - - for that I'm happy, but he's just hurting himself over and over again.  There is both heart conditions and Diabetes in his family, so the overweight issue is compounded. This bothers me as where he lives is all but known for their poor diet and lack of routine exercise. The thing is, he's not mine, I can't help him any more than to just pray over him - - which ended up being 50 times a day! (OK that's an exaggeration, but still)

    Well, yesterday I decided to think about, rethink about, and re-pray about those excessive numbers of prayers being poured out of myself for him because I really am not seeing any real improvement and it's causing me to become a bit stressed which can't happen. He's not mine to worry about. I can't have him, he's not mine to keep.  He's literally an assignment. I was minding my own business and God asked me to pray for him. I asked God what I should do now, and what I could do about it, and the obvious and sad answer was to let go.  I mean, I'm not stopping my prayers for the guy no, but I can't get wrapped up in trying to figure out if he's moving in the direction God wants him to go in because I need to move in the direction God wants for me. I am not supposed to try and live the life of someone else. I can't choose what they need to do, I can only pray, lift them up, ask for their protection, seek God's will for them, but then just let it go - - let God do what God does. It's hard.

    After you've been praying for one man for two years and you know he's in extreme pain mentally, emotionally, and now obviously physically, you can't help but crash inside, and I don't know about you, but my heart cries. I literally bawl sometimes thinking that this man, who is thousands of miles from me, and lightyears away really, could ever feel the connection God has given me with him.  He can't. I am not his assignment. He is mine.  It's not an easy thing to explain to people either. People think the way they think, which is usually not the way I think. I'm an ENTJ on the Myer-Briggs test of personalities, which if you don't know what that means, you may not understand my passion or compassion. If you do know that that means you know I'm not about to abandon my assignment.

    I have the man's photo on my desk to remind me to pray for him. When people ask who he is I'm apt to say a friend rather than admit he's an assignment given to me by Almighty God. People tend to walk away when you bring up overtly Christian traits like prayer assignments.  Funny isn't it? Our preachers talk and teach of angels and their feats, but try and tell someone (even another Christian) that you speak to your Guardian Angel and you're looked upon as a freak - - yeah, well, OK, be envious! My G.A. and I have had YEARS to get to know one another. I don't worship Sam, I ask him for advice, and it's always the same. He says "Ask God, not me." 

    Christians are often the worst advocates for other Believers. If one Believer's beliefs differ from another the other won't communicate with the first believing they are heretic or that they are trying to be more pious than others. It's been happening for eons so there's nothing new about it, but it really rankles my insides when I try to explain my assignment to another Believer only to have them say I'm obsessed, or that I'm pathetic to think this or that --- no, what I am is stupid for trying to explain my walk with Christ to someone whose walk isn't continuous because if they had a continuous walk with Christ they too would have an assignment or two and they'd understand rather than being harsh, rude and unnecessarily hurtful.  

    Believe me when I say I would not be able to tell even my assignment that he is my assignment, without backlash and hard words from him. He's normal like that. Though he is a Believer he would likely feel that his wife is the one called upon to pray for him. Well, hello -- if that's the case she can have you! You're not the easiest man to pray for, but since she's NOT praying for you, I guess God had to find someone else. (OK, sorry, I had to get that out)

    Well, God has given me the go-ahead to let him go and to walk away to some degree. I am able now to not hurt and not cry as much when I realize that even his own wife and mother don't pray for him daily; not his friends, not his father, not his children, not even those who "follow" him or listen to him. They are just that, followers. He is not at the core of anyone's heart and that is my burden, a burden I don't understand but accept. God placed him on my heart - - to carry him and I will. I just can't get as close as I did, allowing my heart to care more than it really has a right to do. I am to pray. I am to watch. I am to listen, but I am not to want. I am to remember that God never told me to keep him, just to lift him in prayer for wisdom, protection, his addiction, and his emotional/mental state - - and let it go. Pray - and let it go. Let go, damn it, let go. It's not easy to do. 

    Agony of agonies. I wish it was that simple, but his eyes hurt and they are so full of compassion for many. His heart breaks, and it is full of despair from years of self-abuse and self-hate. I have never experienced that; having always been with a loving and caring Christian family and in loving and God-fearing fellowship from the day I was born - - so blessed. My prayer remains fast. I won't change that because I won't fail my order from God; but I am now having to depart from offering even the slightest of empathy because it returns void to me and sears me like a hot iron; I give but it is not being accepted or returned by him, which I have to remember is not the assignment. God accepts my prayer. 

    God accepts and returns my hope.  Why do I have to be so damned human? Wouldn't it be so much easier to just have a good old-fashioned Rapture and be done with this? My problems, his problems, all gone. There isn't a single problem that either of us or for that matter any Believer, that the Rapture can't and won't cure. Let's do this. Let's go Home.  Until that moment God, I thank you for my charge, and I promise to let him be yours to correct, yours to direct, yours to protect, and yours to administer love to. I will just do what I'm told to do - - because that's the only way I know. Trust and obey.  

Photo Credit:  Moving Forward Matters

ONE YEAR AGO!

 August 3, 2020, I woke up and had a really hard time going through the daily routine I had found myself in, but I was determined to go through the routine anyway. I wasn't working, I was on unemployment just sort of waiting to be called back to teach, but after the 1st of August you sort of think maybe you're not going to get the call to show up to teach anywhere. I wasn't surprised, not after the last time I was terminated as a teacher - - it wasn't my first time, but to be honest with you, again, it wasn't my fault. These facts don't seem to matter much to employers or administrators at various school districts when they go through the resumes to determine if they want to bring someone onto their roster who has a history of being terminated over and over again for being (get this) too ethical. Truth is so much stranger than fiction.

    A year ago I woke up, I was having so much difficulty just walking around my apartment, getting around to taking the dog out to do her business, and going back up the stairs to make coffee and settle in for an hour or so to write in my journal, read my Bible, and just commune with God. Why was it so hard for me I wondered? Well, as it turns out, and the answer may not really surprise you, I was fat.  No, no, there's no need to sugar coat it, I was just simply fat.  I'm not body-shaming myself, I am simply stating a fact. My BMI was out the roof - - I was 5'7" (give or take) and weighed 216 pounds. 

    Not only was my weight higher than it should be, I hadn't been exercising or even swimming due to the COVID restrictions and just plain laziness on my part. There's no reason to try and make excuses for me, I was just out of shape, overweight, and in a mess of trouble when it came to doing what should have and was a fairly easy set of daily tasks. This day, August 3, 2020, was the day I realized something had to give, and it was absolutely going to be me to do the giving.

    I have always been disciplined with myself and able to take orders from my head to my heart. I'm not a shy person, I'm not introverted, and I have never been accused of being weak-minded. I didn't pussyfoot around it, I looked at myself, made an evaluation based on facts, and then I sat myself down and told myself there would be changes. I began planning to plan, and when I say that I mean it. My plans don't come about on a whim even if they may appear that way to some. I am more if not always more effective when I make a detailed plan to follow. My plans have the standard Plan A model, but I always include a Plan B, Plan C, and usually even a Plan D. In this case there was no alternative plan. I was just going to make myself obey my every demand and command - - and I did.

    Diet and exercise are part of a good program, but I know from experience that losing weight and getting in shape is far more emotional and mental than it is physical. I began where I always begin, inside the closet where I pray so I could ask Jesus to make me stick to my plans, and to remind me daily of His will in this matter so that I didn't overdo it, so that I didn't push myself too hard, so that I wasn't overly judgemental of others who I knew would continue to tell me that I didn't need to lose "that" much weight, maybe just tone a little. NO. I was fat. I was about 70 pounds overweight, to be honest, and that's before the toning. That's just weight.  A normal or good-sized woman at 5'7" should (according to the Mayo Clinic and other medical sources) weigh between 140-155 pounds. I was 216 pounds, so that's literally 61 pounds over the standard high-end. I could lose 70 and be in the middle of the acceptable weight table. The goal became 70.

    As the old saying goes, the wheels turned ever so slowly for me. Yes, at first I dropped water weight and I dropped the weight rather quickly as I was engaging in exercises that my body was not accustomed to doing. I was fasting, eating less calories, cutting out carbs, cutting out sugars, and doing what I knew to do without going full-Keto.  I didn't want to do a specialized diet program. I wanted to do something I could handle, stick with, and feel good about supporting it mentally and emotionally. I had to allow cheat days. I needed to have those times when I just had a burger at Braum's Ice Cream Store and know that would be OK. I wasn't the bad guy for wanting to be normal. It worked.

    Well, I say it worked. I am now one year from the day I woke up in such a state of mind and shape. I have lost 44 pounds, but I'm not where I want to be yet. Sure, I'm wearing clothes that are a great deal smaller than I was wearing last year and in fact, I haven't been down this low in several (maybe hundreds) of years, but I am not where I want to be and that mental stage of this existence is hard to deal with at times. I look in the mirror and I am not quite happy. I am happier, sure, but I'm not there yet. I have a goal, I will work and meet that goal. I'm not overbearing, just realistic and I refuse to compromise. I think it's best to stay focused and do what needs to be done without accepting compromise or defeat. I'm getting there. It's happening, and I'm so very grateful to God for keeping me on track and not letting me give up during the dreaded plateaus....which, by the way, are WAY too often. Let me just say that right now.

    Do I have another plan to make the last bit of weight drop? Sure I do. Of course, I do. I am the Queen of planning and implementing said plans. I am my own best soldier. This will happen, and in fact, it is happening today. I'm asking God for direction, I'm following that direction. I'm fasting intermittently and I'm eating correctly. I am exercising, working out, swimming, lifting weights, boxing, punching the daylights out of my weight bag, and I'm walking every day. I walk over 6000 steps combined with a workout and/or swim, and yes, I do still have the occasional cheat day. It's just too important to do that for yourself. You can't just go full steam and not burn out - - it's impossible.  So yeah, maybe in 3 months or so I'll hit the goal weight I want, begin my maintenance plan, and work on the next phase of my life, which is to be really strong, look 20, and be a full-time author. (giggles)

    Believe me when I say I will make it happen, but it's not really me. It's God. I could not, would not, will not, and shall not, do anything without His help - - "because He lives, I can face tomorrow." For that, I am literally eternally grateful. 

Heavier

Now.

Sneetches and the Vaccine

 Do you remember the book by Dr. Seuss about the crazy yellow upright creatures that sort of looked like Big Bird from Sesame Street? They were called Sneetches and they had a really good lesson to teach each one of us about inclusion, diversity, being OK with being different from others, and just plain ignorance of what we don't accept in others. I learned a great deal from that story. In the book Sneetches and Other Stories by Dr. Seuss, there is another story about the North Going Zax and the South Going Zax, two mop-haired creatures who again, we're there to train and teach the readers about being too set in our ways to budge.  We learned early on through these and other stories that may have been read to us as children, that we are to include others in our daily lives. We are to work with others, be in a community with others, and we're not really supposed to judge someone by their skin color, their height, weight, shape, hair color, or anything we see about them. There is a good lesson in this, in that we are not to judge, but to be a part of the ever-changing community we exist in -- and that's not always so easy to do; is it?

    The book really stands out for me this week, month, year, and will probably be something I refer to time and again as I am approached by those who have been vaccinated against the COVID-19 virus, who are bent out of shape as well as being bound and determined to force and bully me into getting vaccinated. There are so many reasons this is wrong - - and I'm not too shy to mention them here in this blog. I'm not trying to alienate anyone, but I have a medical reason not to be vaccinated, and my doctor agrees, but that is just not satisfactory for some to accept, and now my very life has been threatened by a more, shall we say, immature person, who simply isn't willing to be flexible - - she's sort of like those Zax I mentioned. She has one-way thinking, and it's been both annoying and now threatening. I'm not really all that nervous about her threats, as she tends to be pushing air through her mouth most of the time, but she could be crazy enough to actually harm me or someone else she feels is potentially harming her by not being vaccinated. Let me explain.

    I live in a complex of people, we are all different, and we are all very unique in our own way. We are in a community, we share common space and common grounds and amenities. Because she is very liberal-minded and as we now say "Woke", she believes that everyone who is not vaccinated is somehow causing her to potentially become sick or be worse off if she catches the virus from one of us. Newsflash: the vaccine is NOT federally regulated and is not proven to help with either the virus or the future exposures to it. It's a "Band-Aid" on a gash at best, and in my humble opinion, less effective than taking Vitamin D and Zinc on a daily basis, which is what I am doing, and what my doctor recommended after I had the virus and it ran it's course very early on from November 2019 to February 2020. I was laid up for about 2 weeks with flu-type symptoms and then another 14 weeks of coughing my guts and lungs out. I did get over it, and I am left with scarring in my lungs due to it. My doctors strongly recommend that I do not get the vaccine unless and until it can be regulated and someone takes the blame for it if there are reactions. At this stage, there is NO recourse for anyone who takes the vaccine and has reactions to it. You sign a waiver saying you won't sue or seek legal action. This alone s should tell people it is NOT safe.

    I'm not anti-vaccine and I am so very tired of being bullied, shamed, name-called, and worse, even terminated from work and shunned by people just because I disagree with them in this matter. I am anti-this-vaccine for me, but anyone who wants to get it, and feels that they need it, is perfectly OK with me. I would recommend that they wait, but it's not up to me to live their lives. I think it needs to be given the chance to be proven to be effective, but again, it is NOT my area of expertise; but it is as they say "My body, my choice", right? No, not according to all these "Woke" people who think that I am causing them to suffer because I have a medical condition that precludes me from being in their little club. I am 100% healthy, and probably more so than most of the people I know who have taken the vaccines. I am one of the countless people who can say I know others who have not fared well by taking the vaccine, and I know others who had no reactions whatsoever. Good. I hope NO ONE has a reaction. I hope it becomes FDA-approved. I hope it is the cure. I am NOT against it as a potential help, but I am against me taking it if it could cause me both discomfort and possibly harm. Why can't others understand that?

    We simply don't know enough about the virus and the vaccine to make educated statements. We rely on those who do the studies, but the media in our country won't allow people who disagree with the left way of thinking, to even report their findings. Without double-blind and unbiased testing on these vaccines we are not going to be given the full truth by either side, and it is incredibly sad that there are even two sides to this one matter. It should be united, it should be the goal of every human to make sure the actual truth gets out and not their biased opinions which serve to fuel their collective or bi-partisan agenda. I am so very very tired of being caught in the middle of this problem. I am a Sneech without a star on my belly, but I'm feeling like I need to buy a fake COVID card to wave at anyone who has the audacity to think they are better than me just because I am not able to be vaccinated at this time.

    It will come down to people making, purchasing, forging, and faking cards and IDs saying they've been vaccinated. This way they can move on about their business and not be terminated from jobs, or not interviewed in the first place. They'll be able to ride the buses, the rail, and fly without being hassled. They'll be able to go into restaurants, bars, churches, public houses, and courtrooms without being shamed - - why are people shaming?  It's not founded. It's not proven. It's hype and it's a biased opinion, but we're all out there screaming at one another with our flags waving and our fists flying, and I'm just done! I'm not a racist, I'm not a bigot, I'm not a murderer, I'm not a hater, I am simply not convinced medically that this is the right choice for me and I think I should have that right to say so without being thrown to the wolves at every corner! Shouldn't I? 

    Well, the Sneeches finally did themselves a favor and they learned from their mistakes. They were ignorant and rude to others until it was brought to their full attention that really deep down we are the same and we do hurt and we do cry, we are normal, and it's really best if we just accept one another and give a bit of lee-way to those who may want to think things through or give things time before making decisions that will affect them for the rest of their lives.  We need to remember the stories from when we were children -- we learned so much in our first five years that we seem to forget as we get older. Remember being told to be kind? We need to be kind.  We need to love people for who and what they are and if we disagree with their lifestyle we can say so without being ugly about it, or hurtful. We can love the person even if we don't like what they do or say.

    Let's give love a try. 

Photo credit: Jake Bartell (Dr. Seuss book illustrator)

Be Still and Know He is God

 "Be still, and know I am God".  This verse in the Bible is found in the Book of Psalms.  The actual verse is Psalms 46:10.  Be still.  It seems like such a simple thing to do, a request made, or even a suggestion to some, but that's not what it is at all. Different commentaries have various opinions of what that passage is really talking about, and the best one I found was the meaning that God Himself gave to me when I was moved to teach this passage during my stint as a Professor of Ethics at a larger community college in Indiana.  I wanted to bring God into the mix, but do so in a way that wouldn't offend the administration to the point of terminating my contract.  The things we have to do as Christians to just "get around" the rules so we can bring about the mention of God are incredible.

    I've read many opinions and as I said, commentaries on this particular verse, but the one thing that everyone has to say about it is that God is the one who gave the message to the Psalmist. God is the one who is to be heard. God is the one that spoke the words, not David, not Solomon, not another song writer. When I see these words I am moved to not move. I am commanded, not given a suggestion. I am told to do something, not asked to do something. I am shown a way, not given an escape path. God said each word and each word can be taken quite literally.  

    From an Ethics point of view, and therefore, a philosopher's point of view, let's take each word separately, shall we?  "Be".  What does it mean to be?  Rene DeCartes says that we are because we think. "I think, therefore I am".  We must first realize that we are before we can be, and if we are, then we can put forth the effort to realize that we are in this place, this world, this existence, and we can actively "be" in it.  We are breathing, we are alive, we may not all be at the same level of health, not by any means, but we are able to realize that we are living and we do take up time, space, and matter - - so we can "be".  The act of being is not an easy feat; it required a Creator.  That's the point God is making, not the point He is trying to make. God doesn't try to make anything - - He made it. He is God. Whether we accept Him as so is not the point at all, He still is. We are to be in that realization that we are because of Him.

    "Still".  Be still.  What does it mean to be still? What are we to be? We are to be still. This can be translated into words such as "calm", "relaxed", "rested", "meditative", "open", and it can also be translated into a form of awareness like the word "be".  We are to realize we are not in charge. We are to open ourselves to the fact that God is ultimately in control, not that He wants to be or should be, but that He is in control. When we figure that out, we'll be so much better off than we were before we realized it.

    The word "and" is merely a connective word, you are to do two things at one time. First, you are to "be still" and then you are to "know" something. KNOW. What are you to know? Knowing is not guessing, knowing is not thinking, knowing is not hoping, or assuming, but knowing is in fact grasping the understanding of, or accepting the facts that something is real or factual. You know it, it is therefore truth. You don't know something and it is wrong. You may know something to be wrong, but it is in fact truthful that whatever it is that you know to be wrong is in fact true that it is wrong. Does that makes sense? Read it again if you need to. You KNOW something, therefore it is something. It is not partial, it is fully known. 

    What are you to know?  You are to do two things in this passage. First you are to be still. Stop what you are doing, be calm, and then you are to KNOW something. What is it? You are to KNOW that God is God. He is God. He is "I AM".  He said, "...know that I am God".  Well, it could also be written more correctly as "I Am, God".  Two names, same deity.  I Am is how God addressed Himself to Moses. He said to tell Pharoah that "I Am" has sent you -- He didn't say "The God of Jacob and Abraham", He said "I Am" because Pharoah didn't recognize either Jacob or Abraham, and didn't know, wouldn't know who God was if Moses had addressed Him in that manner. No, God said "I AM".  He told us the same thing in this verse.  Be still, and know I Am.  He then goes on to say "God".  He is and always will be God. He is and always was and will be I Am.  It's just such a powerful verse!

    To reiterate the matter, and to underline the greater importance, we are nothing without God. He is and was, and He is our Creator. We are because of Him. We exist because He wanted us to. We are here now and will remain forever because that is His will, not ours. When people say God is some sorcerer in the sky, or He doesn't exist, I just want to laugh -- and then cry.  My first reaction is an honest one; how can anyone say God isn't if they breathe air? Did they or someone they know create air? No, it was God.  We can't walk, talk, move, function, think, or anything else without there first being a Creator to make us, it's basic, but it's the hardest thing to wrap our human minds around. We're such selfish beings. 

    When searching for the answers to literally every question there could possibly be, I am 100% confident when I say there is one method to finding the answer(s). Be still.  Know He is God. If and when we are fully capable of giving up our issues, our worries, our problems to Him, we will live a really free life. I did this a number of years ago, and only wish I could have learned the lesson many years before I did.  I have been so blessed and so touched by a loving God by this one verse. This one passage has led me through countless agonies and anxious moments; it's impossible to know exactly how many times God has been there for me because He is there every moment. It is constant.

    Be still.  The way I do it is to pray. I go into my closet, grab a handful of rocks, and I literally thank Him for the time and the ability to come to Him. I sit there, listen to Him, wait on Him, and I may sing a little hymn while I wait, but I am aware that the main thing I need and must do, is be. I must realize who I am in connection to who He is, and then realize that He always must come first in every way. That is a given - - and it's so easy to do once you realize you really have nothing to offer outside of a living and loving God who literally gave you everything just to be with you. Isn't that too incredible?

Photo credit: Steffany Gretzinger 

Pool Antics and Aerobics

 I live in an apartment complex that I have literally lived at five separate times in my lifetime. I have been here for six years this time, which is the longest I've stayed but there's a really good reason for it. I am in a coveted two-bedroom apartment, and even though it's not one of the ones in the same building with the washer and dryer, that would be cool, it is an end unit, and if I ever leave I'll have to wait 18 years to lease here again because NO ONE ever leaves this place unless or until they die!  

     Our complex is one of those that you just sort of pass when you're driving by and you never really stop and notice it. You may remember it because there are usually 100 geese walking across the road at any given time and if you speed by we (the people who live here) will throw things at your car, chase you down, and beat the living tar out of you if you ever did hit one of our birds. I think we've had more police visits for that than anywhere else in the city, but the police typically just warn us again and tell us it's not really legal to threaten the lives of people and we should stop. We'll stop, sure, when they stop trying to run over our birds. Call us crazy, but we do love our Canada Geese here at the "Hub" as we refer to our little slice of Heaven.  

    Many of the tenants are either currently active in the military or are veterans. When I say many, they are becoming fewer and fewer in numbers; my son moved away when he married, and there have been several passings of neighbors and loved ones over the past few years. We're changing our ways some too, and not pushing nearly as many would-be trespassers into the pond - - oh, the glory days.  Our little peaceful oasis has from time to time been trodden on by passers-by that don't pass by as quickly as perhaps they should and well, the ducks and turtles meet new friends from time to time, we'll put it that way. At night our complex is well guarded by the men (mostly grown boys) who like to play Night Ninja, wear red-lensed goggles, carry firearms, and keep the peace - - again, those days are fewer and farther between than they used to be.  Most of the splashing nowadays takes place in the pool.

    Our pool sits prominently in the middle of the complex and hasn't been active in years. We didn't use it much in 2017, 2018, or 2019, and of course, with COVID looming like it did in 2020, it wasn't even opened for use. This year we saw the first day of swimming just two days ago due to a broken filter and lack of real interest by the old tenants -- old meaning we've been here a very long time. The new tenants complained enough I suppose so the maintenance men decided to fix the filter and there you go -- one nicely barely used pool that sits in the middle of the complex and invites all of us to enjoy its cool refreshing waves and yet - - we all just tend to wait until after the sun starts to melt so we don't find ourselves roasting and passing out from heat exhaustion. We should throw up a few lights and open the gates from 8 p.m. to 10:00 a.m. instead of the current hours of whenever Chris gets around to it, and whenever Chris decides it's time to close it down for the day. 

    Lately, however, (and by lately I mean the last two days) I've been doing water aerobics to substitute the power walking that I was doing before after working out in the apartment during the day so I don't die of heatstroke during the day outside - - it's a lovely way to close out an evening really, and after boxing, for 15-20 minutes it makes sense to shower quickly and then jumping into the pool for 45 minutes to run in place and look like I know what I'm doing. I really don't know what I'm doing, but I sure do have an audience. I can look around the complex (the pool is in the middle, remember) and I can see my neighbors lifting their mugs and bottles to salute me as I pretend I have a few clues on how to effectively do water aerobics. It's really a lot more like "just keep things moving Jude, and you'll be OK" - - it's a plan. I always have a plan. 

    So I looked it up, the night before last, and water aerobics burns off about 400-500 calories an hour - so yeah, 45 minutes should be around 300-400 and if I do it really vigorously, which I tend to do, I might just hit that 400-500 mark before I'm done, and all the calories I consumed for dinner will be GONE! Zap! Bam! Vamoose! Nata! (OK, stop with the onomatopoeia, they get it) I can eat, wait 15 minutes, jump in the pool, run in place like a maniac, and twist my arms around like I'm some sort of aqua gymnast, and when that becomes too tiring I can sit on the steps and pretend to be a frog. I can dog-paddle to the other side, because you burn more calories that way according to Google, and I can do massive amounts of squats in the shallow end and actually feel the burn! Doin' it.

    Tonight I decided to stand in the shallow end and bend backward to "practice" hanging upsidedown because very soon my portable aerial hammock will arrive; the one I will hang over the door frame in the hall. I will need to be limber enough to climb into it and literally do the upsidedown hanging like a bat thing, but before I can do that I have to practice the pose somehow -- the shallow end is a great place to do that; see, innovative, creative, resourceful, and effective. Some days you just have to find ways to entertain the neighbors. They are so going to miss me when I move to Scotland.  They expect it.

    Maybe when I move to Scotland I'll have a stand put out in the backyard where the greenline once stood, and I'll hang the portable aerial hammock on it. I'll twist myself into it and hang upside down, spin, turn, wrap myself up and roll out - - just to see if any of my new acquaintances will even notice. God knows I'm not ever going to hang clothes out to dry outside -- it rains in Scotland you know, it rains 149 days on average each year - - compared to the 82 days we may see precipitation in Oklahoma each year - - nope, I am NOT made out of sugar, I won't melt, but I'm not hanging my clothes out to get wet again after I just washed them.  Maybe my new neighbors will be curious enough to come over to the fence to see what the heck I'm doing. We'll see. It's a plan. You gotta have a plan.

Photo Credit: Ofrall

A Husband or a Horse? (Tough Decision)

 I'm not so cynical (most of the time anyway) that I would say that all men are pigs or that all men this or that. I know that saying "all" anything is too generic, too open, too vague, and I won't be a part of being that generalized unless I'm saying with absolute certainty that "All dogs go to Heaven" because we know that they do. Most men, most men, I can say that most men fall into one or two categories for me. There are the men who understand that a woman is going to love her horse, and there are men who don't understand that fact, and those men are usually the ones that I see standing outside my barn rather than inside the barn helping to feed the horses.  Most men, in my experience, have good natures, they have good souls, they have good intentions, and they have a good enough chance of finding someone who will be nice to them long enough to marry them, then they have to pay the price for not asking as many questions as maybe they should have; it happens. I made that mistake myself. ONCE. It won't happen again.

    At my age, I've made so many mistakes when it comes to both horses and men that I feel that I have a rather unique perspective on the question as to whether or not I should be interested in obtaining one or the other of them in the future. Currently, I am without either one. I gave my last rescue to a family with kids because I need to focus on promoting my new book, get as many copies of it sold so I can move comfortably to Scotland, where I may or may not continue a quest for the horse, but I know I won't be out in the cobbled streets of Edinburgh tracking down a man - - not going to happen. Here are a few reasons why I might find myself catching a bus to the ends of the route, then hailing a taxi to take me further out to see a pony or two. I'd pay for one, not the other.

    With horses, you never have to worry about where they slept last night. You put them in their stall, or you know the pasture gate is secure. If the fence is good, you don't have to worry about them skipping over it to another pasture to check out the greener grass. You rarely, if ever have to worry about someone else coming into your barn space to flirt with your gelding, and if she did, he wouldn't really be all that interested, he'd just want the apple in her hand. The second she surrendered it he would be back in your good graces with a winnie or nudge of his big thick skull, letting you know that yours are the only hands he wants brushing him out anyway - - she was just carrying the apple, and it was, you know, an apple.  

    With horses you know you're going to be out every penny you earn, there's no guessing or wondering about it. It is what it is. You don't and you won't expect the horse to bring home the bacon, work a steady job, keep his promises about not arguing with the boss this week, and he won't be fired and leave you holding the bag again because you know what, he never intended on assisting you with holding the bags, paying the bills, running the kids to wherever it is that they need to go to, and a horse will never, and I do mean never, ask you out of sheer insecurity, where you've been and who you've been with. He doesn't have to. He knows you're loyal to him, it's a given. C'mon, it's the horse! Who wouldn't be faithful to their horse? Even if you did want to go over to the next stall and pet another gelding or even a mare right in front of him, your horse really doesn't mind - - probably even expects it if you're honest with yourself. 

    A man makes promises. A horse never makes promises. A man breaks dates. A horse never breaks a single date. A man forgets your birthday, anniversaries, special occasions, and where he left his wallet. A horse doesn't know your birthday, doesn't care about anniversaries, so he'll never remind you about them, or expect presents on any given day as long as you keep grain coming when it's supposed to be there, and as long as you brush him off after a good stiff ride -- never leave your horse sweaty, he does care about that. That's about the only thing he'll get pissy with you about actually unless you cinch him up too tightly when you saddle -- there's that. 

    A man asks questions he shouldn't ask. He buys things he shouldn't buy. He argues with you about things he doesn't even have much knowledge about and tries to convince you that you're the one with the bigger ego or problem, and he stands there seeking an apology for something he started in the first place. That won't happen in the barn; it just won't. You can slap a horse's ass pretty hard and he'll just look at you.  You can spray him down with cold water whenever you get the mind to do so. You can throw a rope around his neck and tighten it without him freaking out on you, and the one thing I really like about being with a horse is that you can fart and he flat out never blinks. He may try to outdo you, but you won't hear a word about it. Nope. Not happening.  A horse can be a little wild, and really, that's what we like about them -- strength, power, controlled power. Nothing feels more empowering than to be with someone (OK, something) that bursts with energy and stares you down to see if you're even worthy of their time.  If a man looked at me like that, he'd see my backside as I walked away. I won't be challenged by a man -- but a horse is another story.

    Yeah, I know, you can't take a horse to dinner, and you can't dance with one either, not really. You can't cuddle or snuggle and you can't play checkers with one. You can watch football with your horse, and when you do you don't have to wonder if he's secretly hoping your quarterback breaks his leg or that the ball is picked off; horses don't follow sports that well. They eat grass, walk around slowly, and from time to time accompany you on a trail ride where the two of you can be alone and you can share your secrets. That's another thing right there; a horse will NEVER tell your secrets, and he'll never sleep with your best friend or sister - - well, I mean, he may, but it won't be likely to happen, I'll say that.

    A horse smells really good when they sweat too, by the way. Men don't always pull that off as well as a horse. Men shouldn't try to wear tight leather really, but a horse can and does, and nothing looks more natural, and nothing looks more comfortable on one. Horses may grow grey but they don't usually lose their hair, and they accept pretty much anything you say to be fact. They wear what you buy them, they eat what you feed them, they follow you, and even hope you stay a little longer. Most of the time they do. There is that occasional horse that would rather see you pull away in your car but for the most part they are loving and wanting you to know it.

    I guess what I'm saying is, you can geld a horse if he becomes too much to handle, with a man you may be out of luck in most states if you attempted to remedy the situation by castration. Just sayin' (and I'm not lying, it really is illegal in every state, I imagine.) with a horse you know what you're getting after just a few hours with him. I mean, yeah, you may want to go back for a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, or 5th ride to be sure he's the one you want to spend the rest of your cash on, but you know pretty soon if he's telling the God's honest truth about where he's been the past few years, and when he gets older you don't have to go looking for another one right away, they do live to be 35 years old. You can bank on having a good solid relationship for years to come if you start out with a good one to begin with. 

    God knew what He was doing when He made the horse, that's for sure. God made woman for man, this is true, but He never said women had to keep a man longer than he was welcome.  You can't sell a man, you can't even trade him; you just have to give him up and walk away or keep him until he dies. There are reasons to do that you know, I'm not saying there isn't. If one was worth keeping until the day he died and God brought him my way, then told me "This one is yours Jude, you're welcome" yeah, I'd keep him, but God Himself would have to make that happen because I'm not looking for one. You may find me at the auction house someday going over the geldings but you'll not see me eye-balling a man the same way I google and drool over horse flesh. There's just something about horses and girls; it's in us from the first day we draw breath, and maybe beforehand.

    God knew what He was doing when He made each one of us, so if He wants me to be with another man He will have to make that happen - - and in such a way that I would KNOW it was God doing it, and not me making another mistake - - I'd rather just saddle up and ride into the sunset with someone (something) I know I can love and be loved by, something I can trust and be trusted by, something I can be sure will always give more than what I could ever give to him -- yeah, God knew what He was doing when he made the horse. They are so perfect. 

Norman.  My BLM Mustang Photo Credit: Karen Overy