Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 96

How May I Serve You - - Attitude is EVERYTHING

 The longer I live on this Earth the more I long for Heaven, that is just a fact, but we can't get there until it's time to go, so we do need to somehow focus on what we can do while we're stuck on this rock! For years, mostly throughout my childhood, I remember various good-hearted relatives telling me to play fair, do the right thing, and they always admonished me to help others; don't be selfish.  It was beaten into my soul that to be selfish was one of the worse things a person could do; it was sin, and it was a nasty sin at that. I was told to think about others before thinking about myself. I was told to do unto others as I would have someone do unto me. I was preached to, taught, and directed to have a spirit of giving not receiving. Doesn't the Bible even say it's better to give than to receive? 

    Over and over again, we are held accountable for what it is that we think about others, do for others, etc, etc, and the lists go on and on, all the while in our hearts and minds we can't stop thinking about what our own dreams are and how we're going to make it all happen. We like people, sure we do, but is it really fair to ask someone to put aside their hopes and wishes in order to help someone else make all of their dreams come true? I mean, c'mon, let's be real for a second - - can we really do that?  Answer? Of course, we can! In fact, the Word also tells us that if we do it right, and yes, you do have to do it right, that God Himself will be the one to bring us the blessings we hope for; they're called the "desires of your heart" in the Bible, in Proverbs 37, verse 4.  "Delight yourself in the Lord, and HE will give you the desires of your heart".  Sounds like a sure-fire thing to me! If God said it, that settles it - - at least for me it does.

    It's been a minute, but I adopted an attitude of gratitude a while back. I purposely focused on not worrying about life and all that it throws at me because there's that one promise I can put my finger on every single time, and if I ever (and I do mean EVER) feel that things aren't necessarily going my way I can always bet with confidence that it's because I haven't done enough for others to make that actually happen for myself. Sounds like a paradox, I know, but hear me out -- be VERY selfish with this one. If you want your desires (and we all do) all we really have to do is to delight in God. What? Say that again, and this time, say it in a way I can understand it? 

    OK, let me be blunt -- I'm good at being blunt.  Do what you know you're supposed to do, do the right thing, do the best you can to make sure what it is that you're doing is what God wants you to do, and don't worry about having the money to do it - - just do it what you can, He'll bring the opportunity for you to prove yourself, and when you are truly delighting in Him, doing what He wants you to do, then BAM....desires fall out of the heavens, literally. He brings them to you, every single time, you can put it to the test, you can bank on it, you can say to yourself "Wow, that worked" because you know what? He can't lie. You have the word of God that if you just delight - - show your gratitude and do what He wants you to do, you will have your personal desires -- you may not win the lottery, but I'm pretty sure that won't even rank in the top 100 desires in your heart because something happens to your heart when you start delighting in God - - it's a cycle, but not a vicious one, it's a VICTORIOUS one.

    Be as selfish as you can be. Work really really hard at helping others in order to get your personal desires. Paradoxical, ironic, strangely weird, but ever so true. Whenever I give someone money I never loan it to them. If they ever paid me back I wouldn't get my blessing! It would be a loan, I can't expect to delight in God if I'm just going to wait on someone to pay me back - - nope, delighting in God means to let that money go where it needs to go when it needs to go, and He'll take care of me because I didn't stop to ask questions and put my own two cents into it. I mean, you don't have to be stupid about it either, know who you're giving your precious time and help to; a fool is not going to appreciate your assistance and you'll learn a hard lesson helping fools.  Be wise, but be at service.

    If you're new to the action, and you really haven't been much of a servant, start out slow and build up your personal confidence in yourself. Do small things, random acts of kindness; watch the results. Step up and volunteer, do something you may have otherwise never imagined would be fun and fulfilling, and you'll also find that your servant's soul will begin to produce more "fruit" than you ever knew you had in you to begin with.  Do more, do it again, look for opportunities, and make them if you can't find one. Help out a local children's hospital, a nursing home, a church, a rotary club, something where you can serve but not be seen or "thanked" necessarily because you don't need to be thanked do you? No, you don't, you're there to serve, not be recognized. God will do all the recognizing you can ever hope for; believe me. It's not a game to Him, it's a promise!

    One last thing -- don't go around telling everyone what it is that you're doing for others. Just do it. Don't blog, post, brag, boast, talk about or even hint about what it is that you're doing to serve - - just serve. If God wants you to pray for someone do that. If God wants you to help in the food pantry, do that. If God wants you - - let Him direct you. Just be there, open up that heart, open up your arms, and your mind -- walk dogs for the shelter; they need your love. Think about what it is that you can do and then ask yourself if you can see yourself making the changes you want to see in the world. You really are more than you know you are or think you are. You are capable of making someone else's burden a little easier - - and wouldn't it be GREAT to have your own desires fulfilled just because you were promised they would be? Yeah, He's cool like that - - always has been. Always will be.

Ask yourself "How can I serve today?" 

Photo Credit: Education's Choice

Perfect Practice Makes One - - Better.

 I'm making plans to move to Scotland, and in doing so I have to come to a few realizations such as the fact that I won't be driving when I get there. I mean, I could drive, sure, but no one wants that to happen really, and yeah, I don't want to have to explain to cops and judges why it is that I was ticketed for driving on the right side of the road. It's going to take some getting used to, so what I decided to do was to "practice" driving on the left; using the one car I know I can't get pulled over in, I use my Google maps "car".  I am having too much fun, and let me tell you this, there is NO speed limit apparently because I can jump through time and space like no other in my invisible vehicle - - I am unstoppable. 

    When I jump on the Google maps site with a pinpointed location, let's say Tranent, Scotland, I can find a street and just start driving. I can choose to go in any direction, and I don't have to worry about hitting anyone. I don't have to worry about passing them correctly (do you do that on the right, I guess?) I am just scooting long, zooming really, and from time to time I even back and turn around so I can see what the front of the sign says so I know where I'm going. If nothing else happens, I won't be lost if I ever make my way to Tranent for real! I know those streets.  I'm becoming more familiar with Musselburgh, Portobello, Joppa, and Dalkeith as well. Soon, and very soon, I'll head over to the west side of Edinburgh because that's probably where I'll end up living, I need to know those streets too. Too much fun.

    My little car, I tell myself, is a comfortable little crossover, maybe a silver Ford Focus hatchback like Steve. Oh my gosh, I can make myself cry if I start talking about Steve. Of course, I couldn't drive Steve in Scotland because his steering column is on the left side, but maybe I could drive his cousin Callum! That's it, my new little zoom-around is another silver Ford Focus, a newer model, and his name is Callum! Here we go - - I'm on the hunt for a few roundabouts now! You have no idea! I tell people now, that I'm moving to Scotland to be in the land of roundabouts. I LOVE them...maybe I'm sick in the head, but I just absolutely love a good roundabout. If only the rest of the world ran on such logic. We wouldn't have to stop to pay for things, just sort of slide by when it was our turn, or maybe there would be no more waiting at the doctor's office, the Department of Motor Vehicles, or when we find ourselves standing in line to get into our favorite restaurant. NO MORE WAITING....just roundabout it, and move forward, always forward. Move on! Move!

    Another thing I'm going to have to give up or get used to not doing once I hit Scotland, is the ease in which I just simply go where I want to go, and do what I want to do because I have said ability to do so. Because I do have a car here in the states because I can and do just jump into the car and go about a mile down the road to pick up a pack of toilet paper, a few groceries, and maybe stop by Braum's Ice Cream for a half-gallon tub of Peppermint ice cream. Not going to happen. Not fast anyway, and I won't be walking home with my arms loaded up with a twelve-pack of toilet paper and expect not to be mugged for it - - wait, that was 2020. I digress. I could probably still walk home hugging my Charmin if I wanted to, but I may have that delivered. 

    I'll be walking so much more when I move, so what I do now is I walk 2-3 miles a day to practice having to walk, having the stamina, getting in the workout, making sure I don't faint along the way. There's very little more pathetic than to see a broken-down woman on the side of the road clutching her twelve-pack of toilet paper eating a half-gallon of ice cream so it doesn't melt simply because she couldn't make it all the way home on her own!  (I guess God did invent taxis, right?) I can always walk to the store I suppose, then get my things, and call a taxi to take me back if what I bought is too cumbersome for the trek back home - - see, planning is everything, planning is key, planning is my breath! I am nothing if not a good organizer. Viva la Strategy!  Plan! Plan! 

    Let's see, besides not having a car, and having or needing to walk, I'm pretty sure there are other things I need to be aware of that perhaps I could be or should be practicing. Oh, I know, eating seafood. That's right, I'm not the biggest seafood fan, but knowing that I'll be moving to a place literally surrounded by the sea, and knowing that a mainstay of the land is in fact seafood, I may need to practice eating a bit of it to make sure I won't die of starvation and/or worse, become a vegan. I can't do that. I need to eat more seafood!  That being said, I've been boiling up shrimp (prawns) every week, and I've put on a few cod and herring on the grill as well. I'm not going to attempt to lie to myself about eating oysters, not happening, but I will concede to trying things that don't have gooey guts, which excludes octopus; for good reason. Yeah, no. 

    This is going to be fun. This is fun. I'm doing it now, and I'm learning so much more than I expected to learn. I will say this, having traveled the same streets of Tranent over and over again, and seeing what Google took photos of over and over again, I have begun naming the people I see in the snapshots along the way - - they're really just passersby on their way to the park or the store, but they were caught on the Google maps camera right? So why not name them, give them purpose, make them seem as if they were meant to be part of my life.  I see Helen and her friend Teri making their way from their cute little neighborhood on their way to church to volunteer, I see Bob and Maurice, they're twins you know, and I see Roni, the wee chap who was probably supposed to be in that little schoolyard, but he decided to ditch classes today and run off to Scotmid for a bite; maybe try to get the cashier to sell him a pack of smokes! Cheeky kid!  I love my mind.

    I wonder what I could find, who I could find if I travel the City Centre of Edinburgh - - so much to do there. So many faces. I'll certainly be walking a great deal when I go to the City - - but I won't stay there for more than a few days at a hotel I'm sure. I prefer the outskirts. Plotting is so very vital at times like this - - did I say "plotting", oh, I'm sorry, I meant to say "planning".  Then again, a good plot is a good thing to hold on to as well - - Edinburgh is no stranger to murder; why not add a few new and old to the mix? Yes, I can practice that today in my mind of minds -- but first I have to park the car and hop a bus; if I do leave virtual DNA I don't want it to be in a private car. No, mixing my own DNA with hundreds of others on public transport makes a lot more sense in terms of hiding in plain sight. Did I say that out loud as well? I must be mad. 

Photo Credit: Unknown (Wikipedia)

    

My People -- Daddy's Side (From Edinburgh)

 Genealogy can be fun, challenging, annoying, aggravating, and just plain interesting all at the same time. There are no shortages of ancestry-type sites where you can join and pay (buy credits) and find out all you can possibly find out about one or all of your people. I did this recently, of course choosing my dad's side of the family first since I am a Stringfellow and he is a Stringfellow, I wanted to chase those people down first.  YES, I was hoping to find that they traced back to Scotland, my favorite place in the world, but I did find that they not only are from Scotland, but that the line stops there - and there is no more information about where the Robert Stringfellow from Scotland (1615) was from other than the general area that is called Midlothian, and is generally in the vicinity of Edinburgh. (If that Stringfellow is anything like the rest of us, he'd be on the outskirts and not in the city proper. It's who we are.)

    Here's the lineup and how I get there.  I used Ancestry.com, Wikitree, and Google to find the various Stringfellows that line up with who I KNEW was a relative, a guy named James Stringfellow who married Margaret Cambell in or around 1660 (when he was around the ripe old age of 15); WHAT? True love, I guess. They had a bunch of babies and moved to the new world the same year that they married, so it's my thought and dream that he was in love with her, couldn't bear the thought of moving to the new world without her, so they got married and ran away -- makes sense, could make a good movie. Whatever the reason these two kids were minors and they married; settling in the Virginia Commonwealth area and he was a tradesman. 

    I was born in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma in 1961.  My daddy was Reuben Wayne Stringfellow, born in Horatio (Frog Level) Arkansas, on April 22, 1932.  His daddy Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow Jr. was born January 8, 1909, in Arkansas, probably around the same area as my dad.  His father was Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow, Sr. born in 1847 in Mississippi (interesting fact, some records have him at Rueben Jefferson and Rueben Jeffrey) makes me wonder if he was running from the law or people just weren't that great at keeping records. His daddy was William Robert Stringfellow, born in either South Carolina or Georgia, the mark in the Bible was hard to read, it was in either 1814 or 1815.  I hate that there are discrepancies about that, but we can't change the way things were back in the day.  His daddy was John Reuben Stringfellow Sr., and where he had a son named John Reuben Stringfellow, Jr., he also had William Robert, and that's the one we came from.  John Reuben Stringfellow Sr., was born in 1780 and was the son of Richard (possibly Richard Reuben) Stringfellow, born in 1760; so he was a young man, and out of Virginia.  Richard's daddy was William Jr, born in 1729, and he is the son of another William who was born in 1687 in Virginia and he was the first Stringfellow in the family to be born in what would become the United States. His father James had other kids, but William is the one my family is out of - - James was 42 when William was born.  James was born in Scotland, around the Edinburgh area to Robert Stringfellow - - who was born in 1615 according to vague records; no other information is known about him other than he was married to Catherine Rodgers Stringfellow, they had four kids and he packed them all up in 1660 and came to the new world.

    When I traced the wives of the various Stringfellow sons, I came up a lot of different surnames obviously, but they were mostly English and Scottish. Their names are: Shipp, McTyre, Brookes, Ashton, Elkins, Bullington, Rudolf, Bryant, Roberts, Rodgers, and Moore.  Mostly English for sure. I bet when the DNA comes back it will reflect that as well. I don't know how in depth those things really are. I know my grandmother on my dad's side had German blood (Rudolf) and I'm sure we'll find quite a few trace elements of other European families to boot.

    Now for the fun part: I'll try to trace mom's side too, and/or my dad's mother's side to see who the other people are. I'm taking a DNA test from My Heritage soon, and I'll post the results. I am hoping to find more than 13% Scottish blood in these veins. Who knows? Well, God knows. We'll find out soon. Here's a photo of my Great Grandfather Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow, Sr., my Grandpa Reuben Jefferson Jr. (with dad and uncle bill), and my daddy. (There are very few photos of my actual grandfather, he died in 1967 before people really used cameras on a regular basis.)

Great Grandpa Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow Sr.  Dad, Grandpa Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow, Jr., and Uncle Bill


My daddy: Reuben Wayne Stringfellow

Weight Gain. Depression. Work it Off.

 I decided to talk a bit about weight gain, weight loss, the connection between gaining weight and stress as well as both anxiety and depression.  I'm going to be 100000% honest with you, and let you know that I know of only a couple of times in my entire adult life that I could say with any definitive narrative, that I was in fact depressed or anxious.  If I was either it would be anxious, but not in "anxiety" but more pissed off and didn't know which direction I was going to go in order to solve the matter. (I have to solve things. I can't let them lie still and fester.) I am a doer.  I do things. I plan my attack, I plan well, then I put forth the most amazing and magnificent attack possible - - it will be solved. It's who I am.

    I don't have time for anxiety. I don't have time to be depressed. I don't have time to be stressed. It would appear to anyone reading this post that I value my time and I am in fact quite jealous of it. I won't share my time with emotions that ultimately hurt me or could cause me to hurt myself or others. I just won't do it. Now, that's not to say that it doesn't exist. I would never be so cold or uncaring to say that people don't experience real depression or real nervousness about a matter; they do. I know quite a few people who just can't seem to work out their issues emotionally, and it always, without exception, manifests itself through weight loss, weight gain, inappropriate behavior, rudeness, crudeness in some cases, but always results in harming the person who finds themselves unable to beat their depression or anxiety. I pray for them; I really do. I know it must be devastating, but I have simply (or by divine intervention) never really had much of it to speak of. Like I said, I have been sad enough to say I was depressed for a while; and I have been anxious about a court ruling or what was going to happen with the kids and the custody battle(s) I went through, but ultimately (LISTEN) I found that Jesus really is bigger than any of my problems.

    I can say I had an underlying current of depression or something closely related to depression for many years, but it wasn't out and out sorrow. It was more or less a defeated feeling that I wasn't going to be any healthier than I was, I was getting older, I should just let life happen and time can consume what's left of me; that attitude was exactly what I faced last summer (2020) and I decided to not only destroy that current but to blast it to Hell where it came from. There is NO reason to believe less in yourself than what God believes in you. You just can't out believe God, and you just can't go around pretending that what He created is not worth giving your last breath to in order to make it, and to keep it in shape if for NO OTHER reason than to honor and glorify God. 

    Our bodies are a temple according to the Bible. We are responsible for them. We are literally held accountable for what we put into them, what we do with them, where we take them, and who we share them with. God is there. God is with us. God is in us in the form of the Holy Spirit, and those who will make fun and jest saying "Oh well, I have a bigger temple than I used to have" are sinning with the same sin-stick that Satan uses to strike us with when we openly hate, because treating yourself with the level of disrespect that you do (I did) when you don't eat right, exercise, sleep well, and drink water to hydrate, is flat out wrong. It is sin, and when we realize that rather than ignoring it, we'll do much better for ourselves obviously, but we will also honor our Heavenly Father who loved us enough to make us in the first place.

    Before I get too upsetting to some, I will say that I am absolutely aware that some people who are grossly overweight have issues that are chemical in nature, hereditary, and perhaps medical (to the point of not being able to do much) but I also know that most of our excuses are just that; excuses. We put off what we know we can do, and we stuff our faces with sugar, carbs, alcohol (which is sugar), and other things that cake on (word use intended) the pounds, and over time we just accept that it's normal, but it is NOT right. It is positively the most negative thing you can do to yourself. PLEASE STOP.

    For me, it was that final moment when I realized I was no longer able to ride my horse without pain and without being so unbalanced that I came off more than I saddled up.  I was falling to the side almost every time the horse turned because I was riding as if I was a thin woman, but my big, fat, ugly, in-the-way gut told a different story. The weight of my girth pulled my body from the horse's back and onto terra firma more times than I want to admit, and certainly more times than my daughter Laura knew about because if she had seen it she would have forced me to eat salads and give up frappucinos long before I did the right thing for myself. She would have encouraged me to look in the mirror and to stop fooling myself; which is exactly what it is that we do. We aren't fooling the other guy - - they see us exactly how we really look. It's our own eyes that deceive us. It was ME.

    Depression can come from being in the wrong relationship. It can come from staying in the wrong relationship. It can come from the fear that you can't leave that relationship for financial reasons, emotional reasons, maybe kids are involved, maybe parents are involved, maybe church family is involved, but we cannot let that/those things stop what must be done. CUT BAIT already!  Take care of YOU before you can see clear enough to care for others. 

    Depression can come from loss. It can come from being lied to, betrayal. It can come from years of doing the same things over and over expecting different outcomes. Whatever the reason for depression the answer is (usually) not medication. You don't need drugs to make you feel better - - you need to stop eating stupid foods you know will harm you, you need to work out, you need to work out more than just 10 minutes. You need to pump iron, you need to do yoga, jog, run, walk, jump, kick, punch, dance and by all means and all things Holy, you need to pray! You need to ask God (your Creator) to help you on your new journey, the steps you're taking to glorify and honor HIM. He really will help you.

    God told Peter to put his shoes and coat on, but it was the angel who opened the prison door. You can use this analogy to put down the ice cream, put down the candy bar, put down the soda, even the alcohol, and to pick up the dumbbells, pick up the bottle(s) of water, and pick up the pace. You have a lot of work to do - - it will NOT happen in a few days. It will need to be a lifestyle change, and by change, I do mean CHANGE IT ALL. You can't just give up the food and expect things to work out for you. You also have to sever ties with negative people, negative situations, negative employments, negative family members, anything and everything that would be between your soul and God's heart so that you can go to Him and ask directly for the help you need. If you're hiding things from God you aren't hiding them at all. He sees it. I know, I did that for too long.

    It was August 3, 2020, when I woke up and decided to make the plan to change my life for good. I have lost over 42 pounds, but I'm not finished. I have gone from a size 18 (tight) to a loose 14 and even a tight 12 in most cases, but again, I am not finished. I don't count my success by the size of my body, but by the strength of my spirit. I believe in myself so much more than I did; and yes, the weight was a massive (pun) part of that; it helps to be able to face a mirror now instead of walking quickly past one. I don't stop and stare yet, but I'm looking forward to the day I can say I achieved the final goal. The goal will not actually be final though - I have to, and I want to, maintain a healthy lifestyle.

    One of the reasons I post my food, my breakfast, lunch, dinner, etc, online is to show people that it is a day to day to day struggle and achievement. I allow cheat days, I do carb cycling, I do (and did) so many things to force this body into the groove to keep it moving in the direction I need it to be going. It is NOT easy when you get older, it is not easy when you're heavy, it is NOT easy at all, and we know this, but you know what else - - SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP, you are better than the person you let yourself turn into. Make the decision to be the most you can be and then do it, damn it. DO IT. If you need help, find help. There are so many things and people online willing and waiting to help you -- for free. You don't need a bunch of money to eat well. Cutting out the crap in your life gives you the money you need to buy the good stuff.

    Bottom line it:  Get good sleep, over 8 hours. Drink 100+ ounces of water (I put lemon in mine) every day, eat far fewer calories than you used to; I eat about 1200-1500 on an average day. Exercise more than you used to and not only sweat, but stretch, move, keep moving, and rest too. Weigh every day and take poopy pills or fiber, lots and lots of fiber. Then take more fiber. Eat fibrous foods, drink fiber, pop fiber tablets. Get a great deal of it in your body, but take a bunch of water with it, because it will pack you up if you don't. You don't want that. 

    Friend, I love you. I don't even know you, but I love you. God has allowed me to love and has allowed me to pray for you. I am doing that right now. You need this. You need strength, you need hope, you need someone to tell you it's really going to be OK. You've got this. God's got this. Together you can do so much more than you thought possible - - you once thought it, but someone took that joy from you, and over time you allowed them to - - it has cost you. You're depressed and you're anxious - - but the good news is, God is bigger - - so much bigger.  Don't fret.  Not unless you have a guitar in your hands. You know what I mean.  I'm going to the closet now to pray. I'll include you in those prayers.  Be blessed.

Photo Credit: www.wartsila.com 

It All Started in the Third Grade.

 What a monumental year for this girl.  The third grade was in fact, one of the most important years of my entire life; I have so many events that I can pinpoint to having started during, right before, or around that time. I will let you in on a really big family secret at this point; I changed the spelling of my name from Judy Stringfellow to Jude Stringfellow during the third grade because that's when this girl learned about the long "e" sound and believe it or not, I didn't believe it was true. I thought the teacher was some sort of "new-fangled idiot"  (my dad's words) because she wanted to teach me something that my Aunt Wilma had not already taught me. I was absolutely sure that Mrs. Tipton was trying to fool me. She was trying to make me look stupid when she told me that I could spell my name with a "y" at the end of it, with an "i" at the end of it, or even an "e" if I wanted to, because I could put a line over the top of that "e" and it would be pronounced like the sound of the letter itself.  Who did she think she was talking to? 

    To say my precious parents were not all that into education would be an understatement. I didn't come from a long line of educated, college graduates, in fact, there were (are) so very few actual college graduates in my immediate and extended family, that I can assure you that Mrs. Tipton was not very popular with my parents when I informed them about my choice to change the spelling of my name to make it at least appear to be Jude, since that's what my daddy always called me anyway. Since I could now spell it J-U-D-E and people could still call me "Judy" was good enough for me - - for about a week, then I decided it would be Jude and that it would rhyme with rude, and you can bet I knew all about that word. I was that word. I can still be that word. 

    The third grade also brought about the decision I made to be independent enough to sass-mouth my mother when she told me she wanted to see me fold my socks and place them properly in the drawer instead of leaving them in a pile on my bed with both dirty and clean clothes. I tried to explain to her that I knew which ones were clean and which ones were dirty, but she would have none of it. I also tried to explain to her that the dog really liked sleeping in and on top of my clothes, that from time to time I used my clothes as a make-shift body pillow, stuffing them into a pillowcase so I could do that, but again, she was adamant about me putting them away.  

    One day I came home and she had taken all of my socks out of my drawer and had matched them for me. I thought that was nice and all, but since I had already decided NOT to fold my socks it was a good time to reveal to the woman who gave birth to me,  that I had no intention of wearing matched socks ever again! I wanted to be different, and that was the best thing I could come up with so that I could in fact be different. Unmatched socks. I'm not sure it was really that I wanted to be different, I am pretty sure I just didn't want to take the time to match my damn socks and put them away properly. It took too much time.

    Mom looked at me and with that wit and brilliance she often mustered in her face, she said to her youngest kid, "OK, have it your way, but if I ever catch you matching your socks again you'll have to not only fold them and put them away properly, you'll have to wash them by hand and let them dry outside too."  I accepted the challenge -- that was....well, over 50 years ago. I'm obstinate. I admit that. I don't fold my socks, and I don't match them either, and it's more or less a thang now and has less to do with obeying mom.  People who know me always expect to be able to look down at my feet and see that I have on two different colored socks. They may both be white or gray, but they have a different trim usually -- I am who I am.

    The third grade was the year I learned how to answer the telephone appropriately. Why that wasn't talked about at home I have no idea. I remember very clearly seeing a telephone in the Media Center and it was connected to a very long wire that connected to the office of the school. I could follow the cord more than 60 feet to see that it was attached to the principal's office but was displayed like the Crown Jewels on a podium, almost like something that was to be worshipped.  Again, I was not pleased with Mrs. Tipton's methods of teaching myself if this was the case. I knew at that age we were not supposed to be bowing down to anything and here we were, us children, on our knees, around the base of the new telephone stand just waiting for our turn to be introduced to it as if it was a new visitor to our homes. 

    When it rang I was to pick it up carefully and take a breath.  Why I was instructed to take a breath always set poorly with me. I was told I could use the time it took to inhale and exhale to think about what I would say to the person on the other side of the "line".  I was to breathe and then clearly state the words, "Hello, Stringfellow residence. This is Jude".   Today I laugh, and I shutter too, I would beat the tar out of my grandkids if they announced to everyone who called what our last name is, and who they are.  It really was a different time, wasn't it? We're talking end of the '60s here, not the end of the '70s, '80s, '90s or more recent times. We're talking about a time when courtesy was paramount.  I passed the telephone test with flying colors, not that my parents were willing to ever let me actually try answering the phone at home. No one was calling for me. I was told that a number of times, therefore when the phone rang I was NOT to answer it.  That was for an adult. I was 9.

    I ditched school for the first time in the third grade too. I jumped on a trampoline for the first time in gym class, did my first backflip without using my hands, and even managed to eat a few tadpoles on a dare without dying.  Brian Adams has a song about the Summer of '69 and how he got his first real six-string guitar; I learned to play chess that summer.  My cousin Gene (Aunt Wilma's son) taught me, and I learned to ride a bike. My sisters had them, I didn't have one, so I took one when they weren't looking. I took it, went all the way to the top of the hill with it, and climbed up onto the seat. I couldn't quite reach the pedals when I sat down, but I did OK when I stood up, so that's how I rode it. I never crashed it either -- God alone knows why. I think my Guardian Angel knew more about bike riding than I did.

    The school I attended and began attending in the third grade was a new concept type of school. It was an experimental type concept, an open concept. There were NO WALLS between classrooms. I could stand on a chair and see all the way to the other end of the school. I could see the entire primary side; grades 1-3, and I could see through the open concept Media Center into the elementary side of the world, grades 4-6.  My brother and my sister were over there on that side.  Teachers taught, kids learned, people made noises, and you could visually see and audibly hear everything going on in every classroom if you sat still enough and paid attention. I sat still enough and paid attention, and when I did that I could hear 4 or 5 teachers teaching all at the same time, as well as the Librarian who was hosting a class in the Media Center. Talk about distractions! The experiment ultimately failed, but I learned.

    I learned I could multi-listen, I could multi-watch, I could multi-learn, I could divide my brain into sections all at the same time, and I could hear conversations far away and up close. I could not have known then that this conditioning of my brain would lend itself to being so very useful as an adult when I'm in public places listening, being able to hear and listen to several private and public conversations at the same time.  So many of the kids I went to school with have commented that the years they spent at Apollo Elementary were some of the worst because they just couldn't concentrate. I don't remember that at all. I remember it being interesting, fun, full of lessons because I would be listening to one teacher teaching Science and another teaching English while my own teacher was demonstrating how to properly introduce myself over the telephone.  It was - - fascinating. 

    I don't match my socks, I misspell my name intentionally, and I absolutely refuse to believe a single thing any teacher tells me if I don't agree with it first. I check out literally everything they say because I just know people have agendas and want others to just simply go along with whatever it is that they are told. I have always, and I do mean always, been stubborn and insubordinate. I guess it is part of my initial makeup, but it also a cognitive choice. I trust myself and I trust Jesus.  The others who I trusted, my dad, my grandpa, my cousin Gene, and my Aunt Wilma (and yes, my sweet Uncle Marvin, who could have told me the sky was green and I would have believed him) were all gone - - just me and Jesus left. That's a majority - - even without me being part of that equation. 

Photo Credit: Jude Stringfellow

You (Poem)

  

You 

 

How can I sleep when 

Faires are dancing  

When the keys of your piano float 

 into the sky? 

 

How will I dream when  

Your touch lingers in my soul 

Your fingers tickle my very breath 

Each stroke new 

 

Where will my slumber take me 

“Dancing on the Light?”  

“I’m Missing You Now” 

 

Touch is deeper than your kiss 

Air becomes my song 

Music, coursing through my veins  

I want you. 

 

Slowly drifting, slink into one 

Our  bodies feeling every note 

No words,  soft saxophones cry 

We are one 

 

Jude Stringfellow 

July 5, 2021

Photo Credit: Art to Canvas

Fly That Flag!

 I live in America. I live in the South. The South has a reputation that proceeds it most of the time, and the people of the South are both proud of that reputation and every connotation that goes along with being called a "Southerner".  Now, to be fair, Oklahoma is the furthest Northern Southern state, yes, and we hang a bit to the west as well, but we are no doubt, 100%, and in-it-for-the-long-haul type of Southerners who will stand up with you to the end or put you to the ground flat. We're loyal to the bone and then some. Most of us are born and bred Sooners, but there are a few Pokes out there; not gonna lie about it, Oklahoma State has a fan or two.  If you're born in Oklahoma you are not born a boy or a girl, that just really doesn't matter much to any of us really; what matters is your choice of colleges. Are you a Sooner or are you a Cowboy? There are probably 200 colleges in the area, but only two matter, and you will be branded at birth.

    As Southern Americans, we are proud to hoist our fantabulous Old Glory (flag) whenever and wherever we get the opportunity. There are homeowner associations that have tried to thwart that practice, but here in Oklahoma, we tend to run those folks straight out of town and put them into the capable hands of the next Okie on their way out of our fine and fair state. We will fly our flag. Not only will we fly our flag, but we will also fly big, fat, gloriously oversized flags just because they are big, fat, gloriously oversized, and because they are the American flags we are so proud of. We love our country. We love our people. We love our flag. We love our God. If you come around to this part of the nation you'll find a few blue voters, yes, that's true, and you can tell who they are simply because they don't actually own an American flag. Truth in that statement. The folks who got up and voted for the other side are very very few and far between here in the Sooner State, but they do exist and they tend to fly other flags but not Old Glory. She's an inconvenience to them; not to me. 

    In my hood, in my little complex where I have lived over 5 separate times in my life, and I tell people I've lived here more than 150 years; we fly the American flag every day of the week. There are times we will fly three or four flags out on our balconies or on our doors and in our windows. Flag Day, Fourth of July (I'd say Trump's birthday, but that is Flag Day) and we tend to just pick a day we like and fly a few flags just to be sure the world understands that to encroach on this particular house may mean that you'll find Bibles, you'll find guns, you'll find friends, and you'll find endless support if what you're willing to die for is the same things we are willing to lay our lives on the line for; friends and family are part of that, but so is our American way of life, our freedoms, our personal choice in religion, our walk with our God, and the safety of our people.

    My hood is made up of mostly elderly people now. When I first moved here they were in their middle ages and they were lively, hosting BBQs and complex parties because to hold a block party would exclude some of the folks. We hold entire housing parties when we party. We had a pool and we had several grills, but those days have hit the sand and are waiting perhaps for the next generation to come along and restore them to their glory days. Today most of my people talk about their own glory days, their military service, their police service, (they've mostly all retired years ago from both) and they talk about their great-grandkids, their grands, the way life has changed, and what means the most to them. Every conversation about precious memories always includes our American dream, our American way of living, our American freedoms, and what being an American means to them; to us.

    Most of us are of European descent. Most of us know who and where our people come from, and we both honor and respect our ancestors; but we will never trade our American citizenry for another.  I am about to move to Scotland on a permanent basis, but I will never stop being an American. I can't and won't call myself a Scottish citizen, by DNA I'm probably less than 13% Scottish now that the gene pool has been filled so many times over the past 360 years since my almost full Scottish ancestors came to what was known as the New World in 1660.  William, James, Robert, Richard, and Reuben Stringfellow boarded the ships with their entire families and started what is now my life. I am grateful for the history, I appreciate the genealogy and study that went into finding out who my father's people are and were - - and then there's mom; damn Brit! LOL

    My poor mom.  Not only is she 90+% English, but she was also (sadly) born in Texas! What shame! How do I explain that to my soul? Oh well, Dad thought she was a cutie, and they made a very happy and wonderful life for themselves and for us kids as well. We'll just have to forgive the woman, she didn't pick her ancestors well - - maybe next time.  God bless America! God bless the World. God bless each and every last one of us who call upon His wonderful name and who truly believe He is returning soon to save us from what we have done to this planet and to our magnificent country; long may my flag wave in honor of what we were and what we are in my heart.

Photo credit: Jude Stringfellow

It's Official. I Suck at Jumping Rope.

 Apparently, and I mean this with every cell in my body because now every cell in my body feels my ultimate failure; I suck at jumping rope. I am the 3rd worst person in the world at it. I can't claim to be the absolute worst, as I am positive there must (must) be someone who is even less apt at this than myself. If I am correct, I hope this person steps up to announce themselves, because at this moment I am feeling rather alone in my non-conquest.  There are no worries that I will give up jumping rope, no, that will not happen. I will master this skill and I will become one of the world's almost-ok jump ropers; it will happen.

    Jumping rope, so you know, burns more than 200 calories in just 10 minutes. This is the 2nd reason I decided to take it up as a hobby, the first reason is that it's cheap, fun, and I can do it anywhere. I think that may qualify as being three separate reasons, but I use them as one combined reason because the fact that you burn more than 200 calories in just 10 minutes is really hard to beat for a number one reason. You have to admit that.  Anything that can burn more than 200 calories in just 10 minutes is worth doing for 20 minutes if you can - - damn the torpedoes, this is getting done.

    I went all out for this because that's what you do. You go all out so that you can't back out. If you go all out you say to yourself, "Hey, you went all out, you spent money, you put the time in, you're doing this" whereas if you just pick up a $2.00 piece of plastic and jump over it a few times you have the option of throwing it away or using it somehow in your next murder novel. Plastic is cheap and you can dispose of it rather easily if it's thin enough.  For instance, you can brick up a wall and stretch the murder weapon along with the bricks and bury it; be sure and clean all DNA off of it of course.  I'M KIDDING - C'mon, I'm an author, I do that. I kill people. 

    If you go all out you buy the best (or nearly the best) rope, a leather rope with wooden handles. They have handles now that count the rotations but let's be honest, I don't need that at this point. I am still working on the hopping over the rope part without tripping and falling on my face - - again.  I may need to do this in front of a mattress or padded floor.  If you go all out you buy ankle wraps, wrist wraps, good barefoot type shoes, and at least a high impact bra if not two; unless you're a man, and then maybe one will suffice. I need two. I suck at being small-chested as well.

    Jumping rope is an art as well as a sport folks. If you're about to run a marathon you practice for months before you actually do it, and that's the same thing with a jump rope. My son (of course) laughed at me and told me to "Suck it up, buttercup, this is just round one", because he has a few tricks up his sleeve and he's not even wearing a shirt! He's over there jumping, skipping, hopping, moving his feet one at a time all the while rolling and tossing the rope both under his feet and he's even crossing the rope before he does that! What kind of maniac did I raise? I swear I never saw this boy (when he was a boy) jumping rope before - - the girls and I did, but we're girls and we do that. He was always into anything that he could hit, knock over, roll over, throw, or punch. When did he learn to jump rope? (Oh, so yeah, he tells me that as a private in the U.S. Army it's required to learn jump roping for coordination and dexterity. Who knew? Must be one of those secrets the Armed Forces keeps from us civies.)

    I was given the order by my personal trainer/son to hop in place for 30 seconds and only lift my feet about two inches off the ground. I am to keep my face forward, my core tight, my wrists out and my elbows into my body. I'm to nod if I need to but not look down. I do that for 30 seconds, rest 30, jump 30, rest 30, and do this 15 times. This is my morning and evening routine until I can add the rope. HE TOOK MY NEW ROPE FROM ME!  He said I'm going to end up hurting myself and he needs me to make waffles in the morning.  Fine! I know when I'm loved.

    After I get the hopping down I'll add the rope and see if I can do it correctly.  I still jump two hops for one swing and I can't do that. I'm not supposed to do it, but I do it. I guess old habits are hard to break and I must have learned that as a kid. Once I get the regular jumping down I can do it for 30, then off 30, then on 30 and when I can do it well enough I can jump 30 and be off 10 seconds. This is the routine for beginners and I am most certainly a beginner - - GREEN as green gets, I make emerald look pale. I am flat out no good at this - - yet. I will get better. I don't have an option. If there's anyone who can make me stand up and face my demons it is me. I may not be the best roper, but I am a commander! Get 'er done!

Photo Credit: Someone in Basic Training - - I have no idea, but this is about the time he learned to jump rope covertly and without my permission. 

    

    

Hoping for Roping (Hop, Hop)

 If you have been following me for any time whatsoever this past year (11 months actually), you'll know that I've been losing weight, trying to do just about anything to get the body to conform to what my mind thinks it should look like. Believe me, my body and my mind have two really different opinions, and they can often resemble a presidential debate in terms of arguing with each other, making fun of their opponent, and just being both obstinate as well as really rude to each other. I'm not even allowed to stop the bickering really, I just throw in a new suggestion or two and make things as calm and easy as they can possibly be for myself as a whole. I'm not necessarily winning the battle, but I have a firm grip on it and I'm too damn stubborn to let my body have much more than a resistance to what my mind wants. It's how I survive.

    I've been working on this body thing for about a year, just under, and I've seen stellar results really, but not as stellar as I want to see. I started out at a whopping (and I'm shaking my head now) 216 pounds; which I think I weighed less than that with all of my pregnancies. I am today around 170 pounds, which isn't where I want to be, but when you look at me you don't see the "apple" belly on two sticks anymore. That's a plus, right? I mean, I weigh more because I have so much more muscle mass, but the scale is still not my friend. I have to remind myself over and over that, I went from a size 18 to a now size 12, which for most women would be enough, but not me. I'm not stopping until my toned svelte butt is inside a pair of zipped-up size 8 jeans without them being the stretchy kind. Nope, I want a real size 8 body, not a spandex-assisted body. It will happen. It may take another 6 months, but it will happen. I'm just mean enough to force mind over matter - literally. 

    What am I doing to make this happen? OK, great question. I'm doing EVERYTHING - - so let me explain. I wake up after sleeping over 10 hours. That's something that most people don't have the luxury of and I absolutely thank God for that one blessing alone. It truly has been an amazing feat to be able to work my work schedule around my sleep schedule, and not the other way around.  I typically hit the sack around 11 and get up sometime after 9:00 a.m.  Sleep is vital for health.  Next, I don't eat from about 6:00 p.m. to about 10:00 a.m, but when I do I have lower carbs during the day, eating most of my carbs at 10:00 a.m. to get the day started with a boost of good energy. I'm drinking WAY over 100 ounces of water (with lemon or lime) every day, and yes, I have coffee and tea during the day as well, but that water (100+) is over and above the tea and coffee.

    I have three or four small meals a day, all with protein, vegetables, fruit, nuts, cheese, and/or good foodstuff. I even post my foods, for the most part, to let people know and see that I'm still focused. There are "cheat" days to mix up the intake of carbs to keep my metabolism confused, it's called carb cycling, and I do that about once a week or twice every 10 days or so. It's been working out for me too. I take supplements and vitamins, I take probiotics, but the one group of supplements I take every day no matter what are my poopy pills; psyllium husk, cascara, milk thistle, and slippery elm. I have the best poos on the planet and I have them every single day. It's wonderful, I feel great, but I wish I could just poop out the last 30 pounds and be done. That would make me really super happy, not gonna lie to you.

    Let's talk exercise.  I live across from the YMCA so I go there three times a week and work every limb and then my gut. I do machines for 20 minutes and I go home. I walk 5,000 - 8,000 steps a day in the evening, and I punch my Wave Master 10-12 minutes every other day. I do Doga, which is a lot like yoga only with dogs in my face. I don't have an option it's Doga every time. I do that every other day too. I stretch, I ride my bike, I ride horses, though not as often these days. I also lift a 10 or a 15-pound weighted bar and do squats while standing on a vibration plate every other day for 15 minutes. I get my cardio in - - and yet, the body has refused to agree with my mind as to what it should be fitting in or looking like - - I am still standing of course, but I'm not happy yet. 

    This week I decided two things; change up the hormones and get back to basics. By basics, I mean jump roping. When little girls do it they make it look so easy! They can make this feat seem as if they were meant to leap into the air without fuss; they are 40-50 pounds and have the spring-in-their-step syndrome, while the rest of us (me) have to really work at lifting the mass from the ground into the air even if just a couple of inches from terra firma. The experts say two inches is the preferred height. God bless the experts. I don't think three or four inches would be a reality at this point. (someday) This coming from the same person who could once stand straight, jump, tuck her knees to her chest and do a backflip without flinching!

    Let's talk about clothes and gear. Believe me when I say this type of exercise calls for high-impact bras and the type of minimalist shoes you may wear in the water. You don't need to be wearing big, fat, honking shoes when you jump, and you certainly want your boobies to understand they have to stay in place no matter what. I will say that I'm getting better at holding those particular muscles in place, however. Viva la workout!

    Jumping rope is not for idiots friends, you should know this. One does not simply pick up a random strip of cotton or leather and begin slinging it over one's head and under one's lifted feet. No, one does not do that. One watches more experts on YouTube to be sure one doesn't trip and fall causing one to be incapacitated and/or dead. Jumping rope is for the brave.  I have learned that this seemingly simple and overtly covert method of exercising has been modified since the days of my youth. There are rules it seems to the proper length of the rope, and that makes so much more sense to me as an adult. 

    Failure will absolutely be your guide on this one. You do have to pay attention to those in the know with picking and choosing equipment.  Google it, you'll be surprised how the whole industry has changed. They have cotton, nylon, leather, chain ropes, they have weighted ropes, cheap and expensive ropes. They have really cool handles now that count your jumps - - I'm going for the old-school leather rope with basic average handles. I don't want my neighbors thinking I think I'm so much better than they are. LOL...that's a community gag. You'd have to be one of us to know what I'm talking about. We one-up each other whenever we get the chance. 

    I am 5'7" tall, my rope should be 8.5" not 9 feet long. I think I may have an 8-foot rope at this point, but if it doesn't work I'll buy another one. I know the 9-foot rope is just too long to make the correct sized loop or circle to jump over, and holding your elbows inward is the proper way, so you can't fudge and stick your elbows out to shorten the length of the rope - - nope, you just have to buckle down and get the right-sized rope in the first place. It would appear that in this case, size really does matter. Do the right thing - - don't overcompensate.  Elbows in, wrists out, and by all means yes, wear guards on both your wrists and both of your ankles. These joints will take the brunt of the force in this routine. The wrists are the movers, turning, twisting, over and over again, and your ankles will feel the impact with every leap - - do not overdo it, do not force them to be stressed. Little bunny hops is what you are aiming for - - tiny little hop, hop, hops...not actual leaps. I should say hops....hops.

    If you (like I did) go online and see the before and after photos of the jumpers with their 60, 90, 100-day challenge videos, you'll be amazed. If they are telling the truth, and all they did was jump rope, eat correctly, get sleep, and take their supplements, you are in for a real eye-opening awareness of what this one exercise can do for you. I'm really hoping it will be the key to unlock this pseudo plateau that comes and goes. I've been hanging at the same weight for over 2 months, just barely getting out of it and it's not letting up the way I wanted it to. I wanted to be 160 by now, and then 150 by end of summer. My goal weight, for my height, and for my muscle mass is probably 150, but I'm going to see if I can get it lower and keep the muscles. I'll trade the boobs for good thighs if God will let me. I'm not really into the whole C-D cup thing - - I'm OK looking like a 12-year-old boy without a shirt; too much information? Sorry, it's just that they seem to always be in the way.

    That's if for today - - I'm waiting on UPS, Fed Ex, Walmart, and even the postman to deliver packages for me today. I've ordered the ankle wraps, DHEA supplements (hormone thing), and another high-impact bra as well as cool aqua shoes. I wanted the red and black, but they only had the blue in my size - - First World issues. I'll survive.  Two bras are better than one with jumping rope ladies, it's a real thing - - you don't want pain in the breasts and you don't want to stop your routine to worry about them. In time cardio wins out, this is another thing the experts say. I sure hope they know what they're doing and talking bout because this body needs to pay a lot more attention to the experts since it's not paying that good of attention to me!  

Photo credit: Best Buy

The Little Boy and the Rainbow

 I've kept this particular story a bit private only because it is so very close and personal to my soul. It is one of those stories you tell at a party maybe, no one really believes you, so you have the freedom to tell the full truth, or at least what you perceive as being the truth. You can tell every detail and get the thing off of your mind and chest so that it's no longer haunting you, but you don't have to worry about it being taken as non-fiction.  You have the laughter, your friends saying "That's a good one", and you (I) have the peace of knowing that what really happened -- really happened. 

    I sense that the truth lies somewhere beyond that which I can express.  I feel that the truth is there but I can't actually reach it, I can't grasp it fully.  I know the sensation of the core of the story feels real. I know the perception of it in my mind feels genuine; I just can't find a date or time that it could have been taking place because it took place just before time, space, and accountability began for me. It took place before I was born; somewhere in Heaven. If I could pinpoint the time I could pinpoint the jubilation in my spirit when I think about it (and I do think about it). I could finally nail down once and for all, the event(s) that keep my heart pumping and skipping when I think I've seen the boy again - - he's no longer a boy.

    We were ageless but by Earthly standards, I suppose someone would say I was around 6 and he was around 4. I know I was slightly bigger than he was, but we didn't know a thing about birthdays, age, or anything like that. We did know that we had the sunshine to keep us company, and we played literally all day as there was no night. Sometimes the Sun or the light, it wasn't a Sun, would dim and we could have a bit of evening to walk the paths that weren't quite cut into the ground, but more or less a guideline of trees and flowers; flowers that would grow over our heads as we passed them, and they would blow us kisses too.  We held hands, we ran, we jumped, we climbed rocks, and swam in crystal pools of water that never got us wet.  The fish played a form of "patty-cake" with us, and there were animals I haven't seen here on Earth; just watching us. Just watching the boy and me.

    He was blond, maybe dirty blond. He was rounder than I was, as I was basically a stick with flailing arms and legs that seemed to move in all four directions at once.  He was stubbier and more balanced but I was the one that liked to dance. He was serious-minded, more likely to question something while I was the "let's go over there and see what happens" type.  He would always go with me, never fighting me, but he would question everything that could possibly happen before we got there, nothing was ever harmful and we didn't think about that, just questions about it. The answers only came when we arrived, but by the time we did he wasn't asking, he was playing and he was too happy to wonder (never really worried, just wondered).

    As it does, things ended for us, there was a "time" limit about to take place, but neither of us knew it was going to happen.  We found a new path a new journey and we took it. I didn't ask what could happen I don't remember if he did, but I do remember the colors. There were so many colors. It was the rainbow; the real rainbow. The one God puts out and when someone on Earth sees it they stop for a minute to look at it, just to look. We stopped too.  We decided to play inside of it, what could happen? We didn't know. The boy, who I don't remember calling by name, called me "Pia".  I don't know why I remember that. My name isn't Pia, but he called me that.  We played for a very long time together in the rainbow and the two things I remember most are that he really enjoyed the broad colors of blue and I really enjoyed the broad spectrum of yellows to gold. He had to be blue! He rode the colors, twisted them in his arms, jumped through them, and more or less swam in them, but mainly the blue.  I would pop up into different shades too, but always seem to return to the golden shades. I had to be gold.

    That's the last I saw my friend - - I just remember his eyes watching me and his smile so sweet as I announced that my hair was gold like his now; I was pretty.  He agreed with me, and then he was gone, or maybe I was gone. I'm not sure. That's the last I saw him in Heaven - - my mind has conjured his would-be adult image so many times. I think I pretend to keep him with me now in the form of who I call "Naked Bearded Man", my pretend "husband" who I resort to claiming when someone I don't want to associate with asks me on a date or if I would like to "get to know each other".  To be honest with you, I really don't want to get to know anyone at this point. I'm done with Earth. Give me Heaven! Give me the peace, give me the paths, give me the kissing flowers and the Rainbow. 

    I may never find the boy again here, but I know I'll find him soon.  We may be older, I don't how that will work, but he will be my blue again, and I will be his gold. Some things just can't ever truly end.  I have to be honest and say one of the reasons I'm going to move to Scotland is to be closer to this memory. I think Heaven must look a great deal like Scotland, or to be equitable, Scotland may look a lot like the part of Heaven we played in the most. At least that's what I remember. 

Photo credit: Kathy Weaver "End of the Rainbow, Isle of Skye"