Judas and Jezebel

Just a few things to update you on-one being my new book, Twisted-which will be coming out in December-is close to completion.   This is a project near and dear to my heart, as it is part auto-biography, part murder mystery-my favorite genre.

No, I will not be attempting to red pill any one, and for the reasons stated above.

For those of you struggling with a narcissistic triangle, I want you to know there is hope and plenty of it to go around.  No matter what you have heard about the Great Awakening, the facts are this:

All dark will be brought out into the light.

This is biblical, and nothing can stop it-nothing.

God will bring favor to his true blue tribe.  The meek, the suffering, the isolated.  The abused and left behind will see a future that no man has seen, even remotely, until this exact moment in history.

And those of you who have done nothing but try to tear down his beloved?

Sooner or later, He’s gonna cut you down.

May God have mercy on their souls.




We Pay Our Debt Sometimes

Somewhere between a great morning hike and a shower, I lost my will to go on.  I won’t pretend I’m kidding, because the fact is, I’m not.  I thought of turning the jeep on in the garage, then numbly walked through the house, a broken toy of a woman.

I couldn’t feel, I wouldn’t feel.  As if hit by lightning, I lost all reason to continue my stay here on planet earth.  I took my case to God, and He answered with what I understood to be a Shhush.

“Hush, now.”

Perhaps the days of caring far too much have tipped the scale, and now I feel too little.

After a hot shower, and my mary jane-nothing.

If I am at the bottom of the abyss, it feels oddly comforting-submerged in the ocean of want-I am free floating.  I remember the days in my father’s pool, how dipping under the water was the ultimate escape.  No one can hurt you there.  You are surrounded by a peace that is deafening.  I hated coming up for air.

Kind of like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate, my all time favorite flick.

What I wouldn’t do for that cement pond, and the family that appeared to go with it.

Growing pains, that’s all.

For when I am weak, then am I strong.

Trump is a Freaking Genius

Just another tricky day, compadres.  Just another tricky day.

In one breath I am steadfast in my faith, steadfooted and strong; assured in the knowledge that God is in the house, Trump’s been anointed, The Plan in place.  An hour later, I’m on the phone with my bestie-dishing on how hard the truth is going to be for the people we love.  And then it hits me, in the funny bone-I mean, as hideously evil and twisted as the hidden reality is?

Well, maybe I’m just experiencing hysteria, but darn it, we must see the humor in this situation-that or we’re doomed.  Effing doomed.


“I think there’s a way you can teach yourself to shape shift, I’m going to learn,” Kat stated, as if she were speaking about a yoga class.  I won’t go into the details, but it has been proven (a fact, non negotiable) that there is a line, a DNA if you will, that runs in the bloodlines of many of the elite, most notable the royal family.  They are Reptilians, and excuse me, but no one wants to see one of these people shapeshift.

I immediately thought of my husband, and how he would react to this information.



Thanks WordPress!  Maybe you could make my inserts a little smaller, so, you know-people can’t see them.  Pff.  I literally can NOT change the size of these (I have no mouse, but there is another way) and I PAY for this freaking blog.  Holy Socialism that pisses me off.  I am so looking forward to the day that each and every smug ass politician, news correspondent-oh, I’m talking to you, Madcow, movie star or Bono, I mean satanic pedovore skank.  Can’t wait for the day when you people have no platform, and/or are locked behind the heavy metal doors of GITMO, baby.


OMG, is this one literally smaller than the last?

Oh the humanity, the struggle is realer than real but you know what?

I am so incredibly thankful that I awakened when I did.  And you know what else?

Because of my faith, I didn’t faint, fart, fall over or commit Hare Kari.  I am of sound mind and body, and smarter than the average bear-if I am to be honest.

Oh and one more thing-

Trump is a fucking genius.


And She Was……

There is a well known fact in this household, rarely spoken of, but my heart beats for him continuously, and he has earned my adoration.  David Byrne, MARRY ME.  🙂  I had the pure privilege of seeing the Talking Heads at Emerald City in Philadelphia, circa 1980.  Front row.  The rolling melodies and heart thumping bass can still be heard in my head, and I am dead serious when I say that the female guitarist made a pass at me.  Ah, the good old days when rock was rock and  a spade a spade.

I had a horrible nightmare last night.  Or I should say this morning-Dwain had decided to go to work, despite the blizzard conditions-he wasn’t answering my calls, he was nowhere to be found.  I awoke in a cold sweat, extremely anxious and confused.  Moments later, while sipping hot coffee, I phoned my husband and my nerves were calmed just by the sound of his voice.  Strange way to start the day…….

As I walked down to the garage, to feed the feline community, I felt it-or, perhaps didn’t feel it is a better way to say this.  No pain.  During Lyme flares, my feet are constantly in pain.  Bone pain, muscle pain-I don’t let it slow me down, but the mere fact that I was pain free was reason enough to look up at the sky and praise Him.  My lymph node has diminished, and there is even a noticeable lift in my loafers.  Oh, how beautiful life is.  And here’s the thang-none of us are promised more than this day.  We have a choice-to be positive among the chaos and confusion, carpe diem,  or, as I did yesterday-we can pout, stomp our feet and be a miserable pain in the ass in general, bringing everyone around us on edge, walking upon proverbial eggshells.

I fail Him each and every day, by thought and deed.  I repent, ask for forgiveness, and concentrate on my future-with my main man, golden retriever and Yeshua-and between the four of us?  We have this, He is working in our lives, whether we see rainbows or coffins-the choice is ours, and I choose life-oh, my dear friends, I choose life~

Rally Round the Family…

Before I alarm my readers, I want to say that I wrote this in December of last year.  If you are a regular, your eyes would be bugging, you’d be thinking –

For crying out loud?  Is she left unattended on a regular basis, and if so, why?

That reminds me of the time my step son was pulling into the driveway one day last Spring.  I was in the garden as he turned into the driveway.  And then, I wasn’t.  Yep, stepped on a rake-just like you see in the movies-and knocked myself into a concussion.  To this very day?  I mind my business around them, try not to get too close.  Sneaky bastards.

This is the season of my content.  And that is precisely what I was thinking as I stood in my garden and thrilled to the Monarchs and hummingbirds.  I was feeling pretty overcome with emotion, gratitude on a level that is hard to put into words.  This was all I had dreamed of and more.  Not just the garden…

And then, all hell broke loose.

I bent down to watch a particular butterfly, caught by her beauty and grace.  It took approximately three seconds for me to realize that a mother effing praying mantis was eating her head.  There were muffled cries, lots of cursing mother nature, and, inevitably?  The hysterical spraying of said praying mantis with dawn dish soap I usually reserve for my roses.

On that note, have a fab Sunday and hope you enjoy~


Life goes along at warp speed until something stops you dead in your tracks: As was the case Sunday morning, after a full weekend of loving and socializing, the enemy came to take his due-you don’t think he isn’t out there trying to devour everything good in your life? Au contraire, mon amies! But here’s the good news-call out to Jesus, and you are free. He can’t hurt you if you are covered in the full armor of God.

But what about those times when evil does strike? Well, Abba will protect you in ways you couldn’t imagine, and that’s why I’m alive and writing this blog-my Lord and Savior sent His angels, and they protected me from a massive head injury and internal bleeding.

Just out of Dwain’s truck, exhausted from a weekend of frivolity, I could barely pick up my feet. I had promised my husband that I would collect the myriad of dog toys that lay around our yard, at the whim of my golden retriever, who thinks he has to entertain the grasshoppers and blue jays with his cacophony of babies. It’s so sweet, until it isn’t.

I had my purse in one hand, my drink in the other, AND I was carrying six, that’s SIX dog toys to boot. We have concrete stairs, no railing, and the stairs are ridiculously dangerous. It did not escape my mind, while sitting in the ER, that I had traipsed up and down said steps while drunk, high on cocaine, and worse. Never once even tripped. But yesterday was different. My boots caught on Jesse’s blue elephant, and down I went. I had no hands to put out, and I landed on my noggin.

I immediately called for Dwain, who could hear me, but couldn’t find me. Pain so severe I thought I would vomit, I remained perfectly still until my husband arrived on the scene. I am an EMT, and a CNA-I have volunteered in the Emergency Room, with hospice and prison ministries-I have seen it all and maintained my composure. This is the precise reason I am prone to freaking out when I get hurt-I simply know too much.

Head injury? I was out of my mind hysterical. It didn’t help when my husband picked up my head and his eyes bulged out of his-

“My GOD, is it THAT bad?,” I wail. He didn’t answer, he was too busy putting my ample white behind in his truck, grabbing ice and driving like a bat out of hell, towards the ER I had recently walked out of-after calling out the employees no less. As I walked in, I immediately placed my eyes on Dawn, who calmed me as she directed me towards the door. I knew where to go all right. I just didn’t know if they would help me, or hurt me. They had so much power at that moment.

A friend of mine, Katie, was the charge nurse, praise God. She gave me a hug and an ice pack, told me the doctor would soon be in. As Dwain sat on the bed, this came over the PA System:


“Fabulous,” I murmured. And then it hit me, we were the only people there, aside from an 83 year old man with a dizzy spell. What the Harry???? They were talking about me for crying out loud! I couldn’t figure this out as the knot on my head was the size of a peach, but the wound wasn’t bad, it bled very little.

Dr. Ammons didn’t waste any time checking me over. I was told it would hurt like hell for a few days, but that I was extremely fortunate as if I had hit one inch below, I could have had serious eye trauma. If my cranium had hit a few inches lower? I could have knocked out my front teeth. But I knew about head trauma, and I was frightened. I kept what I knew to myself, forgetting that my man is a first responder.

And so it was, that I woke this morning with a shiner the size of Texas, and a headache to beat the band.

And because of His love? I’ll be strutting my stuff, sooner than you can say the words accident prone.

The Jesus Cantata

I have used this song in blogs before, but I can assure you dear ones, this is not a reblog.  It is Saturday, July 27, 2019.  I like the 727 part, as God has been speaking to me through numbers for over a year now.  It isn’t anything New Agey:  I don’t run to my lap top to dig information on the numbers, nope, been there?  Done it.  You all know how I feel about anything New Age, and that’s not what this is about so I’ll start another paragraph.

Today was a day of exile, indeed.  From the moment I awoke, on the bad side of a weed whacker beneath my bedroom window (I can prove he did it on purpose, by the time I was up he was working on the other side of the house) I sensed a distinct inner raucous.  I had no patience.  I felt the spirit of anger come upon me, rage really.  And by the time I had realized it was grief?  The cards were dealt, the door slammed-I’m sorry if I left the lunch meat out while I was scrubbing your filthy refrigator!!!!!

And then, hold onto your hats, he began making fun of the material I was listening too, and asked me to…..turn it off.

Okay.  Raise your hand if you can explain why our significant others appear to delight in our reactions to their horrible choice of timing.  That’s one thing.  The other?  Okay, I won’t blame an entire race of men for this, but in the case of my man?  He becomes angry and obnoxious when he’s frightened.

What is he frightened of, you ask?

Well, one of the symptoms of my PTSD is hand shaking.  Some days I don’t notice it at all, but once in a blue moon it will cause Dwain alarm, he is convinced I should see a doctor.  This is also a symptom of Lyme, but the tremor came way before the infection.  I always attributed it to withdrawal from alcohol, go figure.

And there is the change he senses in me.  A relentless drive to live an authentic and joyous life, but with that being said-you have to climb the mountain to see what awaits on the tippy top.  He hates that I write when he’s around, but a five year old understands that you don’t just sit.  and.  write.  No, for crying out loud that shit takes the coming together of a perfect storm:  desire, material and inspiration.

Not willing to deal with it, I climbed the stairs to my little slice of heaven on earth-my bedroom.  She is full of every memory, antique or thing of beauty that I have acquired in my entirety.  A gold framed photograph of a little girl, long in the curls, dressed in white-praying next to her golden retriever.  If there is any one treasure I have acquired along the way, that could put it all in a nutshell for you?  It would be this gorgeous beast.  Black and white photo, heavy gold frame.  I remember well the day I purchased her, a snowy day last Christmas.  It took two payments and a few irritating reminders for me to finally get them safely home.

Vintage hats and clothing, Carnival glass, vintage lace adorns a rocking chair by the well lit window, which pours out the sun onto the hardwood floors.  My Persian knockoffs on each side of the sleigh bed.  My fireplace, adorned with pictures of my parents, angels, an old painting of Jesus.  Candles and my tiny led lights cheer the room on rainy days.

Alas, I spend very little time here.  Which got me to thinking about how much time I used to spend here-depressed, forlorn, drunk, hung over, ill with a tick borne illness perpetuated on us by our very own government.

Not going there today, don’t worry.

I fell into prayer, praising Jesus for the triumphs.  If you only knew how good it gets, you would never, not for one moment lose hope.

So, as often happens when I give myself time to think, the raging pain of my past comes upon me like a behemoth.  Most poignantly?  The people who have been the cruelest, the soulless perps who walk the lonely streets of my shattered heart?  All I ever wanted to do was love them.  That struck a nerve and I wept freely, sitting at my childhood desk.

I turned to see what had fallen from the chair to touch my back.  I felt a pat, a gentle touch.

The chair was backless.

Could Jesus have allowed me the miracle of feeling his touch?

And then I closed my eyes, and was given a vision of a glorious, golden light.

I heard the aria in my head, a hymn of old?  Not a song I had heard before, but uplifting and ethereal.

Rejoice, rejoice Emanuel, he comes, he comes, the King of Israel.



Enter Sandman…

God is asking, He is asking her to fight, fight, fight…in her dreams she is a warrior, with Gladiator skills and she garnishes a sword.  She knows they are coming, the satanic pedophiles…yet she is not sure of the form this war will take.  Will it be through her blogging?  Or will it be personal, meaning in person, mano et mano.  She has known for at least a few years, but shock and CPTSD had taken its toll-the more she learned, the more frozen in fear she became.  Stifled.  Helpless.  No-one-is-going-to-believe her mode.

I just received a phone call from my friend, Helen.  She is a dear, dear woman, and when I hear the words, “Now don’t be alarmed,” you can bet your sweet ass cheeks that I am going to be alarmed!!!!”  She was calling to speak to me in person about an email she had sent out to the Worship Team; (I am on that team and I work at the Welcome Center) the police had put flyers everywhere, warning a dangerous sexual predator had moved to the area. 

“Be careful, ” she said.  I laughed out of shock, I am sure.  No one wants a predator in a neighborhood with churches and schools-yet that is where you are likely to find them.  I hang up the phone and sit.  Stare.  Let it all sink in, every emotion, every thought.

I am not worthy, nor do I feel prepared for the task.  I only know what the Holy Spirit has been whispering for the past two years:  I have known you were coming, EVIL, and I will do everything in my earthly power to make a difference.  I will go slowly, heeding Abba’s call.  But when I meet up with you?  Oh sweetheart, you won’t even see me coming.

Fight.  Fight.  Fight!