Author Archive for:Rebekah

Mustaches, Graduations and Parties

For the past five months, Biceps and I have been living under a rock–and today it’s over. It’s about time we get out and see some sunlight. Our vitamin D is precariously low.

 


Biceps has been busy putting out fires, studying every spare minute, climbing tall ladders, coming home drenched in sweat and water, while I did all the things a house needs doing.

And today, he graduates from the Tulsa Fire Academy.

 


(This is the picture we used for his graduation party invitation. Pretty, isn’t it?)
Biceps goes from a “cadet” to a full-fledged “firefighter” with all the pomp and circumstance a fire department can muster up.

Lots of mustaches will be seen and worn today.

 


(That’s Biceps second in the hose line. He’s cute even in bunker gear….)
After the graduation, we’ve invited our family and friends over to celebrate with us. Of course, I got crazy with the “party” concept.

Mom and I have been cleaning, cooking, creating party games, painting, cutting out mustaches and flames…and then flopping into bed every night.

 


I will admit to passing out at 8pm on Wednesday night. It’s true. This reformed rock musician wife, whose evenings used to begin at midnight, called it quits before my Grandma would.

Lame.

 


(Bicep’s is in this shot…somewhere…I think…)
But, all the plotting, planning and work has been totally worth it. Biceps is graduating and it’s time to celebrate-with mustaches, lots of mustaches, of course.

Watch out world. Firefighter Biceps is here.

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Garage Sale Addict-Part 8

This morning, I’m sharing Chapter 4, Part 8 of my story, “Garage Sale Addict”. If you’d like to catch up, here’s:
Garage Sale Addict, Part 1
Garage Sale Addict, Part 2
Garage Sale Addict, Part 3
Garage Sale Addict-Part 4
Garage Sale Addict-Part 5
“Garage Sale Addict-Part 6”
“Garage Sale Addict-Part 7”

And, here is my disclaimer one more time…

Disclaimer: I am nervous about sharing this. Instead of me being able to use words like “crap” or my made up favorites like “goody-ness”, what I’m about to share will be held to a higher standard. Because it’s part of my hidden soul-my personal writing projects. Who knows if this will ever go anywhere-but it’s fun to write and to dream. I’d love to hear what you have to say, or maybe I won’t.

 

*********Part 8
Chapter 4

 

Early the next morning, Rosalyn picked up the phone, the “suit’s” card in hand. Before the first ring played out, she hung up. Immediately, her phone rang back with a blocked caller on the other end. She sucked in her breath and pushed the “answer” button.

“Ms. Rosalyn Jones?,” the caller asked.

“This is she. Who might this be?”

She felt in control, but not for long.

“I’ll be the one asking questions. I need you to come to my office today.”
“Why? Who are you? I’m not doing anything until you give me more information.” Rosalyn said.

“Today. 10 am. 1 Civic Center Drive.” And the caller hung up.

1 Civic Center Drive? That’s a governmental building downtown. 

Rosalyn glanced at her watch–it was only 8 am. After calling Bonnie and telling her about the mysterious phone call, Rosalyn decided to humor the “suit” and show up. An hour later, she was out the door.

 

She parked in a well-lit underground parking garage, grabbed her coffee from the cup holder and made her way to the elevator. Her heels resounded in the almost empty garage. Rosalyn, aware of the numerous murder plots that happen in parking garages during most one-hour cop shows, remembered the self-defense class she took and slid her keys to the center of her hand, point end out. She scanned the garage for other signs of life, all the while pretending to nonchalantly sip her coffee.

“Ms. Jones?” A voice called out from a darkened corner. She widened her stance, flung her purse to her back, tightened the grip on her keys and lifted the lid off of her coffee cup-steam rising from the rop.

“Who’s there?” Rosalyn used her lowest voice possible.

“Mr. Black.”

“Sure, it is. What do you want?” She called into the nothingness.

“I need you to come with me.”

“No way. I know how this will play out. It never ends well for the female.”

“Ma’am, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to come with me.” The voice calmly demanded. She could hear his shoe scraping dirt against the concrete floor. As soon as she saw a bit of skin, she tossed her coffee in the general direction of his face, stabbed at his stomach with her keys and took off towards the staircase.

Rosalyn could hear the man scream and call out words she would never utter as she climbed out into the open air. Immediately, two more men in suits each grabbed an elbow, wrenched her keys from her hand and “escorted” her into the unmarked governmental building without saying a word.

“What’s going on? Leave me alone!” She tried to break free, tugging and wrestling against the new “suits”. Downtown seemed oddly vacant, save a few pigeons squabbling around. The men remained silent.

“Help!” She called out to no one. The pigeons took off.

The suits shoved her behind the landscaping that surrounded the building and opened a door unnoticeable from the street. It was unmarked and blended seamlessly to the facade of the front of the building. On the other side of the door was another “suit”, armed with tight lips and piercing eyes. His white shirt was covered in coffee and he was still busy wiping the moisture off of his reddened face.

“Put her in holding cell #1,” he growled.

The two new suits nodded and moved faster down the dimly lit hallway. They opened a metal door, shoved her inside and slammed it behind her. Just like in the cop shows, there was a metal table, two chairs, one hanging lamp and a large smoky glass section in the wall.

“Whoever you are, you have the wrong person.” Rosalyn shook her finger at the glass.

“Sit down.” A voice demanded over an unseen speaker.

“No.”

“Sit down.” The voice screamed at her.

Rosalyn tugged at the metal chair and plopped into it, folding her arms across her chest.

“You can’t hold me against my will. I want a lawyer.” Rosalyn was grateful she had watched so many Cagney & Lacey shows as a kid.

“We can do whatever we like. We are who everyone else answers to. So get comfortable, Ms. Jones.”

The room was silent. Rosalyn folded and re-folded her arms. She sat up straight in the chair, then slouched. She started counting the acoustic tiles in the ceiling of the room when the coffee-stained suit entered the room with a fresh new shirt.

“You do realize you have committed a federal offense by assaulting a federal agent?” The suit said, circling her like a vulture.

“I didn’t know you were a fed, I just thought you were some creepy guy in the parking garage.”

“I was trying to show you my badge, when you emptied your hot coffee on me.” He pounded the table with his fist.

“I’m not sorry about that. You should have identified yourself.” Rosalyn slouched even lower and smiled.

“Sit up. This is a serious situation you have yourself in. No one knows that you’re here-or even where here is-and there’s nothing you can do about it, other than cooperate.”

Rosalyn slowly sat up straighter in her chair, realizing she was totally at the suit’s mercy. She clenched her jaw shut and began grinding her teeth.

“Tell me what I want to know. Now!” The suit pounded the table again.

“I seriously don’t know what you want to know.”

“Who’s the leader of your faction? Who do you answer to?” The suit sat down in the seat across from her.

Rosalyn snorted and started to laugh but suppressed the urge when the suit glared back at her.

“Look, you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m a pet photographer. I answer to my clients, I suppose. If they aren’t happy, they won’t pay.” She let out a little giggle.

“This isn’t some cop show, Ms. Jones. This is real life and you are in real trouble.”

“Then, why don’t you tell me what I’ve done? Because I don’t have any clue what is going on.” She slumped again, but then sat up straight.

The suit stayed silent, rubbed at his temples and stood up suddenly. Hands on hips, he sighed heavily and glared at her again. Rosalyn noticed how quiet quiet can be. The room felt dead-no whirring of a heating system, no footsteps, no road noise. The suit vacated the room and slammed the metal door shut.

Rosalyn sat alone in the room. She picked up her game of counting the ceiling tiles once again. Soon, she had counted all 131 of them and decided they needed names. Starting alphabetically, she named the first tile “Adam”, the second, “Bonnie”-of course, the third, “Curt” and so on. She had rounded the alphabet and was back to “K” when the suit re-entered. She made a mental note of where he had interrupted her.

“Since you are being uncooperative, we have no choice but to hold you overnight.” The suit said, throwing a pair of gray sweats at her.

“There is no way I’m staying here. I have a job to do and a friend to see tonight. People will start wondering why I’m gone within a few hours of me missing. It’ll turn into a big missing person’s thing-my picture will be all over the news in no time. You don’t want that, do you?” Rosalyn knew she was exaggerating, but her arsenal of defense was depleted.

“We own the news.” The suit sat down again.

“Nobody owns the news. I mean sure, someone owns the news, but it’s like a cooperation or Warren Buffet or someone like that. Not someone like you.

The suit remained silent and continued to glare at her.

“Do you have any other face than that one? I mean like if you saw a really cute puppy, what’s your face do then? Let’s turn this frown upside down.” She reached across the table to pull the corners of his mouth up, but he smacked her hand away.

“Ow! You don’t have to be so mean. When I get a lawyer, I’m telling him that you  hit me.”

“You aren’t getting a lawyer, Ms. Jones. In fact, you will be doing good to see the sun anytime soon.”

Rosalyn tugged at a loose string attached to the sweats and looked at the table. Humor wasn’t working for her, being angry wasn’t working for her, and demanding a lawyer did diddly squat. Now what?, she thought.

“How about Micah? Would you like to see him again? Or Bonnie? What about her?” The suit smirked and leaned back in his chair. Rosalyn’s mouth fell open.

“What do you know about them? Why  do you know about them?” She could feel her skin turning hot.

“We know everything that we need to know about you, Ms. Jones.” He smirked again.

“But there’s nothing important to know about me. I’m telling you-you have the wrong girl.” Now she was the one to hit the table with her fist.

“We can play this game all day, Ms. Jones. I have nowhere else I need to be. But, it sounds like you have a full schedule. Just tell us who you report to, and I might let you go.”

“I don’t report to anyone! I have no idea what you are talking about. I want out of here.” Rosalyn shot out of her chair and began pounding on the glass behind the suit. “Let me out of here! You have the wrong person!,” she screamed at the glass.

“There’s no one back there. It’s just you and me.” The suit stayed seated. Rosalyn pounded for several minutes, screaming all the while. The suit didn’t move an inch behind her, nor try to stop her. Rosalyn finally wore herself out and sat back down.

“What do you want to know?” She hung her head.

“Who do you report to?”

“No one. I report to myself.”

“You mean to tell me you run the operation-yourself?” The suit leaned forward and hissed at her.

“Yes-I run the whole operation myself. Every garage sale is my idea. I just get my friends to help me.” She shoved the sweats towards the suit.

“Oh no. You’d better get comfortable, Ms. Jones. You are going to be here a long time.” The suit finally smiled, but instead of it being a reaction to a cute puppy, it mimicked more of a devil grinning back at her.

“A long time.” The suit said again as he stood up and slammed the door behind him. A metal sheet fell over the smoky glass and a voice on the hidden speaker told her to “get dressed”.

Rosalyn slowly put on the sweats, folding her clothes neatly and leaving them on the table.

What is going on?, she asked herself.

Dressed, she huddled in the corner and began to cry.

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Guess who’s visiting? My Best Friend.

I grew up surrounded by testosterone. With three brothers and a dad in the military, the color pink wasn’t a part of any decor or found behind my closet doors in my house.

I heard a lot of, “Buck it up, Becky”, and “Mom, make her quit crying.” This was usually the aftermath of, “She won’t quit talking. Mom, make her quit talking.”

 


It could have been worse, though. At least the testosterone-laden men weren’t the shouting at the football game on television types, the revving up of muscle cars kind, or the noodlin’ group. Not that those things are wrong…at all…seriously…

The only reprieve from the stinky testosterone was my mommy.

 


She was/is beautiful, graceful, and kind. She knows how to cook chicken a thousand ways, how to bandage a knee (that doesn’t really need to be bandaged) and how to sew me the eye lit pillowcases I just had to have when I was 12.

 


As a child, I don’t know that I valued all of the knowledge that she had. I suppose a five year old doesn’t understand just how much effort goes into cooking three meals a day from scratch.

But, as an adult, I can’t imagine my life without her to call when I’m having a bad day, a good day, or just a bleh day.

She is my best friend and she is all mine for the next week. Well, kind’ve. I’ve still got to share her with the now-less-stinky-testosterone. I’ll take what I can get.

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My 30 Day Nutritional Challenge-Paleo Eating

You may know this about me (or not), but I love to get sweaty, lift heavy things and generally feel like I could kick someone’s butt if I had to. It’s the little girl inside of me, ready for the day I need to defend myself.

 


But, working out isn’t enough for me, or for anyone. Diet is 90% of what makes your body look the way that it does.

 


Don’t like your body? Look in the fridge. Whatcha got in there? Some ice cream, frozen pizzas, nitrate-laden meat, sugary condiments and dressings?

What’s in your cabinets? Crackers, pastas, sugary cereals and processed/packaged foods?

That’s going straight to the hips, ladies (and men).

 


Biceps and I already love to eat healthy-for the most part. (Let’s just say-cheese is awesome). However, we enjoy our veggies, lean protein, and fruit without reservation. That’s one of the main reasons that I love to have my own garden-I call it my “veggie wonderland”.

 


So, when it came to participating in a Paleo nutritional challenge my Crossfit group was doing, I was excited…but hesitant.

I don’t do diets. I don’t do hungry.

So, what did “Paleo” mean, exactly? Was this just another fad like Atkins or HCG? Would it mean feeling hungry all of the time, having no energy, and generally hating life?

I did a bunch of research, read the good and the bad and the ugly.

 


So-what is “Paleo”, exactly? Succinctly, it stems from a belief that we should eat like our ancestors did-cutting out all of the junk, the processed food, dairy, grain products and legumes.

This meal is considered Paleo and took me about 10 minutes to make. Paleo means eating a lot of:

  • lean protein throughout the day (chicken, turkey, eggs, beef, fish, etc),
  • coupled with a few good fats (avocado, coconut, nuts, olive oil, etc),
  • and a ton of non-starchy vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, spinach, tomatoes, etc).

But you can’t eat:

  • dairy (eggs are not dairy, even though that’s where they are in a grocery store),
  • sugar or sweeteners of any kind,
  • rice, grains or beans.

 


I started this challenge last Monday and I’ll be eating a Paleo diet for the next month. I’ll periodically give you updates on how I’m doing and I’ll tell you the truth as to how I’m feeling–and if my workouts are suffering.

Here’s a quick look at this last week for me as I voyaged into the Paleo world.

 


Day 1. “Yeah! This is fun and easy!”

 


Day 3. “I WANT POTATO CHIPS!”

 

Today.

“I feel like a happy brussel sprout.” Which is hard to do.

I disagree with some of the philosophy of Paleo-no beans or rice, no honey, and no dairy. But, I can do anything for 30 days. Right? RIGHT?!

And, I will tell you that I am sleeping better-like through the night. And, I’ve already noticed a change in my body as I’ve deprived it from bad fats and sugars.

But, it hasn’t cured my weirdness at all. I think that’s here to stay.

 

 

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