Our Tiny House

Friday, December 26, 2014

Post Script

I had never heard of Pahoa Hawaii before we moved there five years ago. We bought ten gorgeous acres with an acre of pineapples, some citrus, a macadamia nut orchard, room for horses, a main house and the cutest little Tiki Room we could imagine.  We were at the end of the road—or so we thought.

Later we learned that at one time Railroad Road went all the way to Hilo, but right beyond our gate debris blocked any vehicle from going farther.

Railroad Road also known as Puua Kapoho Road has been made into a through-a-fare; well maybe I exaggerate, but it has been made passable as an escape route for the people of Pahoa. We remember it as two miles of lumpy, lava encrusted, pot-holed infested road that beat the heck out of our Prius. It consisted of a single lane where we would pull over to let another car pass and therefore wave at our neighbors. About fifteen mongooses would do the squirrel scurry across the road before we got to the highway, and at night stealth wild pigs would run their little wiggly tails down the road before disappearing into the brush. Now Railroad is a two lane road, and our house which was once at the end of the road, no longer is.

Fiery hot lava is threatening to cut the town of Pahoa in half and close off the highway, the road out of there, thus they have widened Railroad Road as an escape route.

We sold our house and property on the island thinking it was not safe, and moved back to the states. Now the marketplace in Pahoa where we shopped, where we went into peals of ecstasy over the Bakery’s Butter Mochi, where we shopped at Malala’s  grocery store, where Island Crazy sold Barry’s paintings, and Island nick-knacks, and who took one of my books on consignment (sold it), is at risk. In that shopping center we frequented the propane store, the hardware store that once sold a bouquet of orchids for $2.99, the tire shop, The FEX X, where we FAXed more documents trying to get a loan on that property than I care to count, the Urgent Care Facility where they took good care of my husband, the Fish and Chips cafĂ©, the Subway Sandwich shop, and the Sushi Restaurant—are all at risk of Pele’s hot lava.

The turn-off into the shopping center is highway 130, the highway to Hilo, and numerous other places on the island that I mention in my book, like the drive to Kea’au, and Black Sands Beach, and Kona— which was “Going to Hawaii,” for us, could be completely bisected by the lava. Long’s Drug Store, fancy and new, was being built as we were leaving, closed recently.

Barry, the caretaker who lived on our property before us, called it “The most beautiful spot on earth,” and the name given to it by its owner was Pu’u Honoa, meaning “Mount of Refuge.”

Maybe it will be just that for the people who travel the road in front of our house, (that is someone else’s house now), and thus escape Pele’s fiery ability to make more land by pulling it from inside the earth and depositing it on the surface.  


I wish all those stalwart souls well, and please watch out for the critters.







Saturday, December 20, 2014

" A Christmas Memory"




“A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen, but due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable—while not unlike Lincoln’s, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind, but it is delicate too, finely boned and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. “Oh my,” she exclaims, her breath smoking the window pane, “it’s fruitcake weather.”

The person she is speaking is Truman Capote as a seven-year-old child. 

Truman Capote writes, “A Christmas Memory” 1956.

The woman he is speaking of is sixty-something, they are cousins, and have lived together since before he can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over the two and frequently make them cry, they are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. The boy and the old lady are each other’s best friend…

Every year I read Truman Capote’s, “A Christmas Memory,”—makes me cry though. The old lady calls Capote “Buddy” after a best friend who died as a child. The old lady is still a child.

With his exquisite manipulation of words Capote tells of taking an old dilapidated baby buggy into the woods to collect windfall pecans for the fruitcakes, and gathering together their year-long savings of $12. 73 to buy “Ha Ha’s moonshine for the cakes…whiskey, that’s the best, and the most expensive.

 “Buddy,” she calls from the next room, and the next instant she is in his room holding a candle. “Well, I can’t sleep a hoot,” she declares. “My mind is jumping like a jack rabbit. Buddy, do you think Mrs. Roosevelt will serve our cake at dinner…”


Well, you just have to read the story…


Truman Capote has a natural gift that makes him a great guest at a dinner party—writes Irving Pen in Truman Capote 1965, “he is always interested in whomever he's talking to. For one thing, he really looks at the person he is with. Most of us see outlines of one another, but Truman is noting skin texture, voice tone, details of clothing.
[...]
One of the reasons that Truman is always interested in people is that he won't allow himself to be bored. He told me that when he meets a truly crashing bore he asks himself, "Why am I so bored? What is it about this person that is making me yawn?" He ponders, "What should this person do that he hasn't done? What does he lack that might intrigue me?"

He catalogues thoughtfully the bore's face, his hair style, his mannerisms, his speech patterns. He tries to imagine how the bore feels about himself, what kind of a wife he might have, what he likes and dislikes. To get the answers, he starts to ask some of these questions aloud. In short, Truman gets so absorbed in finding out why he is bored that he is no longer bored at all.


Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Can't help laughing...and this blog is about age

Picture, Unknown Victorians laughing

And this blog is about age.

When someone would ask Neil’s mother how old she was she would answer, “I’ll forgive you for asking that personal question.”

I even resent a doctor asking my age. That means he has immediately categorized me.

We do want to be perceived as young—that baby-butt smooth skin, how gorgeous is that? No wonder we want it, but who wants to be judged as slow, awkward, ugly, conservative, stupid, or forgetful—or worse yet, “What age did your parents die?” Horrors.   Even being victims of our DNA  can be changed, so I’ve heard, as genes are constantly turning on or off. Bottom line, we fight to look young, while we ought to be fighting to think young—meaning, of course, forward thinking, innovative, inventive, open to new ideas, and new people. Be a person worth keeping around.

“Look for your mold.”

Scientist Dr. Jonathan Sackner- Bernstein persuades us to “Look for our mold.” He tells the story of one scientist, who daily sorted through his petri- dishes checking specimens—you know where this is going, but the story bears repeating. Dr. Alexander Fleming was 47 when he discovered penicillin. Every day he would check his numerous petri-dishes. If he found that one had turned moldy he chucked it into the trash.  One day, a moldy dish looked a little different from the many others he had thrown away, so he put it aside. Later he noticed that the bacteria around the mold had died--thus Fleming discovered one of the first antibiotics. He called it mold juice—I guess Penicillin sounds more scientific.

Bernstein’s  point was that this scientist, Dr. Alexander Fleming, at age 47, had the years of experience to discern,  the wisdom to trust his intuition, and the training to identify. Unfortunately he was not good at communicating and thus the community didn’t listen to him, even in WWI when he said, accurately, that the antiseptics they were using did more harm than good. He brought in a couple more scientists and eventually the word on penicillin got out.

Too often people use the excuse that they won’t make a difference because they lost their chance, they are too old.

Remember what Richard Back (book Illusions) said, “If you wonder whether your mission on earth is over, if you’re alive, it isn’t.”

Berstein pointed out that even such things as learning to play a musical instrument involves different components than years and years of practice. It involves how you are supported, your attitude, and your innate talent.

 “Go boldly in the direction of your dreams.”

If you’re alive having your dreams come true is still an option.

I certainly didn't plan to revolutionize all medicine by discovering the world's first antibiotic, or bacteria killer. But I suppose that was exactly what I did.”
—Alexander Fleming




Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Angels Beware, a New Kid on the Block

It was over four-score years ago that she sat across the aisle from me in Spanish class. She smiled, I smiled. She invited me for lunch at the Barn at UC Riverside, and thus began a friendship that endured for those forty- some years.

We were both married students, older than some, both of us had a gap in our schooling. We graduated, lived in the same town, then apart, together, apart.

I remember a Christmas Eve in Oregon, when Sylvia and her husband Greg flew in from California, and found themselves unable to maneuver their car on our snow laden hill. I saw them from my kitchen window, trudging up the road dragging their suitcases, laughing and slipping. They joined us for Christmas, and we ate turkey and drank Champagne—one of Sylvia’s favorite things—Champagne and Christmas.

Over the years we have sometimes lived close by, oftentimes far apart, but visited often. The Fourth of July at Coronado Island and eating sea food from Point Loma Seafood, and watching fireworks will always be our favorite fourth of July—she mentioned it every year and wished we were there. 

We endured separations, togetherness, confidences, marital disputes, pregnancies, childbirth, child rearing. She had a little girl when I met her, and 13 years later she gave birth to a little boy. My kids and her little boy took baths together, ran around the Zoo, Disneyland, and Bazaar Del Mundo in San Diego where Sylvia and I drank margaritas, and the kids perused the court yard, and visited the toy store, and were safe and confined while we wiled away the hours.

We wondered about the afterlife together, and when hippies came along we contemplated what that meant, and about the gay movement, and women’s rights.

She liked shocking pink fingernails and toe nails, and flip flops with huge flowers on her toes, and all things bling, but her favorite were jewels of the real variety. Going to an auction stirred her creative juices, as did Interior Decorating.

I still remember those pink fingernails clutching basalt bluffs as Sylvia and I slogged in sandals through the water of Oneonta Canyon in the Columbia River Gorge, then we sat all wet and prickly, but laughing about it, until we changed at Nordstroms before the drive home.

Within this past year she said, “When I lose weight and get in shape I’m getting a pair of skinny jeans with rhinestones on the pockets.”

When you see a short lady with long blond hair, with rhinestones on her butt wandering around heaven—that will be Sylvia

She died December 7, the day after her 83rd birthday.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Obey Your Whims




“Bon appetite.” Have any of us said that phrase in a normal voice since 1964?

Do you know of anyone who has hosted a TV show and never tried to change themselves?

Apparently Julia Child did not.  

(Above photo Photo of Julia and Paul Child)

With Julia, what you saw was what you got.

I am reading Julia Child Rules, Lessons on Savoring Life, by Karen Karbo, and I was struck by the notion that we have been trained that something is wrong with us, that we need changed, or that at least we ought to be working on ourselves.

More “How–to Books abound that any other. On top of that we need “Life coaches,” because we can’t figure it out for ourselves.  I am guilty of all that myself, having taken more seminars than you can shake a stick at (I never understood why anyone would shake a stick at anything, but it was one of those sayings mother’s perpetrate on their children.)

Most of us want to savor life, but don’t know how.

Apparently savoring life was built in to Julia. There she was a 6 foot 3 inch tall young woman in the 1930’s, too tall to play the damsel in distress in school plays, so instead opted to play the Emperor. Even after shaving three inches off her height she was too tall to be accepted into the WACS or WAVES during wartime, (talk about discrimination), so she because an OSS researcher instead. That was dreary work, typing files, so on a whim she moved to India where she was knee-deep in classified information, and where her organizational skills were appreciated. Julia was not a typical desired young woman to be courted; she was a spinster until age 32, but there in India she met and later married the love of her life Paul Child.

She and Paul were rare birds—mix-matched, he shorter than her by 6 inches, a sophisticated French man of the world, interested in intellectual pursuits and love-affairs—she a giddy free-spirit, and yet they married and lived a forty-eight year love-affair.

Paul introduced Julia to French food. She introduced herself to the Le Cordon Bleu Cooking school, and the rest is history. “How magnificent to find one’s calling at last,” she said. She was thirty-eight years old.

You know after seeing the movie Julie Julia, that publishing her book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking was no small feat. After many failures, she decided that writing an 800 page cookbook that didn’t sell, was better than working on an 800 page novel that didn’t sell, for they still needed to eat, she still had the recipes, and she still loved to cook.

When her mayonnaise recipe, one she had successfully made thousands of times, and even made to bolster herself up after a cooking failure, did itself fail, she turned her attention to the scientific interaction of ingredients, or was it the temperature of the bowl or of the eggs?  Julia made so many mayonnaise recipes that Paul finally called a halt to it, and she threw gallons of mayonnaise down the commode. See people do research because they want to know. (I don’t know, though, why her mayonnaise failed, Karbo didn’t say, and I’m not making sixteen gallons of mayonnaise to find out.

When Julia tuned 80, a birthday she would have preferred to ignore, her vast following were in the mood to celebrate her.  And Julia who, according to Karbo, had the stamina of a shed dog at full peak training, attended all 300 birthday bashes. (Some commanding $350 a plate.)

Julia was robust and healthy, except in later life her knees failed her, and she would sometimes cry in pain at the end of the day.

Julia followed her own rules, “Obey Your Whims,” “Live With Abandon, “Be Yourself,” and she became an original. She will long be remembered as The French Chef. (Who was neither a Chef nor French. Don’t you just love it?)

Well, I have a Revere Ware pan in my kitchen, not French standard issue, a travesty by French standards, but it is over 50 years old, I have burned more food in it than I care to count, and I have expended more elbow grease in cleaning it than I care to mention. On top of that I do not have a decent kitchen knife in the house. I'm no French Chef, nor one of any other nationality, but I love watching cooking shows.

Here's butter to you Julia.

Excuse me, I’m going out to eat…




Saturday, November 8, 2014

Cruise or Fly? Oh My

There is a fine line between bugging people and notifying them of a service they can avail themselves of or ignore.

I get notices in my email, “Received mail meant for you,” “I’ve been trying to call you,” blatant sales pitches. Probably not meant to annoy, but do.

Since this blog has long been what I am up to, and I consider you my friends, I am including my latest endeavor, not as a bug, but as a notice. I am a newly signed Travel Agent. Yesterday my email filled with promos that made me rush to my bedroom and begin to pack my bags, then it dawned on me—I hadn’t bought a ticket.

Consider this: Oasis Cancun Jan 5, 12-28 Seven nights for the incredible low price of $1070, * all inclusive flight, hotel, and they throw in a free bottle of wine. Valid only November 7-13, 2014 (Whoops, that’s only a few days.) Charter departures from ST. LOUIS

(I’ve climbed the pyramid of Chichen Itza outside Cancun, it’s a must see, a must climb, and a glimpse into Mayan History. The bus might break down, the tour guide might stop and buy a bottle of tequila and pass it around the bus—I was grateful Neil and I were the first to sip from the bottle our guide offered.  All in all it’s a life-altering experience, and if you go during a solstice you will see the snake (a shadow) that is the sun rising or setting and appearing to climb the steps of the pyramid.)

I do digress…

 My host is Incentive Connection Travel, a fully bonded company, member of  ARC/IATH/CLIA

My agency is:
Cruise and Travel

With The Pink Flamingos.

The Pink Flamingo:
"Elegant. The King of the marches. Devoted to one mate, her family, with one of the longest migrations of any creatures on earth. She has wisdom for those who journey far whether the journey be physical or one of the heart. Her long legs enable her to forage deep into the water and thus find what others have missed."

 
Let the Pink Flamingos book your next colorful vacation.


The World is Now On Sale
Save up to $200 on every reservation. On top of those savings earn United MileagePlus® bonus award miles on every booking: 
• 10,000 bonus miles for Hawaii and international travel through 12/31/2014—now is your opportunity to see flowing lava. 
• 5,000 bonus miles for all 2015 Hawaii and international travel 
• 2,000 bonus miles for all 2014 and 2015 domestic US and Canada travel 
• Luxury and culture in the great cities of Europe and Asia 
• Relaxation on the sunny beaches of Mexico, the Caribbean and Hawaii 
• Adventure in the Australian outback or the rainforests of Central and South America 
• Or just a quiet weekend getaway somewhere new 

And during the month of November and December Military personnel can get 40% off on travel. Wow.

I plan a weekly Travel newsletter and in it will be Pink’s Pick of The Week, a saving worth raving about. If you would like to receive the newsletter, just click on 

contactpinkflamingos@gmail.com

 and say “yep.”

Thank you for reading. Here’s to a life filled with glorious surprises.

AN AWARD WINNING SHIP

The Norwegian Sky  voted "Best Short Duration Cruise" by Porthole Magazine Leaves Miami on 3-4 day cruises. Isn’t she pretty?






Friday, October 31, 2014

In Answer to my Question...

On the last blog I wondered if the Chiropractic office we frequented while living in Hawaii is still there. Well, here it is. 






As I write this the little town of Pahoa Hawaii is threatened by a river of molten lava. They expect it to bisect the town. 




 I've heard of fire walking, but come on...



P.S. One of these days I will complete my book of our experience in living on the Big Island. I heard yesterday that neither publishers nor agents look at anything during the months of November and December. Guess that gives me two months...

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Pahoa Hawaii, the lava continues...



Could this have been our back yard?

I had never heard the word #Pahoa, or knew a town by that name existed until we moved into its vicinity. And now I am watching via Hawaii videos as a river of molten lava slowly creeps upon the quaint little town of Pahoa threatening homes and shops.  

Cemetery Road our passage to the Transfer Station, where we dumped all that extraneous stuff we found on our newly purchased property, has been cut off already.

I wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Chiropractor are still there above the dress shop with their little balcony where Baby Darling and I stood and called out the colors of the cars that streamed below. Mr. Chiropractor wanted to move off the island, but Mrs. Chiropractor said it was the first time she had a house of her own. They had built a kiln for her there, and there she worked as an artist making tremendous ceramic wall hangings and tiles. Their office and home was a virtual art gallery.

Across the street there was a Cash and Carry store where Husband Dear and I stopped one day after a Chiropractic visit and while standing in line I casually commented that I forgot to tell the Chiropractor about my over-worked sore thumb. The big burly Hawaiian man at the counter said, “Do this.” And he placed his index finger and thumb together in a circle and pushed. “Hold it for a minute,” he said. I did, and the muscles in my thumb relaxed, and it felt much better. That was Aloha. Do good without expecting anything in return.

The pizza shop on the main street made great pizza, and across the street we often frequented the Mexican restaurant that made good food, but not so good guacamole—they use the wrong kind of avocados. The kind they grow on the island are round and buttery. Someone should introduce good Haas avocados  I sincerely want those shops to survive.

There was the used book store where the proprietor was wiping down the books with #Windex to combat mold. (Take books when you go to Hawaii.) And at the South end of town there exists Kalia’s Resturant. It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but the inside is exquisite. The interior is painted red and a beautiful bar extends down one side. Every time we frequented Kalia’s a huge bouquet of Star Gazer lilies graced the entrance, and their fragrance wafted past our nostrils reminding us that we were on a land some call paradise. Their food was so good one reviewer ate there four times in one week.  Daughter loved their ribs. I loved their fish.  On the weekends they featured live music.

Some call Pahoa an eatery town. If you are ever there, go to the shopping area by Malama Market and there in a little pastry shop (left side as you enter) buy butter mochas—my mouth waters at the thought. Their mochas are made with rice flour and copious amounts of butter. They are baked in a pan then cut into squares. Besides tasting exquisite, their unusual chewy texture makes them fun to eat. (Recipe anyone?)

Greg Kahele wrote this: “I am a retired special education teacher from Colorado. I am moving to the area when I retire. I chose Pahoa specifically because the people were so friendly and sharing. A friendly young man I met told me that this was the only place he could "live in his own fur" and I decided I wanted to come to the Puna district and live in my own fur as well. Only sales pitch I needed!

Call Ruth! 

She was a big Hawaiian lady flown in from Honolulu years ago, and is accredited with stopping a lava flow before it destroyed Hilo.


From the web:

Authorities aren’t going to try to divert the flow.
"No matter how you would turn it, you would direct it toward someone's property,"

Taking precautions

The Hawaii County Civil Defense Agency has rebuilt two gravel roads to give residents escape routes from the lava flow. Power company crews are installing 70-foot-tall poles with heat resistant protection to raise cables higher off the roads.

A lei in the path

Josiah Hunt who has farm in a part of Puna that is not immediately threatened, described smelling burning grass, feeling warmth from the lava and hearing “popping and sizzling and all the methane bursts that are happening in the distance … mixed with the birds chirping and the coqui frogs.”

Hunt watched last week as the lava crept toward Pahoa and saw a woman whose house is near its path put a lei at the front of the flow. “It helps a person come to grips with the reality of the situation,” he said. “I found it to be oddly comforting in a really strange way.”

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

A Happy Ending


Daughter dear listed this LEGO minifigure on eBay for about a year. Then a couple of days ago a woman from Australia found it and bought it for her husband. She met him while backpacking, and thought he would get a kick out of it. Please, she said, include the story.
.
The Picture and story below is as it was listed on eBay. He is now sold.

 Success! Old Surfer Dude Werewolf made it to Australia.






On his way to Australia to surf the big waves, Bobby Beach Bum camped out on the sands of a moonlit cove. Suddenly the light of the full moon transformed this poor unsuspecting surfer dude into a terrifying Werewolf!
Determined not to let his disability get in the way of his dreams, he continues to hitchhike across the country. Sadly, not too many people will stop and give him a ride. One look at his snarly teeth and hairy hairiness and wheels squeal off into the distance. Also, it's hard to hitchhike when you don't have any thumbs.
Please help this little guy get to Australia. Anyone living in Australia will receive FREE INTERNATIONAL SHIPPING! You say you don't live in Australia? You can still help by giving him a proper home with plenty of cream rinse and chew toys.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Hope for a Better Tomorrow


During the Second World War girls back home would write to their brothers, fathers, boyfriends, husbands, and they were given the suggestions to write something cheerful.

At home the girls and women were fighting the war as were the men. They worried constantly that they would get that fateful message that their soldier boy/man was killed or maimed. Newspapers constantly barraged them with war news. Girls tried to escape by going to the movies, and there they were shown Newsreels of war horrors. There was no escaping it. It was a terrible time for the World.

The girls rallied, going into the factories and proving that the little woman could build airplanes or run a factory as well as men. Others, even children pulling their little wagons, collected cooking pots that could be spared, tires, aluminum, and any steel that could be confiscated.  Girls gave up their nylon stockings for parachutes, ladies gave up their girdles for rubber. Gas was rationed as well as food. The family gave sugar coupons to my mother one Christmas so she could make candy. Most everybody had a “Victory Garden.” The girls and women tried to give their men hope.

I was reading about a Polish man who had escaped Poland to come to America with the dream of becoming a citizen, which he had. He married, began a business, built and ran a filling station, was successful, had a family, and upon hearing that Pearl Harbor had been bombed, he laid his head on the table and sobbed. “We cannot lose America. The world cannot lose America.”

War drives me nuts.

When I hear someone excited say, “Let’s bomb them back to the stone age. Or “Let’s kick their butts,” I cringe, knowing there was a time when most every able-bodied man reluctantly, sadly, leaving behind their families and facing death, enlisted for war service.

When I, with fear and in trepidation, visited Dachau, the former Concentration Camp in Germany I got their message, “Never Forget.”

It was a never forget experience, but a strange one too. People had poured so much love into that complex that it felt cleansed. There was a bank of flowers extending the length of the fence in honor of those who were interned there.  The grounds had been bulldozed clean except for one barrack. A church had been erected on the grounds, and on the step into the crematorium someone had carefully placed a single dandelion flower.

And now I will end with a good story, a true one. It came into my daughter’s email. It was from a man who, he said, had taken an Ocean Cruise 10 years ago when he was 13-years-old. During the cruise he used the rock-climbing wall, and as they were required to take off their shoes and put on special rock-climbing ones, he did that. Then he forgot to pick up his regular shoes. He had kept the climbing shoes all these years, and felt guilty. He was Jewish, he said, and as a 13-year old he was supposed to be at the age of reason, and to be responsible, he should have known better than to keep the shoes.  Now he was looking for an address in which to send the shoes back.

That’s my mind drippings for the day.

Joyce

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Finding the Purposeful Good


While browsing through magazines at the Portland airport waiting for my daughter’s plane to arrive, I was attracted to a periodical on The Animal's Mind. Beautiful, I thought, as I thumbed through the pages. Good articles. Then as I reached the last of the magazine, I was hit with a picture so horrible I dropped to the floor in shock.

I sat on the floor waiting to recover.  How do I rid my mind of what I just saw? How do I change the way people treat animals? While sitting there I pulled another magazine from the shelf, Oprah’s.   In it I read an interview between Oprah and Paulo Coelho* (author of The Alchemist). This will help, I thought.

 It didn’t.

That night horror lifted me from sleep. That picture popped into my mind over and over again. I wanted to save all the animals of the world. I wanted that cruel man dead. I tried to think of something else. My new focus would work for a time, then the picture would come in again. I attempted to change the picture. I tried to create a happy ending.

This caused me to think: “What purposeful good can come of events such as these?” People want to see you happy, not sad. Don’t talk about it. I don’t want anyone else depressed. How, then, does one then rid their minds of horror?

I did write to someone. It was a wonderful friend who identified with me, who didn’t turn a deaf ear or a blind eye. Instead she offered help, identifying with me, telling me what she did in times such as the one I was experiencing.  She offered a link to Mira Kelley’s  past life regression tape.* Listening to Kelley’s soothing voice, I thought, I ought to create such an event that for my Grandson when he is overwrought and can’t go to sleep. Guide him to a beautiful place, allow him to create a helper, or another image of himself. Give him the tools to sooth himself and know that he has access to the beauty and wisdom of his own body.

This very morning Grandson had such an occurrence. He couldn’t go to sleep, He was over wrought. He wanted his Mommy to come home—she goes to work in the early morning hours. We sang, we counted sheep, eventually he quieted and slept, but next time—I hope there won’t be, but if there is—I will create a guided meditation.  

*The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Coelho coined the phrase “Personal Legend. “ One’s personal legend is  “What you have always wanted to accomplish.”


*Link to Mira Kelley’s meditation, Introduction by Wayne Dyer  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLzl0hdf8Os

Below photo just for fun



Please give a Look-See to http://www.motherslettersbyjoyce.blogspot.com

By popular demand!

Maybe, perhaps, possibility, a printed soft-cover version of Mother's Letters...and mine is coming.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

I’m a Little Freaked Out Are You?


The new iphone that will enable the holder to tap the register and thus record their sale freaks me out.

This will tell you how old I am I suppose, that I have gone from a time where we spoke the number into the phone and an operator connected us—you know as in the song Pennsylvania 6-5-0-0-0--to ear plug-in phones.

When I was a kid we had a party line with four rings and we were number four. We kids would listen in on someone’s conversation, only to be told, not so politely, to get off.

The phone was tied to the wall by a cord—before that it was stuck to the wall with nails. And then came the long cord-- freedom. Then cordless—more freedom. The car phone came into vogue, followed by one that didn't. Okay, now we have cell phones. Remember what a pain it was if you needed to call and had to drive 16 blocks before you found a pay phone? And in Europe I couldn’t figure out how their damn pay phones worked.  That isn’t a problem anymore for now we carry our phone with us world-wide.

With the new iphone they tell us, and they are considering eliminating the word “phone” altogether, I think it is a fone or some such thing, anyway they say we won’t have to carry anything else but a phone. We will have a camera, a GPS, texting ability, calling, talking, videos, the internet and I don’t know what all, oh yes, access to your bank. My lipstick? Where will I put that?

Dick Tracey used to talk into his wrist watch—now people walk down the street talking and we don’t know if they are talking to spirits or to the device attached to their ear.

And what am I doing? Entering a business where real estate deals are signed, sealed and delivered online via a virtual signature. Oh, if someone wants to sign a real authenticated  paper form they can, but it will be scanned into the computer and sent to the head office. Companies are going paperless, might as well join the fray.

Yes, I passed my Real Estate licensing exam last Monday, (Yea!) and as soon as my background check approves me I will be off and running. (Yesterday I got an email saying my fingerprints were rejected, and I have to do them again. 14 prints for my little 10 fingers. Jeesch.)

My mind went off on this tangent about phones after reading “Seth’s blog”#  and his quote, “Society with a cultural, intellectual core feels awfully different than the society we are walking away from.”

Are we walking away from something precious we used to have, like human connection?  That is what I intend with my real estate adventure. I love houses. I love property, and I love people who are eager and enthusiastic about buying and selling it. It is real.  That is why it is called Real Estate.

Think about your first house, or first apartment. What fun. Gosh when we see something new it just makes our mouths water. (Horses and Houses, I’m into both.)

Seth commented that we all used to read the same newspaper, watch the same TV shows, and read the same book of the month—maybe that was good, maybe not, it didn’t add to individuality, but it added to connection. We could laugh at the same jokes, rail at the same injustices.


If you have any comment on this please share. We are all in this boat together.

Now here's my idea of fabulous Real Estate.




Comment from Reader:

You know, I've been wondering about this same sort of thing lately.  I have been somewhat concerned about the changes I've noticed just in this little neighborhood alone regarding the use of smart phones etc.  It's startling to see how quickly these alterations in behavior are manifested themselves.

For example, the person buying groceries at the store no longer converses with the clerk because she's too busy chatting on the phone.  How often do we see someone shopping at COSTCO or another store walking up and down the aisles while talking on their cell phone?  Office waiting rooms are filled with people reading their kindles or texting - no more magazines.  Families at restaurants don't talk to each other because they're too busy talking to friends on the phone.  Traffic jams, red lights, and road construction are now just all excuses to get back on the phone!

Kids waiting for the school bus these days all have their heads down to their phones, never looking up, all texting or playing games, or whatever. They couldn't talk to each other if they wanted, because they're all doing the same thing!  Kinda creepy.  I remember when I was a kid, the bus stop was always alive with conversations and laughter.  Now it's completely silent.

Another bizarre change is with the dog-walkers who pass by.  It used to be that the dog's owner seemed to be enjoying the walk as much as the dog, but now the person slowly saunters along behind, head down, clicking and tapping, while the dog sniffs around doing its duty, hopefully oblivious to the strange soulless creature behind him.

The freakiest thing is how emotionless the person behind the phone is.  They're like zombies, the walking dead, stumbling along, no expression, almost as if they're hypnotized.

I remember years ago when we were warned about the dangers of "vegging out" in front of the TV.  We were told that when we zone-out to a TV program that the brain actually shuts down, going into another level of consciousness, where the person becomes very vulnerable to programming and suggestion.  The cell phone thing is actually worse because the person's will is taking a backseat to the electronics, putting him into a state where he can easily be influenced and manipulated.

What is going on?  Where is this going?  My guess is at some point there will be a global event where the entire internet will go down and it will all stop.  Believe me, there will be some pretty unhappy people - perhaps even a temporary mass hysteria.  It will probably take awhile before cooler heads prevail.  Yikes ...electronic Armageddon!

Sean's Girl

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Journeys




I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
                             --Robert Frost




Journeys

Perhaps we spend a year backpacking in Europe, or perhaps our journey isn’t to some far-off land, but rather a journey of the heart or soul, where we find helpers like the Scarecrow, the Tin Man or the Lion—all representing a part of ourselves. We are afraid, but we do it anyway. We think we have no heart only to find it breaking. We believe we have no courage still we find we did the thing we thought we couldn’t do. On top of that we see that there is no wizard, save the one within, that will give us our heart’s desire.

A Journey doesn’t have to involve traveling.

Here in the silence of the morning, with the sun not yet awake, I  see that my journey toward being a Real Estate Agent encompasses the same sort of trip into the unknown, the same fear of failure, the same anticipation of something new as boarding a plane and flying away to parts unknown.

Journeys—like starting a new business or a new project, a class, or a trip still show us that we are as vulnerable as that first day of school.

There is happy anticipation, too, for once again as we begin a journey we find the thrill of adventure, the stretch to accomplish something new, and as we stare in wide-eyed wonder, we find that life still holds mysteries for us.


Thursday, September 11, 2014

This Takes “Going With the Flow” to a Whole New Level



 Another reason we beat feet out of Hawaii.

The above photo is of Lava flowing through the jungle of Hawaii. It is on the West side of the town of Pahoa. We lived on the East side. 


Here is a thermal image of the lava flow taken last week.






And from the distance we see...




Don’t get me wrong you can have a dream vacation in Hawaii, air soft as silk and laden with the fragrance of plumeria blossoms, beaches picture postcard perfect, and hotels that provide service to satisfy the most persnickety of tourists.

And then, there is Pele--the goddess of the volcano.

We got a firm directive to move off the island. Whether it came from Pele, from our observations, from our intuition, whatever, the message came loud and clear: “Get the heck off this island.”

First Pele, fickle lass that she is, told us to leave, and then as we were doing it, she threw a road block in our path. Some poor guy tipped over a tanker blocking the road. "It will take half a day to clean up the spill," said the flag man.

So we backtracked the 40 miles to Hilo, took Saddle Road over the mountain, white-knuckled it over the one-lane road, through single traffic bridges, and across a barren landscape that looked like Utah. We needed to be at the airport in Kona by 9 a.m. to deposit Bear, daughter’s 150 pound Newfoundland dog, into the one plane that would take him.

While that adventure is a past memory, the idea of going with the flow is still alive and rattling around in my mind. 

In San Diego I asked a friend what "Going with the flow," meant to him. He reached onto his bookshelf--knew right where it was--pulled out a book and thrust it into my hands. It was Finding Flow, by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (“chick-SENT-me-high”).

There I found this story:

There was a mill worker named Joe.

The men in the warehouse where Joe worked spent their days in a dirty building bombarded  morning until night by the loud clanking of machinery. They watched the clock while waiting anxiously for the closing whistle.

At the end of the day the workers would rush off to the pub to rid themselves of the horror that was their day.

All except Joe.

Joe had learned to repair most every piece of machinery from the huge mills down to the computers. He loved his job and was respected by his peers. At home he and his wife had built a beautiful garden complete with fountains that made rainbows day and night, day by sun, night by artificial light.

What was the difference between Joe and the other mill workers?

Csikszentmihalyi says it was, “Being in the flow.”