Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 13, 2024



The first egg is always a monumental event.

After a winter of rest, sleep, and using her energy to grow new feathers, one of my chickens laid her first spring egg. I could name her Hope, but I have three red hens, and I can't tell them apart, so I don't know who laid the egg. That egg was from yesterday. Today, I got another. Yea!


 ----Imagine strips of paper upon which you have written your insights. 

You throw them up into the wind. And other people, like children running through their first flurry of snow, arms outstretched, instead of catching snowflakes on their tongues, catch those paper strips in their tiny little fists. If they like what's written on the strip, they keep it. If not, they throw it back into the wind to be picked up by someone else.


On a day long ago, there were murmurings at the kitchen table that were not understandable to little ears, but I knew something was brewing. My father enlisted in the Navy because he knew the draft was coming and wanted to choose his area of service. The Navy was not to be, though, for they found he was color blind. Therefore, he ended up in the Army. I learned of my father's colorblindness from those murmurings and how that surprised him. Maybe that's why he sketched in pencil or charcoal, a.k.a. black and white. I learned that during the war, he drew portraits for the soldiers, and I remember he said, "You can't put too many lines on a face."


Once, he wrote, "You thought I would only be gone for a short time, didn't you?" I don't remember knowing he was going to be gone. If there were any goodbyes, I don't know them. If there were any tears, I didn't see any. He was just gone. He must have slipped out when I was sleeping.

He survived the war, but not his marriage or his fatherhood with me.

Which brings me to a question:

If the civilians on the home front could watch their brothers, husbands, and sons go off to a foreign land not knowing if they would ever see them again, if they were willing to offer their pots and pans as metal for the war effort, if they could have necessary items, like shoes and foodstuffs rationed, and purchase war bonds to help fund the war effort and still maintain HOPE for a liberated future, we can do it.  


Those folks back home believed that goodness would prevail and that evil would be vanquished.

Do we believe that now?

Without hope, if we feel that the future will not be better than the present and might even be worse, we will die spiritually.

We have it backward. The opposite of happiness is not sadness. It's hopelessness.

Hopelessness is the root of anxiety, mental illness, and depression. So, why not shoot up a school, sleep with your boss's wife, take illicit drugs, or load up on pharmaceuticals by the bucketfuls?


 ----My strips of paper blowing in the wind will contain plain talk about magical things. I am gathering them into a book with the working title of YOUR STORY MATTERS, Living Your Life in the Most Awesome Way Possible.

 I metaphysically use the word magic. I know physics is at work. I also understand that something divine is swirling around that we find impossible to explain. 

 "I may not get there with you," said Martin Luther King Jr., "but I have been to the mountain. Mine eyes have seen the glory…I know that we will get to the promised land." 

He gave that speech on April 3, 1968. On April 4, 1968, he was shot and killed.

There was a man with a vision, a man who believed in non-violent resistance, and a man who had hope. He made a difference.

I know we are made of strong stuff. We must find our courage, integrity, and ingenuity and gather harmoniously. Remember, we are the ones to make a brighter day.

 Once, I watched a T.V. show where the presenter traveled the world looking for the happiest people. He found that the Taiwanese were among the happiest. The reason? 

They believed in hope.


 I was poking around in an old website that sat unpublished since 2015.


It was my old Blog, Where Tiger’s Belch and Monkey’s Howl.

Now when reading it it seemed happy.


Why did I let it go? When I read the  post,“What Makes You Happy?” and came across “Puppy Love,” I was hooked. It has a link to a Budweiser Clydesdale commercial that made me cry/laugh/smile. 


I am reopening the Where Tiger’s Belch Blog. I trust that the Universe is guiding me in the right direction.


When I read, “Have you noticed that it takes more effort these days to hold up your face?” I had to laugh.


Maybe you are much younger than me and haven’t discovered the face issue yet. Perhaps it’s just me. I look at myself in the mirror and don’t look too bad, but when I see a photo of myself, I wonder what happened.


Well, I discovered the truth. In the mirror, I inadvertently held up my face, and a photograph caught me slack jawed. 


One writer asked, “How does your writing look at its relaxed state? Do you let it drop like our face?”


See, someone else knew of this phenomenon. Oh, the pressure to hold up your face and your writing.


From Norm Papernick on Tigers:


 “Those who can laugh without cause have either found the true meaning of happiness or have gone stark raving mad.”


I was more light-hearted then—I’m returning to that blog.


Please give Where Tigers Belch a look- see. I would appreciate your thoughts on it. I will clean up some posts, delete some, and check my grammar and spelling. It could be like a high school play that is not perfect; it is not slick or professional, but it has the heart that professional Hollywood plays do not have.


It is fresh.


Here it is at


Soon, it will be I wanted simply, but alas, someone else got it. It’s “coming soon.” Please don’t confuse it with mine.




Wednesday, January 31, 2024

This is What I Have to Say Today, When I Didn’t Have Anything to Say Yesterday



How do we wake up spiritually, and what does that mean anyway? As writers or bloggers, what can we say that hasn't been said?


There is a lot to say, for we live on the leading edge, but there is a drop-off in front of us, and we don't know how to handle it. 


Is there an invisible stone bridge across the abyss that blends into the surroundings that we can’t see? Remember Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? (Perhaps that is my favorite of the Jones series—or a close tie with the first. Who can forget the snakes or that incredible ride on the black horse where Indiana forces a rock into the enemy tank's exhaust?)


In times of trouble, we can rely on the arts to give us a moment of reprieve or a thought that no amount of preaching or expose' can do. It's the stories we love. We usually want the good guy to win, and happy endings work better than sad ones.


See, we are really dreamers and romantics at heart.


That is something we have forgotten.


Tomorrow is Ground Hog's Day. I will always remember the date, which is also my grandson's birthday. It's time to watch that movie again. Bill Murray, who begins as a pompous jerk, must relive the same day over and over until he is transformed into a nice guy and wins his lady love.


Is that what we do with our lives? Must we keep living it until we get it?


It tickled me when I read that author Mark Manson said he would like to be a barista at Starbucks and write a note on everyone's cup. It was dismal stuff about the meaninglessness of life, but then how can we send them off with "Have a nice day" when so much depression abounds?


"Depression," Manson says, "is a crisis of Hope."


"Hope is what we believe to be greater than ourselves. Without it we believe we are nothing."—Mark Manson. 


I mentioned Thailand in an earlier blog after watching a documentary on Happiness. The Thai people were listed as among the happiest because they believed in HOPE.


"Getting it" is different for everybody. However, I think a few characteristics could apply—take care of yourself, the people, and the earth, be kind, and don't hurt things-living or otherwise. Have a spiritual understanding without beating other people over the head with it. Continue to grow. Believe in hope.


We are only here briefly, so we should make it count for something. 



P.S. I was depressed until I wrote something. That’s a lesson on putting the pen to page and begin.

Wednesday, February 10, 2021

Wild Hopes

“I’m going to let our hopes run as wild as the Mustangs,” by Jocelyn, age 10.


We need the free spirit of the mustang right now. We need some hope of a free tomorrow where we can run like the wild horses. And we need little children like Jocelyn who have a purpose and a heart to help the wild things.


Remember the song from the movie Anne Mamie,“We need a little Christmas, right this very moment?”  Join in.


A dear friend, Jocelyn’s grandmother, sent Jocelyn’s drawing to me. I thought it was so wonderful, I had to use it. You know me and horses, and here I had found a kindred spirit in a little girl who loves horses as I did when I was her age. Still do. You don’t have to be a kid to love horses or to ever ride or even touch one. Watch them running across the prairie and imagine how that would feel--the wind in your hair, the exhilaration of the run, being with your herd.


 “Winged” has often been ascribed to the horse.


I told her grandma, “Nana,” that I had adopted a mustang, which sent us off talking about horses and exchanging pictures. I received a video of Jocelyn, who lives in another state, running down a wooded path—her giggles making a Doppler effect as she and Cookie, a pony, ran past the recording photographer.


Jocelyn is the illustrator and spoke’s person for her Girl Scouts Troop who is sponsoring the Wild Beauty Foundation. This foundation was formed by filmmakers Ashley Avis and Edward Winters on the heels of the upcoming feature film Black Beauty.


The Wild Beauty Foundation was inspired by Anna Sewell, author of the original 19th-century novel Black Beauty. As Sewell’s message was to give voices to the cab horses of her day. The Wild Beauty Foundation’s focus is to give voices to the wild mustangs.


So, buy cookies and help give voices to the Wild Mustangs.


To know a mustang is to love them. Well, you don’t even have to know one. Seeing a herd running wild and free is enough to swell your heart.


Sierra, my mustang, had a freeze brand on her neck that looked like a strip of hieroglyphics. If you had the translation of the brand, you would know what herd she came from, the area, and the date of capture. Having a freeze brand meant she could never be sold for slaughter. Never, never do that. That’s a crime against all that’s sacred. Her pregnant momma was rounded up and gave birth to Sierra at the BLM holding facility in Burns, Oregon, where I adopted her as a baby of five and one-half months-old.


What a character she was, and curious as all get-out, smart and loving. While my quarter horse thought plastic bottles in a box was a monster, Sierra knew that rattling box was a play-toy. 


After Sierra was gentled and knew that our place was home, I turned her and her roommate, Velvet, loose where they frolicked around the house, jumped and ran on the drive, then rolled in the Oregon red-mud. All that before settling down for some grazing. (We lived in the forest, so our property was private.)


Sierra had a wild heart and a sweet nature, with a propensity for gnawing on our pickup truck. She accepted a sack of kitty litter on her back (as weight) and later-on, me. Her feet were strong and kept perfectly trimmed by running on the gravel drive. 


(Not so for the quarter horse).


The strength of the wild.


This picture is also posted on, and that site includes more pictures of the Island, and horses.