Showing posts with label awareness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awareness. Show all posts

Thursday, August 27, 2020

Just Between You and Me


 “Sing of good things, not bad.”*

—” Sing” by Joe Raposo, written for Sesame Street, performed by many.



* I’d quote the entire song if copyrights would allow. Songs are picky.  



Tell me PLEASE why this media slogan: “If it bleeds it Leads.”


This became a battle cry for newspapers back in the ’70s trying to up their ratings. Now, not only are we used to it, but writers, journalists, and pundits must up the ante to get our attention. As time goes by, adrenal hits need more potent thrills, shocks, controversy, to get the same shock value.


I must admit my adrenals like the log ride at Splash Mountain in Disneyland. It’s 10 on the terror scale of 10, said my 11-year-old Grandson when we visited the Park in January.


You sit in a log, used to be with your partner’s legs around you, now you have your own seat. You travel through calm waters, gentle music fills the air, suddenly, you stop. You look down. A 50-foot waterfall is raging beneath you, and you are looking straight down.


Holy Moley, I was scared out of my wits the first time I sat on that precipice—about 20 rides ago. (We used to live in Southern California, thus the frequent Disneyland visits.) Now I’m a veteran, but it still gives my adrenals a jolt. Amid screams, we are dropped over the edge and plunge into the water below. Drenched and laughing, we float among the strains of “Zippidy-do-da,” to the exit dock, and get out on noodle legs and say, “Let’s do that again.”


We like thrills, but the idea of slamming the world’s ills into our faces daily is not healthy.


We’re worn out.


Gone are the days of tuning into the media to find local and national issues.


Deborah Scani Psy D, says that if you are depressed, watching the news is a risky pursuit.


Sadly, once a glorious, needed, and respected profession, journalists, instead of getting to the story first, and getting the facts right, are now forced to look for the spectacular, the stirring, and the controversial.

FEAR is the teaser to get you to read the article or watch the presentation. Secondly, we watch or read with the HOPE that a solution will be forthcoming.


How often does that happen?


And why in the world, in a land that touts “Free Speech” are voices, news, articles being censored?


I’m really into this, for my daughter is a caregiver. Her client watches the news on the hour, or maybe continually. Daughter Dear tries to do something else during that time, but the lady will draw her in, “Come here. Will you look at that!”


Daughter Dear is worn out.


The lady remembers that there is a Virus/Danger “Out there,” but she doesn’t remember that she just watched it. (Poor dears—both of them)

Once upon a time—true story: I’ve written of this before, but I have new readers, so please forgive me if you’re read this before.


I was cursing up I-5 from San Jose, California, aiming for Oregon. Gabe, my Rottweiler, was asleep in the back seat, the radio was on. 

When I was in the San Francisco vicinity, I was startled by an “All Good News Radio Program.”


They had clips of motivational speakers followed by a story about a teacher who saw a kid in the playground do a good deed. She wrote out, “Good for you,” on a slip of paper, and gave it to the kid. The news soon spread about the “Good for you” slip of paper, and all the students wanted one.  


The teacher said that a piece of paper couldn’t blow across the playground without a kid running after it to pick it up.


I think the slips of paper graduated into tee-shirts.


We are good people, and we like being rewarded for our actions.


Happiness can spread.


Oh, speaking of good stuff, yesterday I saw that a chocolate factory in Switzerland had an explosion and covered the city in cocoa powder.


Got a good slogan for a tee-shirt?


I’ll print it and sell it.


If you would be so kind as to look into my store with its new name and new focus.


"On the road, on the trail, on the couch."






 Keep checking in I’m adding new products daily. (Take a peek at my "ribbit" sink strainer, too cute for words.)


(Can you believe I got Jewell's Happy Trails as a domain?) 



Jo, Joyce, Jewell



P.S. A shout out to a reader in the UK; (GPS tracker)


My mother should have had this tracking device when I was a kid, for I rode my horse into the forest, and she never knew where I was. She worried that I would take a fall and be lost. “Stay by the road,” she said. “Then,” I countered, “if I fell off, someone would run over me.” 


We both survived my horse forays.


This device can be used on cars (get a 40% reduction on Ins.,) dogs, cats, bicycles, motorcycles, humans. I should have had one attached to our propane tank that ran off.


Thanks, UK


*Bad?” I’ve heard if you are an aficionado of country songs, listen long enough and they will cure you or your ills.






Monday, November 11, 2019

When do THEY decide you are a throw-away person?

Before the recent (yesterday’s) medication, the patient could stand up, walk around, take herself to the bathroom, have dinner, look out the window, and on occasion, visit with somebody.

Daughter dear is caring for an Alzheimer patient, who pops in and out of lucidity. Now the patient had been placed on hospice care, has been given mood-altering medication, and is whacked-out on morphine.

From managing (with help) one day to unconscious the next. 

I’ve had high regard for hospice people for I had heard such good comments from family members. And I knew they could prescribe morphine that could be a god-send for people in pain.

But this person was not complaining of pain. And, I’m shocked that morphine is prescribed as a matter of course.

Is that a good idea?
Did the patient ask for it?

Well, at least our culture sedates an old person before setting them on an ice flow. (Oh, oh, I’m slipping into sarcasm.)

I once read a story about a young man who lived in the cold North who decided it was time for his father to die. However, in a moment of compassion the son gave the father a blanket, but the father cut the blanket in two and only took half. 

“Father, why are you taking only half a blanket when I gave you a whole one?” asked the son.

“Because I’m saving the other half for you.”

The old man lived out his days in the warmth of the igloo.

I don’t know the Alzheimer patient’s history. I know she is elderly, lives still with her husband who is uncommonly kind to her given he has a temper. When he shows his temper, she ships out. (That tells you something, doesn’t it? When did she learn that shipping-out behavior?)

We must not wait until Hospice comes sweeping in the door to lose control of our bodies, our minds, our environment, and our peace of mind. You know what they say, “If you don’t choose for yourself, somebody will choose for you.”

Before I had my babies, I read a book called “Awake and Aware,” that followed Dr. Fernand Lamaze’s principals of natural childbirth. 

Lamaze was encouraging women to be awake and present during the birth of their child. He was giving them tools to manage what can be a frightful and painful event. There in the hallowed halls of a hospital, you could follow protocol, use your techniques, and experience pain, joy, whatever. (But, don’t embarrass the personnel.)

How about the outside world? Are we sedated?

A sedated person is easy to manage. Many a shut-in who watches television all day is sedated without chemicals, and probably angry to boot. No wonder the old man husband wanders around complaining about the state of the world, about blacks, about women. He’s angry. And he needs someone to blame. 

Not good for our society.

I once read that in an extremely crowded Oriental country where the streets are crowded, the shops are crowded, and families live together in a small space, that finding one moment of privacy is almost impossible.
However, there is still one place you can go where you are free. 

That is your mind.

Perhaps that is the reason the use of meditation is so prevalent in the East. Go to a quiet place where your mind can become still. Go where you can experience the silence. “Prayer,” so I’ve heard, “is talking to God. Meditation is God talking to you.”

I think one’s awareness should be the last thing to go.

But then, that’s only my idea.

Any input?

P.S. Thursday I’ll talk about something more pleasant—that is, if it presents itself.