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?

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...

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.”

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.”

Why Travel?

Grandson, one-year old, at Black Sands beach Hawaii—he may not remember the caviar-black sand, the warm pools, the delight he had that day, but I do.

Clark Vandeventer answered a question that had been rattling around in my brain for the last few years. Could the world become a school house for your child? For our child—for my grandchild? What about traditional schooling? What about making lasting friendships?

My friend June said she attended 13 schools by the time she was in the 6^th grade. Did that help or hinder her development? June is one of the happiest, friendliest people I know. She in ninety-one years old and most every day her answering machine will say, “I may be here or I will be out in the Universe having fun.”

I am reminded of something Pat Parelli, a horse trainer I admire and consider a mentor said, “Whatever the general population is doing, do the opposite.”

This was after he got what he called a “macho-ectomy.” “It’s like being a dance partner with your horse,” he said, “You ask don’t tell.”

Now he is a master trainer who can ask a horse to pirouette, and within that horse’s abilities, he will do it. Soon it will be without a bridle or ropes. Now isn’t this contrary to established ways of training horses where you jerk them around by the mouth?

Oh, I’m not encouraging anyone to be a rebel–rouser, or a non-conformist just to be obstinate or obnoxious. I mean to look at the way things are done, and consider that they might be different. Be reasonable!

Here is the blog title that motivated me:

Why I Took My Daughter on a Trip She Will Never Remember

www.FamilyTrek.org

We’ve loaded our kids up on planes, trains, and automobiles to far corners of the world for a reason. I know my daughter Abigail will never remember this recent trip to Thailand or any of the other trips we take in the next few years. That’s not the point, though. I want our travels to shape the woman she becomes. I want her to see, before she is able to develop an idea of what’s “normal,” that America isn’t the world. I want her to see people living differently than we do in America and speaking different languages and eating different foods. That’s no judgment of America. I just want my kids to understand the world is bigger, and if I have the power to expose them to these things (and I do), I want them to see this while their view of the world is still very much being formed.

There is another reason, though, that we travel with our young kids.

My daughter will never remember this trip, but

I will.

Find Something That Brings a Smile to Your Face

Last Sunday I ate breakfast with a chicken on my lap.

I felt guilty, too, eating her eggs right in front of her. Hope she didn’t recognize them without their shell.

I have two hens that I turn loose each morning into the back yard . Upon opening their enclosure, they spring from their coop, happy as kids slipping down a water slide and splashing into a pool. They dash out, circle the yard, picking and scratching. If one finds a snail they run with their delicacy, telling the other one, they just can’t help themselves, that they found something wonderful.

Don’t tell my grandson chickens love escargot, he would side with the snails.

Sunday I served bacon and eggs for Neil and me, and since the day was perfect, warm and sunny, we ate on the patio. One hen jumped into my lap. She’s the cuddly one, and will sit on my lap while I pet her and sometimes goes to sleep. (And has never pooped on me.) I’m momma, I guess.

I grew up with chickens, but never saw them as pets. That’s the way it is on a farm. They were a chore, and you know how kids are, they resent HAVING to do anything. I had to feed the chickens when I came home from school, and one was often out of the chicken yard.  Our dog, Silver, a Cocker Spaniel and Australian shepherd mix—and a shepherd to the bone—loved chasing down loose chickens. He would catch a chicken, hold it with his paws, then lick its face until I got there and picked it up.  (Gosh, I remember Aunt Bee, in the #Andy Griffith series, being so proud that she picked up a live chicken,)

I don’t expect you to get a kick out of chickens; I never thought I would either. I used to tease at my friend Betty who said a chicken was her favorite animal. Then I thought chickens were an animal of little brain—probably are, but their brain serves them well, and they have distinct personalities. (The other hen likes to hop onto the arm of the chair beside me, or my shoulder, but doesn’t want to be cuddled.)

That is one advantage of having animals as pets—seeing them as individuals with their own quirks and likes, just like people. And they see you as part of their family.

I was motivated to write about chickens when I read  www.fresh-eggs-daily.com. Lisa, the writer of that blog, whose exquisite pictures show the sort of farm one dreams about, said not everyone will share your enthusiasm about chickens, just find people who do. I’m not writing a blog about chickens, though---well, just this once.

Lisa’s herbs:

Somehow Lisa’s  blog led to another one where a fellow passenger on an airplane asked a lady why she looked so happy. She said she was looking forward to going home to her ducks. He said, “I wish I had something at home that brought such a smile to my face as your ducks do to yours.”

This Man Made Us Laugh

I was so shocked and saddened when I discovered that Robin Williams had passed. I had to put this clip on my site. Robin "Captain my Captain"* we loved you.

The Best Robin William Moments / Mashable
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1uWvvMsL5w

(COPY AND PASTE)

What can I say? We can't see into another person's life, how Robin, one of the funniest men to grace this planet, could suffer from depression and take his own life. He achieved greatness, success in his chosen field, financial awards, and was sad. It shows me, once again, that we have to learn to manage our own state--by that I mean our state of consciousness.


LIFT SOMEONE UP TODAY!

*I loved, loved, loved The Dead Poet's Society

See You At The Top

A psychiatrist once told me that we all have a princess suit over the top of a frog’s suit. The trouble is we have holes in our princess suit, and so we jerk and tug and pull on the princess suit trying to keep the frog hidden--of course thinking that the frog is real. The princess suit is flimsy and the more we pull, the more it tears, and so we carefully fold it over trying to hide our that frog that lurks beneath.

What we don’t know is that beneath the frog’s suit is a real princess.

I was reading Jeff Goin’s (Writer’s) blog where he talked about our two selves—the one we show the world--you know the one, where we try to conform, where we seek acceptance or approval, where we try to fit in, where we are seeking love in all the wrong places.

But beneath the princess suit, buried beneath the frog’s suit there lives a true princess.

So, how do we shed the suits and emerge our true selves?

We are a delicate lot, aren’t we, contorting ourselves to fit in? And what is fitting in anyway? Following the crowd? Going with current trends? Being afraid of losing love, or not having it in the first place? We’re afraid of the power structure—oh yes, they can reject us.

Writers know that if they do not follow protocol their queries will be ignored. If they don’t get past the gatekeepers their words are useless. The easiest answer is “No,” so say the agents, I know, I heard one say it at a Writer’s Conference.  Literary agencies and publishers hire a bunch of young students, English majors preferably, lock them in a room, throw in a pizza, and a stack of rejection slips (it’s easier now with emails), and thus begins the rejection process. Clear the stack. Many believe that nothing good will be found there anyway.

It is the same with resume writing. At my daughter’s place of business the administrator said to write the resume one way while a resume-writing seminar leader said to write it another. I have heard that a resume is a good way to get rejected, but then you don’t get through the door without one. Oh the irony of it all.

What to do? Go to your window. Stick your head out and yell “I’m a human being damit.” Remember Howard Beale? “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

What this means it to declare yourself to be whatever you want. If you follow the standard, you will be that--standard. Nobody defines you. If you are a writer say you are and get with it. I believe that perseverance and self-confidence pays off. I believe in believing. 

We can do it. See you at the top!

Noni Juice for sale. My Noni supply arrived Monday. The box looked as though the handlers played football with it. We laughed at that munched box phenomenon in Hawaii, and here it's the same. Nothing was damaged though, all is ready to be shipped to whomever takes the Noni challenge. 

Click for more info. 

http://www.hawaiian-noni-juice.blogspot.com

Juxtaposition, Oregon/Hawaii

I sit at my window in front of the computer and watch as across the street--no dogs lined up--just a big fat bulldog getting a vigorous towel rubbing after a bath. He takes it graciously and waddles off after his mistress into the house.

Many dogs live in the houses on our street, but all are carefully controlled, in their yards, their houses, or on a leash. This is a well ordered neighborhood. A contrast from our days in Hawaii, where we saw no neighbors, no dogs getting a bath, and no dogs waiting to pee.

I’m thinking of Hawaii again as you can see, I’m ready to let go of the writing of it and move onto the next great thing, but the book is pounding on me with such tenacity you can probably hear the echo. 

I’m editing.

In Hawaii I wrote on my computer in front of a window as I am doing now. There were no houses across the street as we lived in the jungle, but in the mornings I would sit at my computer and look across the expanse of green island grass to the Tiki Room, our little auxiliary house that sat a good 200 yards from our main house. There I would watch the morning being born.

This week my Island book is titled, Off We Go.

Will I ever complete that book?

YES.

Will I ever settle on a title?

Probably not.

Will anyone buy it?

Like hotcakes.

Will they like it?

They will fall in a dead faint.

Birds' next fern in the tree beside the Tiki Room. In Oregon we would give our eye teeth for one so beautiful..

Inside of Tiki Room--beautiful paint by Daughter Dear. 

Our  "Green Trail of Bliss" aka driveway. 

 View from the Tiki Room toward the main house--with the propane mosquito killing device sitting between.

Where I am now.


P.S.
Noni Juice for sale. I found it in Hawaii, they are shipping it straight from the farm to me.  This is probably the best on the market. And figuring that everybody likes something for free--me included, I am offering Free Shipping. Ta Da! Click on Noni fruit below.