Pigeon's Prevail

I opened #Oprah's magazine and stared at this page. The joyous girl with the pigeons totally entranced me. Then my eyes were riveted on the scene behind--St Marc's Square, Piazza San Marco Rome.

There are two reasons why St. Marc's Square so attracted my attention. First, long ago from Italy by slow post came an extra-large post card. The picture on the card was of a soldier dressed in uniform standing alone in St. Marc's Square, surrounded by pigeons. He was just standing there, looking toward the photographer, one hand held out, probably with food. 

The soldier was my father.

He was one of the lucky ones--sent to Italy during the Second World War, and not to Germany. He arrived home whole and healthy.

Second, I have stood in that square surrounded by pigeons. While my two daughters browsed shops situated around the square, my friend, Marilyn, and I sat at a small cafe overlooking the square. As we were drinking alternatively iced tea and champagne--which in Italy is accompanied by potato chips, a fellow sitting at the next table leaned over and asked, "Do Americans always drink champagne and iced tea in the afternoon?"

We laughed, "When in Rome we do."

After I had devoured the above picture, scrounged around in my past, I considered the title, "Live Your Best Life."

I am sure that's what we are doing here--visiting this page, investigating the elusive art of living—that is trying to Live our best life.

The pigeons seem to have mastered the good life for them, they go to a place where they are fed and appreciated, and look at the fun they were giving the photographer in Oprah's Magazine's page. They have enlivened her day, and as Henry David Thoreau said,  "To change the quality of the day is the highest of the arts."  I believe the pigeons are onto something.

Thank you for reading.

Live your Best life,

Joyce

We are All Artists

Love this, just had to include it.

Dear Readers of Wish on A White Horse,

A strange thing happened on the way to creating this blog post, I was way-laid by my other blog, The Best Damn Writer's Blog on the Block, and I noticed that more people are reading that one than are wishing on white horses.  I just post that one and leave it alone. 

Must be the content.

Every Tom Dick and Harry is a writer, and we are all trying to learn our craft, so anything that adds to that data bank is wildly needed. 

I know I have faithful readers here, and I don't presume that you want to read gobs of blogs although I have many. I know perhaps I ought to settle down to one, but they are all my children, and I want to give each attention. Perhaps I am spreading myself thin. Oh well. Anyway, I am including that Writer's Blog on this post. 

Thanks for reading, you know I love you,

Joyce

From The Best Damn Writer's Blog On The Block...(I'm the only one  writing one.)

We're all artists, but we don't want to be starving artists do we? 

Neither do we want to sell, sell, sell, bugging our friends and anyone else who stumbles upon our site.

Offer services, substance, yes, but hard sell, no.

Here I am studying to be a Real Estate Agent, and they pay on commission only so I can see why agents try to get that sale, even a short sale when it is not necessarily in the best interest of the client. But agents aren't paid to give advice, they are paid for a sale. Hum. That’s a dilemma. Am I cut out for this?

Really I want to write, that’s my passion, that’s what I love to do, but I also want to eat. Unless we have a patron to pay us to create, or a publisher to pay us a big advance we have to find a way of making a living.

This morning I opened Jeff Goins# blog—he is one of the foremost bloggers on writing, and he was encouraging his readers to begin an online business. One of his readers moved to Maui because his online business was fully supporting the family. Hum.

Jeff says you can begin an online business simply by helping people. Now, wouldn't that be a dream?

You know, we are all artists, it’s in our blood. We want to create. Why do you think people plant flowers, or decorate their house, or cook elegant meals? They want to create. Why do you think we write, even junk? Why do people paint, either houses or canvas? Why are athletes driven to perfect their art?  Why do scientists invent gizmos? It’s all creation. It’s all art.

So, back to the idea of beginning an online business. How can we be artists in that?

Your brain-power will begin it, and your pocketbook won’t suffer much in the process.

Jeff gave the price breakdown.

$0/ year you can get a domain name. They can be free if you sign up for a hosting account.

$5.00/ month for web hosting ($60/ year)

$0 to install a free web design—if you use a template

$5.00/ month for a shopping cart, so you can sell. (another $60/ year)

$0 to accept purchases through Paypal

$0 to start an email newsletter.

So you can launch a business for around $120/ year.

Better than renting office space or a warehouse right?

“Happy Talk, Keep Talking Happy Talk”*

“Ask what makes you come alive and do that.

“Because that’s what the world needs,

"People who are alive.”

                     --From THE SHIFT Movie

Perhaps I ought to explain where I’m coming from.  You know how easy it is to say what’s wrong with the world and if you watch the news you will find plenty to chew on. Daughter Dear commented this morning that in the lunch room at work, the television is always on, and it is on the news. The channel isn’t stuck there, people can change it, but they don’t. They sit during lunch with no apparent reaction while the television feeds their mind as they are feeding their bodies.

Remember the motto of journalism: “If it bleeds, it leads.” What if we led with good news?

What a concept.

It is so tempting to rail against injustices, yet I have learned over the years that pushing against something causes that something to burrow in. Have you ever tried to push a cat that is firmly attached, claws sunk into the carpeting? It’s like that.

A friend sent me the link to the movie THE SHIFT. It is in process, not completed, and is advertised on Indiegogo, a site similar to Kickstarter where people pledge to help a project reach completion. I’m not promoting or soliciting, just giving the facts. But to think that we are living in an exciting age, where “No dream is too big, no challenge cannot be overcome.” This is not only an outrageous claim but a terribly exciting one.

The movement has already begun so state the interviewees in the movie…

If you want to take a look at the movie trailer go to http://tiny url.com/k7mcmzt

And remember, we are the ones to make a brighter day.

P.S. Memories re-visited

On the home front I am having such fun with my two hens. Daily I let them out of their cage and free in the back yard. Since they have not escaped and run amuck in the neighborhood, getting me into trouble, I feel I can trust them. They go into their nest during the day, lay their beautiful, wonderful, light green eggs, come running to me when I go out the back door—guess I’m momma—and put themselves to bed at night.

As a kid I grumbled about caring for the chickens, but then you know how kids can be, whatever they “have” to do they resist. Besides they weren’t pets and a bunch of chickens can be work. But now, with two chickens it feels reminiscent of times I turned my horses loose, and how much fun it was to watch them frolic around the house, run up the drive, leap off the retaining wall, and then to my chagrin, roll in the Oregon red mud.

P.S.P.S.

If you are interested in reading of our experience with the Coqui frogs of Hawaii check out my experimental site, “The Frog’s Song.”  (If you checked it before it might have been somewhat screwed up.) 
 http://i-m.mx/thefrogsong/thefrogssong

*Title from South Pacific's song "Happy Talk."

Happy Ever After

Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack Canfield, who hasn’t heard of it? It’s a publishing phenomenon.

I often mention it to my kids saying, “See people like happy stories.” I love Jack Canfield, his attitude, his determination, his philosophy.  I have read his The Success Principles, but never the Chicken Soup books, and here I am touting them. A few years ago seeing his title on a bag of Horse Feed stopped me in my tracks. That man is all over the place.  Cat food, dog food, and now horse food. He must like animals—another thing to love about him.

Okay all this leads up to my Chiropractic visit yesterday. While in the waiting room I picked up Canfield’s book Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul (Stories about people 60 and over,) and quickly jotted down this from his book:

August 11, 1945

Nathan (in Germany)

“I’ve just heard the good news about the war honey. I’m so happy I could holler, shout, raise hell, cry, and do anything. If anyone tells me it’s a false alarm I will keel over and drop dead. Hopefully now the whole damned war is ‘kaput’ and this whole-sale slaughter can be brought to an end.”

August 15, 1945

Evelyn (in New York)

“The sirens are wailing. I can hardly steady my hand. I have a deep peaceful feeling and a million prayers of thanksgiving. I can’t remember what peace was like. Most of all it means our husbands, fathers, brothers, boyfriends and relatives are coming home. We can start our lives again. Pray there will be no more wars.”

From Five Dates, Hundreds of letters and 55 years later.

Happy ever after.

This isn't Nathan and Evelyn, but representative of the times.

We have all rejoiced with this couple.

I Wouldn't Call This Navigable

Imagine you live in Oregon. You have a stream running through your property, ah a nice stream, a small stream, perhaps, it dries up in the summer. No matter, if that stream was navigable in 1859 you do not own that stream, no dredging, building ponds, or altering in any way.

Hold on, I have reason for telling you this.

Navigable means by whatever mode of transportation they used in 1859, floating logs downstream—a common practice then, a canoe? It’s navigable. Perhaps it was used only seasonally. No matter. Perhaps now it is now a mud flat. No matter. You own only up to the high-water-mark.

I wonder if this was ever navigable.

In Oregon navigable water is owned and controlled by the state—same as it was for the original 13 states.

I learned this fascinating fact on my first day toward becoming a Real Estate Agent.

Yes, that’s the next order of things. Both daughter and I decided to go into this business together. Now whoever hires us will get two agents for the price of one. And we will work our butts off. 

Well, I have 150 hours of study ahead minus 39 minutes, 23 seconds, guess I better study.

I have to mention this, on my blog, The 90 day millionaire challenge, May 10, 2014, I suggested we follow Daughter Dear’s suggestion and write down one business plan a day for 30 days.

Here is what we both agreed upon—become a Real Estate Agent.

We have signed-up, committed ourselves.  Now I need to jam all that terminology into my head, and, then—horrors —a final exam.

P.S. If you have any interest in becoming a Real Estate Agent go to http://www.the90daymillionairechallenge.blogspot.com and click on the upper right corner. It will give you information, no signing up needed.

More to my liking

Definitely a navigable river. A sight I often saw as a child growing up alongside the Columbia River in Oregon

The Stuff Dreams are Made of

In 1938 it wasn’t Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Hitler or Mussolini that commanded the headlines. It was a little crooked legged horse named Seabiscuit.

Read Laura Hillenbrand’s skillful, exquisite  book  Seabicuit  for a an account of an underdog that inspired a nation.

A little horse with crooked legs who liked to sleep more than anything was used to train other race horses to win, by letting them. That is until a former cavalry horse trainer, and a crippled one-eyed jockey taught him that he was the winner.

In a match race against the proposed fastest horse in American and Triple Crown winner, War Admiral, Seabiscuit left him in the dust and gave the country something to think about except world conditions.

I’m back watching horse races after a few year hiatus, and rooting for the little guy.

I don’t know which inspired me the most, California Chrome or his 77 year old trainer. I first read that Art Sherman was 85, that inspired me, but checking, I guess he is only the kid of 77. I was figuring I had a few more years to come into my own—just lost 7 years. In 1955 he was an exercise jockey for the Kentucky Derby. This time he was a winner of it.

Okay, here is what inspired me:

California Chrome’s owners bought his mother, Love the Chase, for $8,000. Some told them that was too much for a horse that had won only one race. They bred her for $2,500, and she produced California Chrome. So for $10,500 they got a race horse that won millions.

The trainer Art Sherman said that it takes 11 days for a horse to recover from a race with the magnitude of the Kentucky Derby which he won.

Two weeks later he won the second leg in the race to the Triple Crown, The Preakness, and that was including his 11 day recovery and traveling over 2,000 miles from the west coast to Maryland on the East Coast.

I heard that the morning of the race he had a cough. I said, “Well, as with the stories of the great race horses, they had an injury or something that further handicapped them.” He won anyway.

I bet on him, won $80.00 and took my family to celebrate at the restaurant PF Changs.

To life,
Joyce

P.S. Feel like shouting? Go to the little wolf picture below, click, and give us a shout. The Sacred Wolf Pack is a place for creatives to meet and mingle. Ta Da.

Lessons from Californai Chrome

This is California Chrome, winner of the 2014 #Kentucky Derby.

I missed the Derby as I had no television reception that day, but I am planning for the Preakness coming up this Saturday May 17. 

The Preakness is the second leg in three races for a Thoroughbred horse to become a #Triple Crown Winner. That means winning the Kentucky Derby, The Preakness and the Belmont. (The Belmont is the most grueling being a 1.5 mile track, and having run two races previously the contender is quite spent. Remember, he is only three-years-old, not fully mature. In horse terms he is still a baby.)

Only 11 horses in 35 years have won all three races to become the greatest race horses of our time.

Three were in the 70's, I wonder what was happening at that time. Secretariat in 1973, Affirmed in 1978, and Seattle Slew in 1977.

My point here is to direct you attention to the body language of a winner. In most every picture I have seen of California Chrome, his ears are pricked, alert, and pointing forward. His eyes are bright and focused on the the road ahead. (The Prize.) In this photo he has blinders on, which means he will not be distracted  by other horses coming up beside him.

Think of these qualities, we can emulate them on our road to success.




Monday May 12, 2014

Iris and Bubbles and Weenies, Oh My

We're going that-a-way across the Upland Prairie, across the iris field and into the woods--aka forests of Oregon. 

An Upland Prairie will be claimed by the forest--or blackberries, if not kept open as my son-in-law has done by keeping it mowed.

A Trunk Sprout. This Madrone tree was caught in the forest fire last year, and look, it is making a baby.

When son-in-law builds a weenie-roasting fire, he goes all out. 

Too hot to handle. 

Roasting a weenie from beneath a space blanket.

Blowing Snake Bubbles

This is so cool. Cut the bottom off a water bottle, cover with a sock, duck tape it securely, dip sock in a solution of 2 parts water 1 part #Dial Dishwashing Soap, blow into drinking spout of bottle. Viola' bubbles, strong enduring bubbles. Be sure to blow, not inhale.

Catching the fire updraft.

Bubbles flying high

And bubbles on the ground.

Doggie gets a weenie too.

This was my most relaxing mother's day ever. I hope your's was glorious.
Joyce

Iris and Bubbles and Weenies, Oh My

We're going that-a-way across the Upland Prairie, across the iris field and into the woods--aka forests of Oregon. 

An Upland Prairie will be claimed by the forest--or blackberries, if not kept open as my son-in-law has done by keeping it mowed.

A Trunk Sprout. This Madrone tree was caught in the forest fire last year, and look, it is making a baby.

When son-in-law builds a weenie-roasting fire, he goes all out. 

Too hot to handle. 

Roasting a weenie from beneath a space blanket.

Blowing Snake Bubbles

This is so cool. Cut the bottom off a water bottle, cover with a sock, duck tape it securely, dip sock in a solution of 2 parts water 1 part #Dial Dishwashing Soap, blow into drinking spout of bottle. Viola' bubbles, strong enduring bubbles. Be sure to blow, not inhale.

Catching the fire updraft.

Bubbles flying high

And bubbles on the ground.

Doggie gets a weenie too.

This was my most relaxing mother's day ever. I hope your's was glorious.
Joyce

The Great and Small of it All

Yes, I know I placed a picture of eggs on my blog earlier on, but they were not my chicken’s eggs, these are.

When I broke those two orange yolks into a bowl and added one #organic store-bought egg and saw the contrast, I had to take a picture. 

Gertrude and Victoria are not free-range hens as I would like, but their house is open to the ground, and I added a tiny dog kennel yard so they can get sunshine. The lower story opens to the ground, and I keep moving the house so they have grass. They get vegetable scraps, and their grain is non-GMO. My first-born daughter said that all kitchens ought to have chickens attached. You know what she meant.

After I turned the hens out into our little back yard, I watched them run, flapping their wings in exuberance, and thought of the big forest where we used to live. There I would free my two horses from their paddock and they would frolic in happiness, as the chickens were doing. My mare, Velvet, would jump off the retaining wall in a Lipizzaner leap, that is kicking out her heels while airborne. They had learned since babies to stay around the house, but they needed watched, or company, to make sure. Same with the hens.

As I changed the chicken’s bedding, I placed an egg on the grass, and Gertrude came up to it, and gently rolled it beneath her chest.  There I was stealing her egg and she was taking it back.

Animals freed take such joy in it—well, Peaches our poodle, doesn’t care, except for a walk that she does love, she’s happy sleeping on the bed.

This is my little world down here. I freaked myself out the other day when I contemplated the immensity of space, and now I am hearing of universes, not just one universe, but many.  It boggles my mind.

One day long ago, I took the elevator up the #Empire State Building, and had the same trepidation.  I had been in that elevator before with my family, but this time I was alone.  Normally I am not afraid of elevators since learning with my children that elevators have another parallel shaft beside them filled with a counter-balance.  (Is this like parallel universes?)

That day in the Empire State Building I lost rationality, and saw myself in a box hanging in a deep shaft that extended down 100 stories, a bottomless pit so it seemed.

Don’t do that.

And there in my yard, I thought of the immensity of space.  I felt the camera of my mind bringing its focus down to my yard, and to my chickens. The film went deeper still to see the bugs, and deeper to the molecules and atoms, and into the atom where the electron orbits the nucleus, as we orbit the sun. And there inside that atom exist sub-atomic particles that scientists are finding so many of, someone joked saying they should give a noble prize to someone who didn’t find one. Now they are finding the many universes of space…

I’m glad to be grounded here in the midst of it all. Of course I am left wondering if beyond the grave there is an expansion as well.  But then, that contemplation is for another day. The sun is shining—so glad for the sun. I guess the other planets have one as well, oh,oh, Joyce, don’t go there…yet.

Vladimer Kush


P.S. Check out my hub page if interested 

http://jewelld.hubpages.com/hub/Hawaii-Paradise-Found-on-the-Big-Island

Rant from an Old Codger

from Falling Up by Shel Silverstein

“FAILURE TO FOLLOW THESE SAFETY INSTRUCTIONS COULD RESULT IN FIRE, ELECTRIC SHOCK OR OTHER INJURY OR  DAMAGE.”—Kindle (Caps theirs.)

Gee, my good ole paper book never told me that.

Oh yes, and “Engaging in repetitive motions such as pressing keys or playing some games may cause you to experience occasional discomfort in your hands, arms, shoulders, neck or other parts of your body.”

As you may surmise, I am reading through the User’s Guide for my Kindle. That device is all over the place, bringing up things I don’t want, not giving me things I do. My husband bought a book on it (not mine) and it is still wandering in the Netherlands.

Maybe it’s just that my Kindle doesn’t like me. Maybe it’s jealous that I am using a Nook. (My book Mother’s Letters, is now available on Barnes & Noble’s Nook.)

This is not a plug, it’s a rant. Am I becoming as old codger or what?! Maybe I need to give that Kindle Ho'oponopono, which is a Hawaiian healing process. They say the way to heal is to say, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you."

Maybe I need to Ho'oponopono myself.

I had a thought the other day—I do have them occasionally. My grandson said that drawing wasn’t creative and that he didn’t do it well. I told him that no one does it well when they begin. And drawing is not creative? Hum.  I thought about the Minecraft (creative mode) that he loves so much. It has given him an enormous vocabulary. It has given him manual dexterity, and memory for details. It has given him the ability to create worlds, and go to the moon, but  IT IS SLICK.  (Caps mine.) It has great pictures all there, all available on screen. Pictures ready to be manipulated.

It’s messy when one begins to draw or to paint, even beginning to play an instrument is messy. The first time you blow into a flute, (or other wind instrument) nothing happens. No sound, no beautiful notes. Just a  “Phtt.”

At first strum a violin sounds like someone stepped on the cat's tail. And a piano sounds like someone is playing the garbage can. The first time you try to make a pencil line look like the thing before you, it comes out as thought a muddy-footed chicken stomped on your page. Oh does anyone use a pencil anymore? Even the fashion designers use a HP tablet.

Could be that I am becoming an old codger, but the world needs us to stand up sometimes and yell. “WHAT ARE YOU THINKIN?!”

Ray Bradbury said, “You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”