Hark! I See a Bright Light:

 

Blog Feb 6 2024--Look what I found on my desk this morning. A gift from my daughter. What a woman!

 Stumbled Upon: 

"My kids wanted to know what it was like for me growing up. So, I took their phone, shut off the internet, gave them a popsicle, and told them to go outside until the streetlights come on."

That description pretty much sums it up—if you live in town. Living in the country is another matter, and I experienced both, except I had a horse while on the farm, so I was a happy camper.

 

Studied:

Have you heard of "The Trail of Tears?" I had, but I didn't know what it was about until I was required to take a Rules and Laws Course as part of my continuing education for my Real Estate License.

One hundred thousand, that's 100,000 Native Americans, were forced to hike 4,000 miles—four thousand miles—to change their territory to Oklahoma. (1838-1839)                                                                                                                                       

About 15,000 died during the journey. A survivor said he watched his father die, then his mother, followed by his siblings, one a day.

 

 The survivors received one half of the State of Oklahoma. 

 For the past century, the fact that one-half of Oklahoma is tribal land has been largely ignored.

 "A Supreme Court Justice said that treaties were too expensive to honor."

 Finally, in 2020, Justice Neil Gorsad said, "The price of keeping them (the treaties) has become too great, so now we should just cast a blind eye? We reject that way of thinking."

 

Did I go to school on tribal land?

Neil and I attended Oklahoma State University for two years. They paid for his master's degree and gave him a job. For me, their excellent Liberal Arts Program was life-changing. Yes, at a "cow college." 

Calling state colleges "a cow college" is another use of Marginalization. Usually, that term applies to individuals, so I'm stretching it here. Marginalization is defined as an entity with no identity outside the stereotypes assigned to it.

After two years, Neil got a job in California, and I transferred to the University of California Riverside. However, my heart is still in Oklahoma. 

When I find that graft has been a part of Real Estate dealings, I understand that passing laws is the way to get people to behave themselves. Some say if it isn't on the book in Oregon, it will be soon. However, I see that real estate is as powerful an influence in the economy as having shelter is to us.

 The Oregon Real Estate Agency is working diligently to enforce the Fair Housing Act, passed in 1968 by President Johnson.

  The act was to solve two objectives:

1.     Outlaw discrimination

2.     Foster Integration

 

President Nixon killed every initiative to facilitate integration. 

 

"In numerous studies 55 years after the passage of the 1968 Fair Housing Act, numerous studies have concluded that housing in the US is nearly as segregated as it was when Pres. Johnson signed the legislation designed to eliminate it."

 

 Hark! I See a Bright Light:

I found a picture of two men climbing a telephone pole to bring electricity and broadband to a Native American village—their first time ever!

That led me to read President Biden's Infrastructure Deal, and I wondered why it wasn't popping up on my screen while Taylor Swift's picture was.

This package is a big deal. Remember, President Franklin D. Roosevelt brought the country out of the Great Depression with his New Deal. Perhaps when the smoke clears, Biden will be honored for pumping new life into the American people after the long lingering effects of a pandemic.

 

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.

That Was Totally Weird

A few days ago, Hubby and I watched The Last Stand, an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie that began with a narration of the landscape—do you know where I’m going with this? Well, we didn’t. 

 

The narrator described the opening scene. He described the characters as if reading the movie script. All this while we were also watching the action and hearing the dialog. There was no background music, just the narration. “She downcast her eyes,” yep, he described that action right on cue.

 

I said, “Hey, we can see that; why are you telling us?” 

 

The narrator continued. It was annoying as we could see that the bad guy had his legs wrapped around Arnold’s neck, that was until all that reading became funny.  I thought it was a schtick, a ploy of the film, for there wasn’t much dialogue. Soon, I wasn’t paying much attention to the guy reading. But he wouldn't shut up. Okay, the move ended, but the guy kept talking. 

 

He read the credits—like ALL the credits, Castle Rock Film Co. Columbia Pictures, to the extreme of describing the lady holding the torch. He read ALL the actors and their parts. I skipped through that long list but wondered where in the heck this was going. Then the narrator called his wife, got her message machine, and said he missed her and wanted her back. He ranted for awhile, the message ran out, but began another and he continued where he had left off. The message ended, but he wasn’t finished talking.

 

Another message came on with a continuation of his one-sided conversation and apologizing. I thought it was similar to a cookie at the end of a movie. Way to go Arnold, you must have chosen this script because of this device. Then the guy, who should have needed a drink of water by now, started describing the following movie, The Morgans. We turned off the TV and laughed. “That was awesome. How weird. How clever.”

 

The next day, Daughter Dear said it was a setting on our television that got clicked on somehow. It was probably for the sight-impaired--maybe it was an open mike.

 

Oh.

 

But I’m still laughing.

 

More than you wanted to know?

I completed my 27 hours of real estate Continuing Education and then another 3 of Laws, so I’m set with a Real Estate Broker license for the next 2 years. The first year only lasted from the time we took your exam until our birthday month. 

I am study and tested out.

So, if you got anything weird from me, please chalk it up to my scrambled brain. Now I have changed the name of my newsletter. It’s on Substack. It's purpose is to let people know what I am up to, and determine if they want to continue with me. Here's a glimpse if you are interested: If not, tell me a funny story.

 

 

Introduction

Hi, I'm Joyce

 

Remember The Twilight Bark?

 

On a hillside in London, Papa Pongo desperately barked for help in finding his 15 stolen puppies. The great Dane heard his cry and set in motion the twilight bark where the message passed from dog to dog until it reached a farm outside town. There, the Colonel heard "Stolen, fifteen spotted puddles," until, with the help of Sargent Tibs (a cat), and a correction in hearing, they led the charge and rescued not 15 but 101 spotted puppies. After misadventures, trickery, skill, and bravery, they defeated that despicable vicious vile old witch, Cruella DeVille. (Disney movie 101 Dalmations.)

 

Jewell was my dog. Now she is my emissary, a past love heralding in the future, to lay a bark trail, of what you can expect from me.”

 

My daughter might take offense when I say that Jewell was my dog, for we adopted Jewell to be her dog. However, when my daughter was busy in high school, Jewell and I became inseparable. You know how it is: once a dog stamps her love on your heart, it's there forever.

 

This stealing of his dog's name worked for Indiana Jones. Isn't Indiana much more fun than Henry Jones Jr. and Raiders of the Lost Ark. It doesn't have a ring to it, does it? And try to say Joyce Davis without it coming out, JoyceStavis.

 

This newsletter morphed from a blog I've written titled Wish on White Horses. However, as that blog isn't about horses—this newsletter isn't about dogs.

 

Both animals are our teachers.

  

Horses teach us not to follow someone else's path but to blaze our own. Dogs teach love.

 

More... 

 

 

joycedavis.substack.com