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.

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