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.

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.