Reach for the Thought That Feels Better

Well, I feel better just looking at this picture. How about you?

How many years have I been blogging? A pile. For the last week or so, though, I have been in a stall. You know one of those “What’s the use of it?” stalls. Not that I don’t appreciate all you guys who click in, I just wonder if I have anything of use to offer.

Seth Godin says this about blogging

 "No one clicked on it, no one liked it..."

These two ideas are often uttered in the same sentence, but they're actually not related.

People don't click on things because they like them, or because they resonate with them, or because they change them.

They click on things because they think it will look good to their friends if they share them.

Or they click on things because it feels safe.

Or because they're bored.

Or mystified.

Or because other people are telling them to.

Think about the things you chat about over the water cooler. It might be last night's inane TV show, or last weekend's forgettable sporting event. But the things that really matter to you, resonate with you, touch you deeply--often those things are far too precious and real to be turned into an easy share or like or click.

Yes, you can architect content and sites and commerce to get a click. But you might also choose to merely make a difference.

Most of us want to make a difference, yet I wonder, am I?

I wonder why I read blogs.

Sometimes it’s about content. I want to know how to do something, and thank heavens the internet can tell me how to work some of these high-tech devices, or the not so high tech, like how to fix the washing machine. That’s something we didn’t have years ago.

Something I read a blog because it appeals to me.

Sometimes I check out a blog because I believe it will help me, as Lisa Steele did on #Fresh Eggs Daily, when my two chickens died on the same day. She was so sympathetic. (Not my present chickens, they are doing fine.)

Sometimes we read because we’re curious as I have become interested in the life of Shreve in her blog #The Daily Coyote.

Sometimes we read for entertainment.

That makes me think of a morning three days ago when I had sushi for breakfast.

Well it was 11 am, almost lunch time and daughter wanted sushi, and sitting there I tried to think back to when American’s found that raw fish dipped in soy sauce and Wasabi horse radish tasted good. I remember the movie Lifeboat in which one of the fellows offered the Tallulah Bankhead’s character a tiny filet of fish, and disgusted, she threw it overboard. (Darn, no soy or Wasabi.)

My mind went off on a tangent, thinking about when we were kids and stood in the back of a pickup truck while it was barreling down the road at 50 miles an hour. Nope, I wouldn’t let my kids do that. But we did, and didn’t think anything about it.

And I thought about how the playground had no rubber padding, and the slide was so hot we scorched our bare legs on the way down. We drank a Coke once in a while, as a treat, not as a daily occurrence, and we didn’t have cup holders on baby seats, car seats, electric wheel barrows or lawn mowers. How did we ever stay hydrated? And what about those party lines where the phone was attached to the wall? Horrors.

I’m not saying those were the good old days, just remembering. A friend of mine who died this year said she wanted to stay around jut to see what would happen next.

So, what is going to happen next?

Who can predict? Right now I’m thinking that we can watch horror movies, (Why?) or violent ones, and listen to the naysayers, and let the media scare the pants off us. Oh dear, the election coverage is already blatant a year before the event will happen. Or, we can do as Abraham says, “Reach for the thought that feels better.”

We can notice that we breathed the night through without thinking about it. We can be grateful the engineers have given us highways in which we can travel in comfort to just about any place on the continent. (No covered wagons.)

And we have airplanes that will take us off the continent and bring us back.  We can be grateful that this thin layer of atmosphere--so thin that Mt Everest sticks up above it--sustains us. That we are lucky to live on this emerald blue and green planet that has such wonders it could or should put us into a constant state of awe.

Autumn: Outside my window, one branch on an otherwise green tree is red. And in October flowers are still blooming, and last night I heard a frog choking…

“Hack, gak, awk- the sound of a frog choking. Of course I meant to say, “croaking,” but instead said “choking.” What the heck, it’s funnier. 

ONE YEAR ON THE ISLAND, chapter One, two , three and four available on 

http://jdavisonisland.WIX.com/oneyearontheisland

Rubber Duckies, Dinosaurs and Moons

This Will Make You Smile, or Cry or Both

https://www.facebook.com/hamiltonsoutherofficial/videos/1679328955633502/

On the home front:

I picked up a little book at Goodwill the other day, a Newbery Metal winner. I should read this, I thought, find out what sort of writing wins the Newbery medal.

Well I was blown away. I read the entire book, Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech (Harper Collins 1994) Sunday afternoon, and I smiled and cried.

Walk Two Moons  is narrated by a thirteen-year-old-girl--suspense, sad, funny, poignant, healing, all the things that ought to be in a book.

Sal (Salamanca) is locked in a car with her Gram and Gramps for ten days while they drive from Kentucky to Lewiston, Idaho. “We’ll see the whole ding-dong country,” said Gramps. But that’s not why they are taking the trip—it’s a path to a missing mother.

I had to read the chapter “The Marriage Bed,” told by Gramps to my husband. 

Fascinating that the old folks didn’t like to use the words “Native Americans” but thought “Indian” sounded nobler, American Indian.

Injun to Indian to Native American, Grams concluded, “I wish they would make up their mind.”

I wondered if my high school sports teams, “The Dalles High Indians,” were now called The Dalles high Native Americans. We even had a bonafied Celilo Indian high school kid as a mascot. He had a charming personality, was popular, and we never felt we were exploiting him.  During many games or festivities he would dress up in native regalia and parade around the football field. We meant no disrespect. He made us proud.

About Walk Two Moons—fascinating that there tucked away in a stack of books at Goodwill Industries, I find gold. 

Goodwill Industries--is that the fate of books? 

P.S. The Second Chapter of One Year on the Island is now available

http://jdavisonisland.WIX.com/oneyearontheisland

see Chapter Two on menu, or click

http://jdavisonisland.wix.com/oneyearontheisland#!chapter-two/vpnrn

Plunging Ahead

Regarding my writing skills, I don’t have another half-century to wait for the publishing industry to decide if I suck, and since I have the desire, the fortitude, and the belief that the Great Spirit does not give us a desire without also giving us a way to achieve it, I am plunging ahead.

One Year on the Island is open for anyone who wants to read it.

jdavisonisland.wix.com/oneyearontheisland

The first chapter is posted. A chapter a week will follow until the book is complete, or I die, whichever comes first.

My long-time blog readers will remember that I blogged as we lived the island experience. “Wait a minute,” they might say, “I’ve heard that before,” but there is more…hey, it’s been five years. I also contemplate, add data on the island we call Hawaii, the dance we call the Hula, and the belief held by the Hawaiians of Aloha. It is more that “Hello, goodbye, or love.” It is doing good without expecting anything in return.

And it is my hope that some motivation slipped in.

Motivation for what?

Well, whatever you want.

Aloha from Joyce

They Scoop Through the Sand to Find What Others Have Missed

Why read this blog?

For the same reason I'm writing it--I wonder where in the heck it is going. Isn't that the way with carving or sculpting, you throw the clay onto the wheel, it begins to form. It takes shape under your hands. You you pick up a chunk of driftwood at the beach. It clearly tells you what it wants to become. 

Perhaps we will meet in the middle, I write, you read. Or not.

Here are a few things I know for sure:

I am offering you advice when I find it, experiences when I have them, and the benefit of over half a century of living.

I am offering you a nudge into believing that the impossible can be achieved—well the near impossible.

I am offering you quotes from the greats, and absurdities from someone like this (man trying to push a dog into lake, and falls in himself) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YzJYVuqoixA  Justice.

I am offering you a chance to believe in this life, an after-life, and life in worlds beyond. A discussion? That’s all right with me. I have friends from across the spectrum of beliefs.

They say that we live to experience life. We write about it to make sense of it. I am doing that, and I encourage others to do the same--it's better than therapy, cheaper too.

Perhaps I ought to change the name of this blog to Wishing on Pink Flamingos instead of Wishing on White Horses, for this pin from my #Pinterest site has more repins than any other. 

"They scoop through the sand to find what others have missed."

My daughter and I called ourselves The Pink Flamingo Real Estate Team when we were Real Estate agents--thus scooping through the sand. That endeavor lasted about a month, for we found that our ladder to success was leaning against the wrong wall. We didn't want to be Real Estate Agents. Besides my writing, there is something else in store...

I wonder what it is.

Sign in on the box below just for the fun of it, to tell me what's up, your story, or to say, "Send me blog posts notices."  Or not.

Love to you,

Joyce

P.S. Oh, yes, don't forget to vote for me--as often as you can--no more than once a day. I'll love it, my dog will love it, my cheering section in the eithers will love it, the rest of the writers for #Harlequin will snarl in disgust.

https://www.wattpad.com/166395267-complete-manuscript-song-of-africa-part-3

The Lady and the Coon Hound

The view from my inside desk chair.

The view from my outside table  chair.

I got an email from a writer the other day talking about his new book, “I’m like a kid waiting on his little sister to get ready so he can go into town to get an ice cream.  

“I am soooo anxious to see it in print I can barely contain myself.

“I worked on this book exclusively for two years.  I had nothing to talk about at social gatherings because I couldn't talk about my work until it was finished.

“All I thought about day and night for two years was The Presence. “

That was Tom Pauling speaking.

His first book #I am Rich Beyond My Wildest Dreams, I am , I am, I am, called me from a bookstore shelf in Shasta City on the 3rd of  July.  I liked it and thus signed up for future notices.

Well, I, too, have been working extensively on two books for two years. 

And instead of feeling like a kid about to go for ice cream, I am scraping myself up from the floor. The centrifugal force from the potter’s wheel upon which I had placed the lump of clay that is me, threw me across the room where I landed with a Splat. It’s an emotional drop after completing a monumental task, yet knowing those two books, One Year on the Island and Song of Africa, are not completed. Both need to be edited, sold and marketed. Finding people who want to read them? Well, that’s another story.

I told a friend about Song of Africa, and she said she got goose bumps, a story for older people, a lesson in knowing that when we think life is winding down we find that the best is yet to come.

This is a story about finding love later in life. It is about seeing that life can be exuberant at any age.  There is an old adage that says, “When we start weaving the gods will provide the skein.” Miss Sara Rose proves that to be true. Her dream is to ride a river in Africa. After retiring, she goes on a quest to Africa in search of spiritual meaning, and the glitter she felt missing from her life. There she finds someone to articulate her soul’s search, and the love of her life.

I have spent such a long time with the people who populate this book that they are family, Sara Rose the spinster school teacher, her granddaughter, Patrice, a child of Africa who predominately shares this story. There are her best friends and a goddaughter in King’s Valley Kansas, her brother, the Cardiac Specialist, and family in Los Angeles, and the Peace Corp Volunteer who went to Africa fell in love with “the most beautiful woman in the world,” then wooed and won his father, Robert Deshane, from Los Angeles, to Africa.

Robert knew the moment Miss Sara Rose stepped aboard his dilapidated old river boat, The Rocinante, that he had drawn her to him.

There is an entire portion that involves a man named Clyde that I have left out.

For thirty years I didn’t know if Sara Rose lived or died in this book. Now I know.

Life events fell into place recently.

Within a couple months of each other, both our old dogs died, we got new puppies, (Peaches led me to mine, Bear to daughter's). I got my books to a reasonable place, and Little Boy Darling began school which means I can, on certain days, have wheels again. For two years Little Boy Darling and I spent time together and I wrote, Husband took the car, daughter took the truck, and I stayed home, a change for a person who doesn’t like to let moss grow under her feet. Now I can take husband to work, grandson to school and Viola’ Joyce has wheels.

And I ride herd on puppies. I love it. I’m not complaining. You know the drill with puppies: chew, romp, pee, poop, chew, sleep, play in the yard, chase the chickens, play in the house, sleep. Repeat.

Sweet Pea (mine, the white Mal-chi) is a Spit Fire, a wild child.  Lafayette, the Coon Hound's attitude is “whatever.” Sweet Pea will be much smaller, but right now at three months and Lafayette at two, they are pretty well matched.

Song of Africa is posted in its entirety on #Harlequin Wattpad until I believe October, then it will go bye bye, maybe before if it doesn't suit them.  Entire manuscripts are due September 21. 

Vote if it strikes you to do so, and you can do it as often as you want, but only once daily. 

https://www.wattpad.com/166395267-complete-manuscript-song-of-africa-part-3

What is Your Take on This?

Today was Little Boy Darling’s first day of school. Here he is, having been born—almost—on this blog for I wrote about his birth, his first plane ride to Hawaii, learning to walk there and those shoes that walked him instead of the other way around.  There on the Island he gave the baby goats, Do and Ra, their bottles, and watched them suck out the milk faster than any of us could get out a good sneeze. Now he is six years old and going to school.

I thought his main repertoire was  #Minecraft, #Nintendo, #Mario, #Sonic, computer games, yet when the school interviewer asked what he wanted to study, he said “Physics.”

“What do you want to study in physics?” she asked.

“Gravity,” he said. “That’s one of life’s great mysteries.”

I think he was playing for the audience, but it got him his first scholarship.

What I wanted to ask you was about the following:

There is a little girl at Little Boy Darling’s school, older that LBD and was there with her younger brother.  She had a red scarf completely covering her hair, and bore a bright red dress, as well as  heavy black tights that ended with socks and shoes. Her face was clear, as were her hands, but that was about all. Her little brother looked no different from the other boys in dress and behavior.

She was charming, friendly and talkative. It impacted me, though, painful to see a young filly tied up unnecessarily when her natural inclination is to kick up her heels.

I can do nothing I suppose except to know that she is attending a very free school where she can express herself, is democratic and encourages freedom of choice.

Of course we can all wonder how we have restricted ourselves or where we feel tied-up. Ours is self-imposed. Is hers?

Right now the clouds of morning have melted away and the sun is coming out blistering, and there within my experience is a little girl in a heavy scarf and long black stockings.

Did You Hear That?

Did you hear that?

So many friends have passed from this life to the next I’m surprised we don’t hear the partying in heaven. Say, maybe that’s what is keeping us awake nights.

Wayne Dyer, another fellow traveler on our highway of life, recently joined the fray. He died a few days ago, August 29, 2015

I have often quoted something similar to the above Dyer quote, and encouraged others to do the same—even if you heart’s desire is a pipe dream. The term pipe dream came from Opium smoking, but think about it, Lewis Carroll make good use of a drug induced dream in Alice in Wonderland, and people gobbled it up.

I’m not encouraging opium smoking; I’m not sure Carroll did either, people often attribute fanciful thinking with drugs. Carroll was a mathematician, a deacon, and a story teller—interesting combination. He also stuttered, but only in the presence of adults. He preferred the company of children, and it was a ten-year-old child, Alice, who begged him to write the story he had told them.

I’m not encouraging opium smoking; I’m encouraging doing what you want to do, dreaming what you want to dream, and going for it.

Remember Kermit the Frog’s song, 

“Sing, sing a song. Sing out loud, sing out strong, make it simple to last your whole life long. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear, just sing, sing a song.” 

                                                                --Joe Raposo, staff writer for #Sesame St.

Remember, it's your song, sing it whether anyone listens or not.

I had some verification of my work today when I got an email asking for my address so they could send me a fifty dollar check.  It appears they accepted my input on the Big Island of Hawaii for Via Magazine., an AARP publication.

I had forgotten I had sent that article. Isn’t that the way it is we put out an order, forget about it, then when it arrives it appears as if by magic?

From Africa to Purse Pups

I awakened on Tuesday morning missing Peaches and Bear.

The night before, daughter and I visited Golden Labrador puppies, turned out to be a puppy mill—that gave us cause for pause, although the puppies were adorable, I don’t know what to do with that information—numerous dogs in kennels, probably never get to run like a normal dog, never have an owner to bond with, but they do have other dogs. The owner is probably operating within the laws, size of runs, cleanliness, etc.  I also played with an exuberant shelter pup coursing through town on the way back to California. I declined both.

The next morning, Tuesday, my day off, it became clear that I wanted a small dog. I checked out poodle mixes on the Internet, and found two I was interested in in the Portland vicinity. I made an appointment—the woman was willing to drive from Vancouver to the airport area to meet me. I said I would call when I got to Willsonville, about 40 minutes away as she requested.

Wilsonville. There is a pet store in Wilsonville daughter and I visited on an earlier occasion—might as well check it out while I am here.

And there she was.

The pup I couldn’t refuge.

My pup.

A Mal Chi—A Maltese/ Chihauhau mix. A Purse pup.  An adorable, smart, gentle dog. She is so small she makes the cats look big. (So far,  no cat attacks, no dog attack.)

I was embarrassed to tell the lady I wasn’t coming to see her pup, but divine providence had led me to the pup that felt right.

The day before, Monday, I finished a novel—finished? If a book is ever finished. It is completed enough to enter a contest. And that’s where  “Africa” comes in.

It is on  https://www.wattpad.com/160719265-song-of-africa-part-1/page/3

P.S. Did I tell you that Peaches ‘ Veterinarian donated money to the Oregon State College of Veterinary Medicine in Peaches’ name. I am honored to have Peaches honored. (And Peaches helped me find the pup.)

Free Help for Your Vision

Do you really listen to an ad that runs on like a shaggy dog story?

Today I hit on something that caught my attention How a Spilled Soda Helped me Save my Eyesight.

NEVER need Glasses Ever Again.

Okay, let’s see what this fellow has to say. How to see without glasses, how to avoid degenerative diseases such as macular degeneration and cataracts.

About 45 minutes later I got the bottom line. He was reading copy on U-tube so I couldn’t scroll down.

I will keep it brief, for long copy or long U-tubes drive me nuts.

Guess I’m the only impatient person in the world.

The story was told by a kindly elderly man with a great voice who said he went to the store for his wife, forgot  his glasses, accidentally ran into a soda display, and watched in horror and embarrassment as bottles tumbled to the floor. One broke open and squirted soda causing a sticky gooey mess.

But that’s not the end of the story.

I listened while he talked about his night vision or lack thereof. How he feared losing his sight.

I have read from the blogging gurus that long copy makes people believe there is real value there.

Is that true?

Okay, my dear fellow vision guide commiserated with people who have poor night vision, smeary lights, etc.

But that’s not the end of the story. “I’ll share with you in a second,” was an often repeated mantra.

“JUST TELL ME,” I screamed, as the fire alarm went off because I was frying/burning sausages as I listened.

I knew there was a product at the end of his tale, but I wanted the three ingredients he had promised.

I was  hooked. Copy writers would say this is good, except with me there was one small problem, I didn’t buy anything from him.

Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I knew from my association with eye diagnostic designers, my husband being one, that there are nutrients that help preserve the vision. (I will share with you in a second—don’t shoot me.)  I wanted to know what this man was suggesting.

In the grocery story, Joe the man who approached him, asked why his accident happened.

“I forgot my glasses,’ he said.

 The man laughed and asked if he would like not to need them again.

Well right.

First Joe had to tell how he came to his conclusions and how it began with his mother being afraid she was losing her vision. She had a hole in her macula that required an operation and for her to lie face down for three days until the hole healed.

Bottom line, I got his ingredients!

They are:

1.     Bilberry

2.     Lutein

3.     Grape seed extract

Grape seed extract is known to prevent or reverse cataracts.

Lutein is a substance found in the macula (that small area responsible for central vision) and needed for good vision. It is found in egg yolks, and green leafy vegetables.

Bilberry is a powerful antioxidant.

All can be found at the health food store.

Think of all the time the cholesterol police told us eggs weren’t good for us—they were high in cholesterol, they said. (We need cholesterol floating in our blood, but not adhering to the walls of our arteries, but then that’s another story.)

My association with eye-care specialists taught me that two supplements do help prevent degenerative eye diseases such as macular degeneration and cataracts.

They are:  #Lutein and #zeaxanthin

These are carotenoids synthesized by plants. They filter harmful high energy blue wavelengths of light, and act as antioxidants in the eye, thus protecting it.

The dosage is not known, but suggested.

10 mg/day lutein

2 mg/day zeaxanthin

Okay, that said, I’m stopping at the health food store tonight.

One more comment before I close—since I am fired up, and my vision is clear enough to see that this man on our political scene named Donald Trump is an egomaniac knowing no bounds. I don’t care if he owns half of New York, he is an embarrassment to Democrats and Republicans, Independents, women, Mexican-Americans, Veterans, all immigrants. Heavens to Betsy—even #Heidi Klum. She fired back at him, though, smiling all the while. Not a 10 huh, Trump?

You Have a Secret Goldmine...Want to Know What It Is?

Johnny tells his sister Edwinna he is getting a horse for Christmas.

She tells him he is not.

He remains steadfast saying that he is. 

He ties a rope to a tree for his horse. He gets a bucket of water for it, and a brush for its grooming.

Edwinna has always wanted a horse, but her parents have told her time after time that they cannot afford a horse.

Still Johnny remains steadfast. He is getting a horse for Christmas..

Edwina continues to ask her parents if Johnny is getting a horse for Christmas, and they continue to tell her that they cannot afford a horse.

One day the neighbor comes to their farm and asks Edwinna’s father to gather up the children, he has something to show them.

They go to the farmer’s house where his mare is giving birth. Edwinna is astounded to witness such a miraculous event.

After the foal is born and standing on wobbly legs, the farmer slaps Edwinna’s father on the back and tells him he is giving the foal to Johnny.

Edwinna’s heart drops to her knees, when the farmer puts his arm around her shoulder and says, “And Edwinna, I am giving the mare to you.”

Know that your good is lined up outside your door.

I decided join the great unwashed and write a short eBook. This is an except from it.

I could call it #How to Get What you've Always Dreamed Of

or

#How to Get Everything You Want Out of Life, 

Instead it is 

#You Have a Secret Goldmine..

Want to Know What it Is?. 

Chapter 1

I've heard it said that we all touch madness, but producers don't make movies about us. Basically we go to work, feed ourselves and then dream of someday running off to the Andes and marrying a sheep herder who cultures cheese on the mountain and makes love to us in the tall grass.

Someday is now.

More? Click on gold coin

One Blogger Said Not to Do This

"Don't get excited and show a picture of your first egg," A blogger crying in the wilderness advised.  I didn't, I photographed my first three eggs. Three eggs from my three little hens--all laid on the same day, Sunday July 26, 2015.

You may have heard/read my trauma/drama of getting three chicks last year and having one turn out to be a rooster.  A neighbor heard him and came to my door with blood in her eye. The rooster went to a good home. My wonderful rescue person called him  "A Wonder Rooster," for he got along with her already established barnyard ruler. 

And so I learned to sex baby chicks. Clearly the store had missed the mark on one of my first three. This year I got what I wanted--three hens. (My other two died of potato skin poisoning, but I decided to try again and never never never feed my new chickens potato peelings. In fact I don't think I have eaten any Russet potato skin since then, Red skins are okay.)

Oh, in case you are interested, sexing chickens is done with the wing feathers. 


  

And then back home. 

After I came down from the mountain I was inspired to blog and I began Grandmother Grey Wolf#. That sounded good to me, spiritual and all that. I realized, however, that I didn’t have anything to say. On top of that, spirituality is highly subjective. Everyone has their own ideas.  The concept is somewhat futile to discuss. Unless, of course, we agree. That’s fine. If we disagree, though, anger can be the result. And since we are thoughtful people, we do not want to beat each other over the head with an ideology.

People are good by nature. Put enough pressure on a person, though, and you get something else. I see people being on edge, quick to snap, quick to see the fault instead of the positive aspects.

It appears to me that the solution of being at peace with ourselves is to become sovereign individuals. That doesn’t mean to separate ourselves from others, it means as Abraham Maslow defined long ago—being #self-actualized. That way we are not fooled, dupted, controlled, and BS slides off us without leaving a trace.

Some call it being enlightened, but I don’t know what that means and it is too lofty a goal for me anyway.

We have learned enough to know that if we don’t make up your own minds someone will make it up for us.  Schools love to do that. Corporations, with few exceptions, take over from there. Think of applications for a job where they “screen you” to within an inch of your life, take fingerprints, personality tests, drug tests. Do they say,  “Hey, how are you doin’?  What do you like to do? How would you fit in with our company?”

We are scared spitless that we will muck up somehow, and being human, we often do. Don’t sweat it, try again. (Sorry if you killed that guy with brain surgery, or caused a rocket to blow up in space.”)

I am thinking more in terms of systems that become canonized and cause altruistic young people to become fed up with the ingrained system until eventually they give up in disgust. They lose. Corporations lose.

Let's create a different system--you hear of it once in awhile--like #Haagen Dazs. Choose the finest ingredients, and make good ice cream. Simple. Imagine.


This is so yummy I can't have it in my house too often.      You might like this for the  eye candy.