Do You Like Quotes?

 

Imagine keeping the water in this pool from sloshing.

I’ve had so many quotes rumbling through my head that I couldn’t think of a blog to write, so I’m writing about quotes. I’ve spent the last couple of days chasing down pithy sayings of wise people who have gone before us; well, some are alive today. Guess you don’t have to be dead to be quoted.

I suppose many of us like quotes, for they are the best of what some illustrious folks have said. They are short, to the point, offer advice, are funny, inspirational, or pertinent to the human condition. They point to our funny bones, our hearts, or our foibles. The ones that endure are Universal and timeless. 

How many times have I included this particular quote by Zig Zigler? 

“Some say that motivation doesn’t last. Neither does bathing, that’s why we do it daily.”

I’ve lost count, but I like to be reminded that we need a steady stream of positive thoughts, feelings, and experiences flowing into us regularly. This is to combat the mud of negativity that splatters us.

So, why am I collecting quotes?

Glad you asked.

I’m putting together a little notebook called Chirp.

Here is the introduction:

I love little notebooks—such as this one—that are bound and have lined pages and pretty covers. I fill them with social media information, passwords, addresses, blog data—all things computer.

Pretty notebooks are fun to use and more interesting than a simple spiral notebook—which I use daily to keep a running tab on what I’m doing. However, I love buying and using the distinctive bound ones, for they are unique and look classy on my desk.

And think of this, you can write your own book on these pages.

Since I forget passwords and thus write in new ones, and then addresses change, I’ve filled so many of those books that I have a boneyard of them.

But can I part with them? No. Even if they get shabby, I still love them. Therefore, I need a steady supply.

I long to make a travel book like those you see in artists’ studios with sketches and commentary. So far, none on mine slightly resembles what I envision. I have placed little sprigs of pressed wildflowers in a booklet my daughter gave me. That journal is like Dr. Henry Jones’s journal (Indiana Jones father) with a leather cover and non-slick pages.

You will find quotes, like breadcrumbs, scattered among the pages in Chirp. It will be bound as a paperback edition.

Pick up some crumbs and write until the cows come home or the muse has flown out the window. Perhaps she was a bird. You know what they say, that birds are messengers.

I hope Chirp can be that for you.  

To joy and inspiration. 

Jo

Want a sneak preview?

I have four in mind—you know we need a choice or a group. Here are the first two covers, front, and back. The pages are lined, quotes are sprinkled.  

                                            Back                                                        Front

These are not actual size.

I’ll write something you can clamp your teeth into on the next blog.

 

To write, to compose, to draw, to paint, to crochet, to knit, to build rockets, that plugs us in, at least for a short time, to the garden we were expelled from.

You know what I mean—the garden represents our connection with our divine nature. When we follow our divine nature, our calling, we are ego less and defenseless for a little while—what a reprieve. The air in that space is so pure it makes us heady with the belief that we can live forever.

And you know what?

We can point others to their calling as well.

Steven Pressfield called me. I’m calling you. Pass it on.

I know many want to write, and I received comments from people who wanted to blog, so I wrote a little book titled, Grab a Pen and Kick-Ass. Not that I can tell writers how to write, but I list ten books that can. My intent was to motivate them to do it. Maybe I was writing it for myself.

We have a job to perform, and that is to do the thing that means the most to us. Some call it their calling. 

Remember the movie You Can’t Take it with You? The grandfather swooped people into his house and let them work on whatever they chose. The old men were making firecrackers in the basement. The mother was writing a novel and had written herself into a monastery and couldn’t get out. The little man that grandfather rescued from being an accountant was making toys. All didn’t go perfectly—otherwise, it would have been a utopia and not a story, but the idea is there. Do your thing.

Singers sing, and painters paint, babies giggle, and children play, and kitty cats sleep on your desk because they are happy to be with you.

My buddy, Obi.

I talk about this subject of doing your own thing a lot because if everyone had a dream and followed it, whether they were successful or not in terms of acclaim or finances, they would still be doing what they came here to do. 

They might get frustrated, for perfecting one’s projects can require patience–who wants that? And it requires perseverance and determination. Darn, and I wanted it to be easy.

It is still worth the doing.

And think about it, we would have those moments of transcendence where we touch the garden.

For fun:

Watch this baby laugh hysterically at ripping paper.

https://video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?fr=yhs-trp-001&ei=UTF-8&hsimp=yhs-001&hspart=trp&p=baby+giggles+at+ripping+paper&type=Y21_F163_204855_012321#id=1&vid=257177932224a1914d6790ce7176233e&action=click

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Saturday Morning's Stream of Consciousness

I’m just going to begin writing. I’m frustrated. I’m not going to think about posting this, for I’m in a quandary about what to think. We’re in a pandemic. The government is undergoing a second impeachment trial on the ex-president. We’ve had people storming the Capital, and claiming to lynch the Vice President. We watch this in wonder. How in the world did we get to this place? 

We can hardly talk to each other anymore, for we might offend someone’s sensibilities because we’re on opposite sides. And why in the hell are we so polarized anyway? Extremism has happened. 

I had decided not to talk about the virus anymore, for I believed it gave energy to it, but I see people want to talk about it. It’s on our minds, it’s in our hearts, it’s in our faces if we venture out of our houses. It’s our concern right now, and we need relief from it. 

People are home with their kids, trying to home-school, getting their jobs done, and feeling overwhelmed. In times before the last Presidential campaign, I heard that Russia—hey, I want to be friends with Russia–and you don’t blame an entire country for the ills of a few. Still, I heard that they were dinking with our media to keep us off-kilter. Keep people off-kilter, and it’s easy to plant a belief. We are open and susceptible. Like how in the world did insurrectionists believe they could hang a Vice President for doing his job? Or resort to such violence anyway?

I had to write. I know you know all this, but we have few people to talk to about our concerns. We want to reach out and place a suave on wounded hearts, but we’re home, behind masks. 

We’re all in this together. Not one in the world is exempt from this virus scare except maybe some lucky aborigines who never heard of Covid19. However, they probably have their own concerns.

A little old lady at the eye doctor’s office, she had her temperature taken, she was feet away from anyone else, she had on two masks. See how frightened people are.

On January 7, a 34-year-old man admitted to a hospital in Bhutan’s Capital, Thimphu, with preexisting liver and kidney problems died of COVID-19. His was the country’s first death from the coronavirus. (And he was a tourist.) Not the first death that day, that week, or that month: the very first coronavirus death since the pandemic began. How did this poor underdeveloped country do it—A Coronavirus success story.

What to do? What to say? I’m just a person sitting in front of my computer typing my heart-felt best. And there you are, doing your heart-felt best. And I wonder what you and I can do to make a difference.

I have written before about beliefs, and probably will again. A belief is so firmly held that it’s like chipping cement to change it. We argue, not over who gets the biggest piece of cake, but over ideologies, which are thoughts. Of course, behind that belief is that something will be taken from us, or we will be forced to do something we do not want to do. That’s imprisonment, so I understand why we tenaciously hold our position. We want to be free.

Sometimes a belief does not serve the person, or they hold onto a theory such as when people thought the earth was the center of the solar system that to change their minds means to lose face. But to change in the face of new evidence is smart. And to allow change means that we have grown. That change ought to be celebrated, not, “Haha, I told you so.”

Most of us want to live and let live, but there comes a time when you realize you are being manipulated or lied to, and it boils the blood to watch injustice.

We have a strong sense of individualism in this country. We’re pioneers, adventurers, explorers, investigators, and inventors. We love doing what we do. Why then is there so much turmoil?

I’ve been taking care of business, being frustrated with my slow computer and a website that was giving me trouble. So today, I’m turning to the page and to you. 

I wanted to write, so I’m doing it. 

Perhaps I am writing “Morning Pages,” words for myself alone. 

I know the world is filled with words, and I wonder if it needs mine. Yet, my job is to write. It’s the job I have chosen for myself. I believe (ah-ha, see a belief) that writing is a transformational experience. I try to explain that to people in a little eBook, Grab a Pen and Kick-Ass, for that reason. I enjoyed doing it. It was directing people toward the pen and the page, not to teach them how to write; I list ten books that will do that, but because I believe writing is healing. 

In the March issue of Life Extension, I just saw that Matthew McConaughey has journaled since he was fifteen. How cool is that?!

Before I leave the subject of Beliefs, and I have written about them before, and probably will again, I have noticed how literal people are. You mention a myth, and many people do not see the symbolism, but instead run off to the gruesome, the diabolical, and the horrendous things people have done in the past.

My second daughter and I are writing a book in the form of letters. This is an excellent activity during these times. We are Elizabeth and Josephine, young archeologists in the 1920’s. Elizabeth discovered a gold coin, and we learned that there are three coins that together form a map to a treasure. The problem is finding the coins. One place Josephine will soon go is to the Yucatan. I have personally stood atop the pyramid, in the Holy of holies, that little room at the top of the Temple of Kukulkan in Chichen Itza. In our story, I go to find a clue or a coin I don’t know which. My point is my daughter asked me my interpretation of a frieze present at Chichen Itza of a Jaguar holding what has been interpreted as a heart. Curls come from his mouth appear to be flowing over the object in his hand (paw). To me, those curls look like his breath is flowing over the object in his paw, rather like God breathing life into Adam. The “Scholars” say that Jaguar is eating the heart. 

What do you think?

Well crap. When I visited Chichen Itza, I saw a frieze of the victor of the ball game. The Mayans built a ball court larger than a football field. (A whisper at one end of the court can be heard at the other end.) The victor of the game is represented as headless, with vegetation coming out of his neck. The guide said they decapitated the victor to ensure the crops. Well, that would really make a warrior want to win. My interpretation is that it is symbolic. The vegetation coming from his head indicated that they would have abundant crops. Did that mean they cut off his head? I prefer not. So argue with me. It’s a matter of interpretation. 

You see, I see, we all see, but we see different. Why is that? Our upbringing? Our genetics? Our past injuries served to form who we are. Some believed they could storm the Capital and threaten the Vice President. Some believe in throwing a tantrum if they don’t get their own way. Some believe that democracy should prevail and are endeavoring to make that happen. Some are afraid of losing their jobs or are in danger of their lives or those of their family, or the repercussions of going against the party line.

We need a Mr. Smith as in the movie Mr. Smith goes to Washington, starring Jimmy Stewart.

My telephone just rang. A certified caller from Georgia., I know someone in Georgia, so I answered it. It was Judy, the niece of my old friend June whom I have mentioned before. She is 97, and Judy took her from Eugene, Oregon, to Georgia, where she could place her in a memory care facility and look after her. 

June is on her way out. 

What an illustrious life she has had. An artist by choice, trade, and talent. I can foresee the celebration now. She will sashay into the group waiting for her on the other side– chocolate in one hand and wine in the other, saying, “Whoopie, what a ride.”

And now:

So, how was your morning?

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Wild Hopes

“I’m going to let our hopes run as wild as the Mustangs,” by Jocelyn, age 10.

 

We need the free spirit of the mustang right now. We need some hope of a free tomorrow where we can run like the wild horses. And we need little children like Jocelyn who have a purpose and a heart to help the wild things.

 

Remember the song from the movie Anne Mamie,“We need a little Christmas, right this very moment?”  Join in.

 

A dear friend, Jocelyn’s grandmother, sent Jocelyn’s drawing to me. I thought it was so wonderful, I had to use it. You know me and horses, and here I had found a kindred spirit in a little girl who loves horses as I did when I was her age. Still do. You don’t have to be a kid to love horses or to ever ride or even touch one. Watch them running across the prairie and imagine how that would feel--the wind in your hair, the exhilaration of the run, being with your herd.

 

 “Winged” has often been ascribed to the horse.

 

I told her grandma, “Nana,” that I had adopted a mustang, which sent us off talking about horses and exchanging pictures. I received a video of Jocelyn, who lives in another state, running down a wooded path—her giggles making a Doppler effect as she and Cookie, a pony, ran past the recording photographer.

 

Jocelyn is the illustrator and spoke’s person for her Girl Scouts Troop who is sponsoring the Wild Beauty Foundation. This foundation was formed by filmmakers Ashley Avis and Edward Winters on the heels of the upcoming feature film Black Beauty.

 

The Wild Beauty Foundation was inspired by Anna Sewell, author of the original 19th-century novel Black Beauty. As Sewell’s message was to give voices to the cab horses of her day. The Wild Beauty Foundation’s focus is to give voices to the wild mustangs.

 

So, buy cookies and help give voices to the Wild Mustangs.

 

To know a mustang is to love them. Well, you don’t even have to know one. Seeing a herd running wild and free is enough to swell your heart.

 

Sierra, my mustang, had a freeze brand on her neck that looked like a strip of hieroglyphics. If you had the translation of the brand, you would know what herd she came from, the area, and the date of capture. Having a freeze brand meant she could never be sold for slaughter. Never, never do that. That’s a crime against all that’s sacred. Her pregnant momma was rounded up and gave birth to Sierra at the BLM holding facility in Burns, Oregon, where I adopted her as a baby of five and one-half months-old.

 

What a character she was, and curious as all get-out, smart and loving. While my quarter horse thought plastic bottles in a box was a monster, Sierra knew that rattling box was a play-toy. 

 

After Sierra was gentled and knew that our place was home, I turned her and her roommate, Velvet, loose where they frolicked around the house, jumped and ran on the drive, then rolled in the Oregon red-mud. All that before settling down for some grazing. (We lived in the forest, so our property was private.)

 

Sierra had a wild heart and a sweet nature, with a propensity for gnawing on our pickup truck. She accepted a sack of kitty litter on her back (as weight) and later-on, me. Her feet were strong and kept perfectly trimmed by running on the gravel drive. 

 

(Not so for the quarter horse).

 

The strength of the wild.

 

www.wildbeautyfoundation.org

 

This picture is also posted on https://thefrogssong.com, and that site includes more pictures of the Island, and horses. 

It Takes a lot of Energy to Be Crazy

Long ago, I was a Dental Assistant. One day, the dentist realized the dentures he was making for a patient, who nit-picked at every turn, would never be right enough for her. So, although he had spent time and money taking impressions and such, he kindly asked her to find another doctor. (No fee was charged.)

 

 (Kindly, yes, although I could see veins swelling in his neck.)

He said his blood pressure would thank him.

 

Smart man.

 

This came to mind this morning when my daughter, who sells on Amazon, had such a customer.  “Help me,” the customer wrote, “cancel my order while I still have money on my credit card.” (Oh dear, the charge was already on the card. Should my daughter refund the money and swallow the 60 bucks she had already paid for the item?) The next day: “Where’s my purchase,” (Daughter gave her the mailing tracking number as her item was out of her hands and in the mail.) The next day: “Where’s my purchase?” (Doesn’t the mail service say, “Your mail may be delayed because of…you know what.”) Next, a notice came saying that item had been delivered. The lady said, “I didn’t receive it.”

 

Augh.

 

The postal service says that they use a GPS at the designated address to assure it’s delivered accurately. The lady gave my daughter a bad mark on Amazon. 

 

Augh.

 

There are worse crazies than those two women, but I ask, Do we say, "They can’t help it," and thus excuse the behavior?

 

I had a friend who had an incessant need to talk. I loved her anyway. We both had little kids, and after they were asleep, my friend and I  would stay up all night talking. At about four in the morning, she would have expended her load, and we would talk about meaningful events in our lives. The trouble was, we’d be dead tired the next day, and the kids were going strong.

 

We lived in separate towns, so our visits lasted for days. As I got older, I got smarter and went to bed earlier, but then I missed the 4 to 8 a.m. talks.

 

I know, we all have our idiosyncrasies that are only idiosyncrasies to others, not ourselves. 

 

We find that many lives have not been easy. There are traumas and abuse at every turn. Dr. Gabor Mate’, a psychologist who treats addiction, says that most addictions can be traced back to early childhood trauma. And that trauma can be inadvertently caused as it was in Dr. Mate’s case. Mate’ was born in Hungry at the time Germans were about to invade. His mother called the Pediatrician and said little Gabor was crying a lot. The doctor said, "All the babies are crying. They are picking up their mother’s worry.” Mate’ grew up to have an addiction--and overcame it.

 

As parents, we try to raise our kids to be healthy, thoughtful, caring people who think for themselves. Whoops, many parents want their kids to be better versions of themselves. We tend to pass down what we’ve been taught.

 

Then there is school bullying, ridicule, shame, the need to be top dog, get good grades, and never fail. 

 

And then we grow up and hear that some failure is inevitable. We learn from failure. (Hey, Musk’s rocket ship hit the launching pad in flames yesterday—back to the drawing board.) 

 

Long ago, I read an article about people called Indomitable. Those individuals had suffered untold hardships (like some refugees) and come through as exemplary adults. 

 

How does that happen?

 

What gives some people the resilience to carry through? 

 

When I was studying the horse’s brain, I learned that abuse can cause the Corpus colostrum to shrink. The Corpus colostrum is the bridge between the two hemispheres of the brain—it contains the wiring that allows one side of the brain to talk to the other side. People are different from horses because their Corpus colostrum is more developed so we don’t need to be trained on both sides. Perhaps, though, abuse or trauma shrinks the bridge for both man and beast.

 

One horse that had been abused by a man in a black hat developed a fear of black hats. It’s strange the connections that are made sometimes. Probably that’s one reason early traumas are so hard to track down.

 

If brains are altered, can they get back the pure spirit they were born with? 

 

There is so much we do not know and so many errors to be made.

 

The Native Americans knew this and said we would understand if we walked a mile in another person’s moccasins.

 

Even my little dog, who used to love going with me in the car, now has some apprehension. It began with bottles rattling in the trunk. No, it started when a firecracker hit the sky beyond our back fence the moment I opened the door to let her outside. That sensitized Sweet Pea to loud noises—like bottles rattling. When she experienced the truck bumping into another vehicle, that cinched the deal.  

 

However, I figure if she learned that behavior, she can unlearn it.

 

And so can we.

 

Now we are afraid of catching a dreaded virus, we’re afraid of dying, we’re afraid of other people, we’re afraid of being breathed upon, and we can’t get together with friends and family. And even going to the grocery store is a pain in the neck.

 

You see, FEAR is our greatest enemy. Yeah, I know, I am repeating myself.

 

Fear has made us sniveling images of our former selves. My thought is, perhaps we pumped up this virus because we feared it so much. 

 

This flu is is severe, I’m giving it that. However, I learned today that for under 20-year-olds, the recovery rate is 99.99%; for 20-40 year-olds, the recovery is 99.8%, age 50, 99.5%, and 95% for people over 70.

 

Good news, huh?

 

Of the ones who passed on the the Happy Hunting Grounds, their health was already severely compromised. 

 

We’ve had other severe influenzas that didn’t shut down the world.

 

We’ve had people in times past die of the flu (I’m sorry.) And now the media won’t leave it alone. Now they scare us with flu variants. 

 

What if—stay with me here—what if, instead of being off-kilter and afraid, we erase thoughts of Covid19 from our minds?

 

Would this pandemic wither up and go away as other flu's eventually do?

 

I don’t know. 

 

I’m going to stop talking about it. 

 

That’s impossible.

 

Well, I can stop writing about it.

 

That’s possible.

 

But before I do, let me tell you I was blown away by Dr. Simone Gold, a board-certified emergency room doctor who spoke about the Covid19 vaccine. By definition, it is not a vaccine but an “Experimental biological agent.” You might give this video a look-see. It’s the best I’ve seen and heard.

 

 https://lbry.tv/@Arkeadius:a/nwnw20210114:c