To Blog or Not to Blog?

I’m wondering if I should stop blogging.

You know that internal voice that chatters to us on a regular basis? Nine times out of ten it tells us we can’t do something. It points up our inadequacies. Chip Gaines of the HTTV show Fixer Upper,(with his wife Joanna Gaines), says his internal voice is the opposite. 

It tells him he can do it.

Even with a tummy that hangs over his belt, his voice tells him he looks great.

Mostly his voice steers him right, once in awhile it does him wrong like believing crashing through that wall won’t hurt his shoulder. Throughout his life, however, he has listened to that voice, and it has held him in good stead.

Me?

I’m listening to my voice too and wondering where to go from here.

I don’t want to abandon faithful readers.

I’m just wondering when to hold em, when to fold em, and when to walk away when to run.

I’m been blogging before the word was invented. Long ago I posted a little journal called The Frog’s Song, and I still hear about in once in awhile. Then it was unique, now blogs are more plentiful than fleas.

Maybe I should take a semantical. Stop for awhile.

I can still write whenever I feel like it, just not publish it. In a year I can choose the best content, maybe that way I will have a super blog.

Well, since I’m thinking of quitting, I can write any dumb thing I want—could anyway come to think of it. The dumb thing of the day is: what diabolical person invented canned cat food?

It has turned our two cats into monsters. Is canned cat food like cigarettes, there is something added that makes the cat want more and more?  Even our sweet little Obi with the soft voice that hardly ever spoke before has taken up mewing.  Zoom Zoom has developed a loud YOWL.

Zoom Zoom is getting old, and I noticed he was getting thin, so instead of just giving him dry food, I added canned food to his diet. Bad idea.

Even the dog lays in wait at the garage door, hoping for a chance to lick the bowls.

Here’s another gripe:  Daughter dear went for a job interview and there were eight people in the room. EIGHT.

Daughter dear has herself interviewed and hired people, and when she did, she tried to put them at ease. She wanted to find out who they were. With a formal questionnaire, you know the person is going to give you the answers they think you want, not the ones they believe.  Rather like teaching to the test.

Well, chances are the person being interviewed doesn’t really want a job—who can blame them, but they need to pay the bills, and with all the stringent testing that goes on before hiring, one would think the employees would be real go-getters. Some are. Others do the least amount of work they can get by with. (I saw that yesterday when a young man attempted to load something into the back of my pickup.)

And while I am on a rant. What about employers who insist that their employees be at their desk early to hit the computer key at the exact minute of their shift. If the employee is a minute late they get docked and threatened big-time, but they must take minutes out of their time to sit and wait. Our minutes are more important than your minutes.

And, there is always a threat hanging over their head. They aren’t fast enough, formal enough, they misspelled a word, mail is stacking up, we need overtime. And don’t talk to any person on the floor. You can during a break, that is if a person you want to talk with is also on a  break.  

And the employer says, “You are a team.”

You must answer emails within 8 minutes, starting with the oldest, even if it is long past solving whatever it was the writer asked. On top of that, there is no one higher up that can handle sensitive issues, you must wing it, (while someone critically checks what you have written). You must satisfy the customer, that is, get them to shut up.

And sitting there for 8 hours is murder on the body. Oh yes, there are breaks—right, 15 minutes, guess you can go to the bathroom.

This company worked on getting best employer of the Year and got it. Whoopee do.

And what about the Amish getting their egg delivery shut down because they weren’t mailing their eggs refrigerated.

Anyone with any know-how about eggs knows that eggs do not need to be refrigerated for about three weeks. That gives time to ship them. I wouldn’t expect the mail delivery to know that, but an egg an expert would. I bet the Amish people do, did anyone ask them?  People, think about how you are affecting little businesses.

Get a heart.

These are small things I’m talking about, yet, there are little irritants that sap the quality of life.

We can be all airy fairy and spout quotes, and motivational mumbo jumbo, and say we can be, do, or have anything we want, while people are suffering.

Suffering doesn’ have to be at the starvation level. It can be like the splinter in the finger. It’s small, but it hurts like hell, and it won’t leave you alone. It saps your energy and governs your outlook on life.

We have developed such a system that we can’t die without spending money on doing it.

And if you do, the government will swoop in and see what they can take.

#Seth Godin mentioned #Henry Ford in his blog this morning. Ford knew about wages. Every time Ford increased the productivity of car production (in one three-year period, he lowered labor costs by 66% per car), he also raised wages.”

Smart move. People with more money spend more, even on cars.

People who do not feel strapped all the time have a more lightness of being.

What if Universities didn’t force parents into a limited lifestyle so they can educate their kids? What if universities were free or at least, financially tolerable, paid for by all of us?  People graduating with a ton of student loans is unconscionable.

And taxes…if everybody paid 10% would that supply our needs? And why make it so damn complicated?

It’s a cynical day.

 I’ll be better tomorrow.

 Maybe.

While You Were Gone

“What happened while we were gone Peaches? Sorry, I had to leave you, but it was 107 degrees in Las Vegas.”

I know Mom, I forgive you.

You might think I lay around and slept, but you see, this happened:  I was skulking through the garden when I came upon a rodent bigger than a house. It had teeth the size of a T-Rex’s and slobber dripped—it was disgusting. Well, do you think I was scared?  Yep, I was, so I called Bear. Now Bear is big. Bear’s a Newfoundland, and they are big, but that rodent was bigger. Maybe it was a T-Rex. 

It was red and yellow, and its eyes shone even in the daytime.

Bear and I hid behind the rose bush and planned what we could do about this invader monster rodent. We couldn’t let it wander around the property, it would scare you when you got home.

Did I tell you steam spouted from its nostrils? And it was bigger than Big Rock Candy Mountain across the road?

Well, it was.

Bear and I hatched a plan: we would sneak up behind it at night while it was sleeping. We would tie a rope around its feet, and hook it to the truck. When Dad drove away—bye bye monster rodent.

Our paws really can’t tie a rope, but we can bark. So we barked as loud as we could. We even barked into a garbage can which made our voices sound like 100 dogs. And you know what? That rodent ran right over the fence into the next yard. Now neighbor dogs have big hairy monster.

And we have none.

Yep, that’s what we did while you were gone.

I just checked Peaches’ blog  dogblogbypeaches.blogspot.com and decided she was a better blogger than I am, so here she is. She hadn’t written for awhile—being in heaven, she’s been having fun, but she checked in last week.

Me?

Oh, I’m supposed to write something?

Well,  “Ha ha ha ha,” [Maniacal laughter]. I checked a publishing site for my novel, Song of Africa the other day, and they want the author—that would be me—to have three books. Three! Three! Three!  I spent forty years on that one. That means I need to live another 80 years.

Okay, to speed things up a bit, I did think of an opening line for a possible sequel:

 “You killed my mother you low-down son-of-a-bitch!”

Do you think that one would fly?

For any who have read or are reading Song of Africa, in that book, a baby is born in Africa to an HIV mother who dies giving birth to her. Her name is Star, and in the sequel, she is thirteen years old and confronting the man who gave her mother AIDS.

Only 99,989 words to go.

As you may know, I began another blog on #Wordpress, as I heard one ought to use that venue. Well, unlike the traffic on the freeway, on that blog the traffic is like a country road in the middle of winter. However, the comments that come to it are choice. Except for the fellow who wants to boycott American Women because we are too independent, not marriageable and don’t want to have babies. [More maniacal laughter.]

The comments tell me that people do want to learn about themselves. I had hoped for that when I began the traveling-thru-life.com page. Not that we don’t connect in a personal way here, it’s just that WordPress has more opportunity to be boosted.

But what words of wisdom can I impart? What answers can I give? How can I help the human condition?

I didn’t say I had the answers, I said we would travel through like together, but if you are walking along the edge of a cliff, you want a sure-footed person walking beside you, not someone who will trip and pull you over the edge.

Therefore I will look for sure-footed people. I have mentioned #Tony Robbins many times, for I believe he is a sure-footed person.

Sure-footed people do abound, and they weren’t always so sure footed.  (Look to Joseph McClendon). Often they had troubled pasts, rotten childhoods, and miserable financial failures, but they sprang back. I get a kick out of Jack Canfield who says “Everybody had a rough childhood, get over it.”

That does surprise me about childhood for I see parents taking such loving care of their children. I see them sacrificing to provide for them. I see them searching for the best possible nutrition for their body’s souls and minds.

Yet, on the other hand, we hear from adults who are stuck in their past, and how horrible it was.

Is it because the mistreated ones have louder voices, or is it that there something in the human being that is never filled?

I believe we are hard-wired to have fears, (A primary marketing tactic—use fear.) We want love—another way to market.

Our fears lead to the extreme. When friends get divorced, we fear for our own marriage. When someone we know goes bankrupt, we worry about our finances. When friends get sick, we fear for our health, and heavens, when a friend dies…

Not logical.

And we search for meaning.

 In Greek lore that desire was called “Pathos,” the yearning for home.”  And what is home? Is it the physical place, or is it a connection with the divine? Is it a connection with one’s inner being? Could it be a connection with Spirit?

Perhaps the lack we feel was not so much damage that was done to us by our parents and family, but that ache that is the human condition.

It means we must fill it ourselves.

"With a little help from our friends.”

Join the group.

Now, look out your window and see the glorious spring.