Launch Day

Today I am launching a new website.

Ta Da!!

It is Travels with Jo https://www.travelswithjo.com/

I’m excited to have fun again, to believe in magic again, and to believe the world is a beautiful place filled with kind, loving people. The site will contain a few subjects, books, posts, and perspectives I find fascinating, hoping to find others who resonate with me. After reading Auston Kleon’s book Steal Like an Artist, I found a kindred spirit:

“You can cut off your passions and only focus on one, but after a while, you’ll start to feel phantom limb pain.”

My site will not appeal to everyone, but I’m not writing for everyone. I am writing for you.

Thanks for reading. Don’t forget https://www.wishonwhitehorses.com/

However, I would be tickled peacock colors if you would check into my new site and give me any input you feel would be of help.

 

https://www.travelswithjo.com/

 

P.S. I was offended by some ads—not approved by me—that came up on my Wish site, so I took them off. I apologize for their presence. 

And now for Chapter 53 of Your Story Matters.

Chapter 53

I named Him Gabriel

 

I figured a Rottweiler was a Guardian Angel.

 

Especially since we didn't find him., he found us.

 

We lived on Hendrick's Hill in Eugene, Oregon, when a gangly adolescent pup appeared at our door.

 

We weren't in the market for a dog, especially not a Rottweiler. So, at first, I tried to find a home for him. I put up signs and called a friend who wanted a dog but not a Rottweiler.

If someone dropped him off, they missed a good dog. But then, they had to leave him, for he became my dog. 

 

He was a mix but largely a Rottweiler, not a breed I would have chosen. 

 

In three days, he was my dog. I took down the signs and called the Vet for an appointment. I knew something was wrong with his skin for I itched when I hugged him. The Vet said he did have a skin condition from the stress of being lost, poor kid. He prescribed a medicated shampoo, and that fixed his problem.

 

He was a resourceful dog, for he found us, not someone who would take him to the pound, plus he wooed and won us over. I invited him into our backyard, where he slept in the doghouse—at first—do you think I would leave a dog in a doghouse? We had the doghouse because it came with the property. The next step was to invite him inside the house with us.

 

It was around the time we had begun construction on our log home about 20 miles away. 

Gabe and I would travel to our forested land together and meet with the contractors. 

 

He was a gentle dog—he could pull the leash pretty hard, though, but rarely barked and was never aggressive. The neighbors liked for him to be in our backyard because he kept the deer from eating their rosebushes. We had him neutered, although it hurt me to do it. The Veterinary assistant said," It takes balls to neuter your dog." 

 

One day in the little town of Marcola, the address of our log home, we saw a dead dog lying beside the road. Gabe looked at me in abject bewilderment.

 

"It's sad, isn't it?"

 

Two species in communication. He seemed to understand my sympathy.

 

Together, Gabe and I drove—well, I drove; he stood and mentally pushed the vehicle. He never got in the front seat; he just stood behind the console with anticipation dripping like my friend Sylvia's St Bernard dog's drool. (Gabe didn't drool but left black hairs embedded in the car's headliner. One day, I put a scarf over his head to protect the headliner from his hair, but I soon gave that up, A Rottweiler in a babushka?

 

Gabe had concluded that every take-out window offered dog biscuits, as most did. He would wait patiently until he got one. But sometimes--terrible people that they were--they didn't give out biscuits, and Gabe would give them a piece of his mind--barking--as we drove away.

 

When D.D. lived in San Jose, California, and was called away on a business trip, Gabe and I traveled from Oregon, down that long state of California to her apartment to care for her critters.

I had a cold, Gabe was sick of traveling, I was coughing, Gabe was barking, and I couldn't find diddly squat in San Jose. Something about that area—the flat land, a bay where you don't know if you are going east or west, and the cars on the freeway are traveling 75 miles an hour. That doesn’t give a driver much time to look around.

 

I found her apartment and recovered well after resting for a day. However, taking her dog, Cherish, and Gabe for a walk was a testament to my courage. With a Rottweiler and a Great Dane, I felt I had a team of horses. Thank heavens they walked ahead of me, and both went in the same direction.

Gabe did get in trouble once, or rather, we did. When I opened the front door to a knock, I found a disgruntled neighbor who complained that Gabe had chased him on his motorcycle, and he had to outrun him. He feared for his little daughter.

 

I didn't know that had happened. I had been away for a while, and Neil had let Gabe out the front door instead of the back, where the yard was fenced. Well, you know dogs and moving objects and a motorcycle? Gabe must have thought he had a cougar by the tail. I told the man I trusted Gabe with my life.

 

I was afraid he might have us arrested or take Gabe away. I reassured him that I would keep Gabe on a leash.

 

Well, this man, I praise him. He told me later that he was a Navy Seal. Not only do I honor his profession, (do you know that Navy Seals in training must run 4 miles in 31 minutes and be deprived of sleep for 5 days during Hell Week? That's not human). That man is a hero in my eyes regarding his reaction to Gabe. When he came up the road—his road Y'ed at the corner of ours—plus it dipped down a hill, so you didn't see a vehicle until it was at the junction. 

 

When Gabe and I were out, the man would stop at the junction and call Gabe. One day, he kneeled on the road and let Gabe run to him. All ended well. They were friends.

 

One evening, as the sun was setting, Gabe and I were walking through a parking lot where most of the cars had left for the day. 

 

Two men walked past us. I heard one tell the other, "Not with that dog. I wouldn't." 

 

What did I hear? Did those men wish me harm? Was I at risk?

 

Gabe and I continued on as though nothing had happened, and I patted Gabe. "Gabriel, you are my Guardian Angel, aren't you?"

And Now.....

It’s Tuesday-Late in the Day Already…

Dear Characters in the Drama of Life,

I heard one novelist say she likes to throw her characters into hot water and see how they get out of it. I think some of us are suffering from burns, but we’re still here. And some of us still believe in the goodness of people.

Yesterday, on our night walk with the dogs, I commented to my daughter that we’re all immigrants unless we’re Native American, and then it dawned on me that they are, too. Scientists/historians believe they crossed the Bering Strait (between Alaska and Russia) into North America before the ocean invaded the land bridge. My daughter said some Native American DNA shows that they came from the South.

We all came from somewhere, although it appears that the Africans were created on the spot.  

It’s been a mine-cart/roller coaster ride, hasn’t it?

I am launching a new website this week.

Just what the world needs, right? 

Another website.

Yes, we need magic, fun, and laughter back in our lives.

And after all my years of writing, I need one that pays for its keep. Not that I’m charging you guys, but I am offering some mind stuff, and physical stuff for sale—all optional.

Think of this: your mind can create the fragrance of freshly made sourdough bread that runs through my site. I know bread has been maligned, but sourdough is the very best for you, and the scent and taste are subline, so when I read a novel that kept describing the fragrance of sourdough and gave a recipe for making your own sourdough starter, I had to include the recipe.

I’m way into the day with this blog because I have spent so much time on the other site, and it is not complete, but I know how engineers work, (although I’m not one) they are still dinking with their product as it is being pushed onto the display floor. Yesterday, I got immersed in my story, Where Tigers Belch, by rewriting it, cleaning it up, and feeling a respite from the cares of the world by reading it. I wanted to include it on my new site.

Today, I put in a Table of Contents, it got screwed up, so I took it out. It only has 10 short chapters, so it doesn't need one. I posted Where Tigers Belch, some time ago on this site, you may have read it, but for those who haven’t, here is the new Introduction: 

Where Tigers Belch

by 

Jo Davis

 INTRODUCTION:

You might have read Paulo Coelho's book, The Alchemist, where a shepherd boy begins a quest to find a treasure and something he calls his "Personal legend."

Where Tigers Belch is another quest as a young college student sets off into the jungle to find her purpose and reason for being. The spot will be, she says, “where tigers belch.”

Have you ever had one of those days where you felt off? You were out of sorts, irritable, thinking nothing was going right? You were mad at the world and mad that things weren't going according to plan. You were angry that you aren't further along on your enlightenment trail, and wondering what enlightenment is anyway.

You could search for years and never find that spot where the tiger belches, where you are calm and believe all's right with the world. It is the place where you feel invincible. 

I understand the gap. Best to back off. Go into your hut, nap, pet that baby cheetah on your bed, and listen to it purr. (I've heard that they have a purr like a lawnmower, and if they lick you, your skin will feel like it has been sanded.) Decide at that moment that you will be fresh tomorrow, and you are not going to push it today.

I've decided that tomorrow I will take my backpack. I will add a few bottles of water and a couple of sandwiches and set off to find my destiny.

This is the purpose of Where the Tigers Belch. It is an investigation into finding one’s purpose and learning that we are magnificent beings on the road to greatness.

We're not on safari here, although I wish we were. We're here to find the spot that lights our fire. That's where the tiger belches. I could say sleep, lies down, or roars, but I like Abby's lyrical poem, so I'm saying, "Where it belches."

While in Africa, Martha Beck found herself in an awkward and dangerous place. She was between a Momma rhinoceros and her baby. Standing there looking at an animal the size of a Volkswagen bus, she experienced a strange phenomenon. She was frightened, yes, but she was also elated. She was at a place she had dreamed of since childhood, and at that moment, that rhinoceros represented her one true nature. She felt that, somehow, she had come face to face with her destiny. (Between a rhino and a hard place?)

Perhaps that rhino was a talisman for her, a representation of what she could become: big, strong, able to overcome obstacles, that thing that both scares us and elates us. We hope we live to tell of it when we find ourselves in that place.

Being at a spot where a tiger belch has a gentler ring than coming face-to-face with a rhino. The purpose is the same. However, which would you rather face, a wild tiger or a wild rhino?

I don't think we can take credit for all we have produced, for I believe in muses and divine intervention.  However, we can take credit for searching. I search for my figurative or literal spot where the tiger belches.

Come along for the hike. This will be available as a Pdf to download on Travels with Jo--coming up this week. 

And now dear ones, for those who are reading my book, Your Story Matters, here is the next Chapter: (Are you still with me? Daughter dear says that people don't read, however, I figure you do.)

Chapter 51

 

Badass Training 101

 

Have you ever read a well-written story, but you felt miserable after reading it?

 

I won't tell you where I found the story I’m talking about, I read it by accident. The Title lured me. That shows the value of a good title, doesn’t it?

 

If I tell you what it was, you will read it. The author will get ten thousand hits, and publishers will think that's what people want and publish more depressing stuff. And I will be home sucking my thumb, and you will be depressed because you read about another miserable life. 

 

While I found that miserable story, I also found this:

 

It was a three-line blog by Seth Godin:

 

"How much of what we want, really want, is due to the ideas that culture has given us, and how much do we need?

 

"If a memetic desire isn't making us happy, perhaps we can find some new ideas."—Seth Godin.

 

My response? What’s a memetic?

 

I looked it up. 

 

 

“Memetics are ideas that become a kind of virus, sometimes propagating despite truth and logic."

 

A memetic belief isn't necessarily true, as rules that survive aren't necessarily fair, nor are rituals that survive necessarily necessary. 

 

These beliefs are good at surviving.

 

Isn't that odd?

Some liken a memetic belief to a virus, while others say they are more like genes, replicating themselves. Robert Aunger says, "A memetic is more like a benign parasite incapable of or reproducing without a host, and the mimetic’s host is the human brain."

 

The word was new to me, while the concept was not.

 

It was one of those facts we know to exist. It lurks in the back of your mind, irritating us without our knowing why. You know something is wrong. Our internal knowingness recognizes it as absolute nonsense, but our conscious mind is muddled.

 

We know that rules grow and reproduce until we have dogmas, governmental ones, religious ones, and metaphysical ones. Ideas get passed around, repeated, and disseminated until people speak the same jargon and spout the same opinions. That belief has taken on a life of its own. 

 

It takes a Badass not to do it.

 

Today I watched and listened to Oprah Winfrey's commencement speech at Tennessee State University, her alma mater. What a woman. She can put it out there like no one else; I was motivated, inspired, and deeply moved. 

 

When she said she had never felt out of place, not enough, or an impostor, I saw how this woman had achieved heights few women ever have, and she continues to be out there to inspire. “Start by being good to one single person every day. You can be a lifesaver to the one who receives it. Be someone's hope.”