Hope for a Better Tomorrow

During the Second World War girls back home would write to their brothers, fathers, boyfriends, husbands, and they were given the suggestions to write something cheerful.

At home the girls and women were fighting the war as were the men. They worried constantly that they would get that fateful message that their soldier boy/man was killed or maimed. Newspapers constantly barraged them with war news. Girls tried to escape by going to the movies, and there they were shown Newsreels of war horrors. There was no escaping it. It was a terrible time for the World.

The girls rallied, going into the factories and proving that the little woman could build airplanes or run a factory as well as men. Others, even children pulling their little wagons, collected cooking pots that could be spared, tires, aluminum, and any steel that could be confiscated.  Girls gave up their nylon stockings for parachutes, ladies gave up their girdles for rubber. Gas was rationed as well as food. The family gave sugar coupons to my mother one Christmas so she could make candy. Most everybody had a “Victory Garden.” The girls and women tried to give their men hope.

I was reading about a Polish man who had escaped Poland to come to America with the dream of becoming a citizen, which he had. He married, began a business, built and ran a filling station, was successful, had a family, and upon hearing that Pearl Harbor had been bombed, he laid his head on the table and sobbed. “We cannot lose America. The world cannot lose America.”

War drives me nuts.

When I hear someone excited say, “Let’s bomb them back to the stone age. Or “Let’s kick their butts,” I cringe, knowing there was a time when most every able-bodied man reluctantly, sadly, leaving behind their families and facing death, enlisted for war service.

When I, with fear and in trepidation, visited Dachau, the former Concentration Camp in Germany I got their message, “Never Forget.”

It was a never forget experience, but a strange one too. People had poured so much love into that complex that it felt cleansed. There was a bank of flowers extending the length of the fence in honor of those who were interned there.  The grounds had been bulldozed clean except for one barrack. A church had been erected on the grounds, and on the step into the crematorium someone had carefully placed a single dandelion flower.

And now I will end with a good story, a true one. It came into my daughter’s email. It was from a man who, he said, had taken an Ocean Cruise 10 years ago when he was 13-years-old. During the cruise he used the rock-climbing wall, and as they were required to take off their shoes and put on special rock-climbing ones, he did that. Then he forgot to pick up his regular shoes. He had kept the climbing shoes all these years, and felt guilty. He was Jewish, he said, and as a 13-year old he was supposed to be at the age of reason, and to be responsible, he should have known better than to keep the shoes.  Now he was looking for an address in which to send the shoes back.

That’s my mind drippings for the day.

Joyce

Finding the Purposeful Good

While browsing through magazines at the Portland airport waiting for my daughter’s plane to arrive, I was attracted to a periodical on The Animal's Mind. Beautiful, I thought, as I thumbed through the pages. Good articles. Then as I reached the last of the magazine, I was hit with a picture so horrible I dropped to the floor in shock.

I sat on the floor waiting to recover.  How do I rid my mind of what I just saw? How do I change the way people treat animals? While sitting there I pulled another magazine from the shelf, Oprah’s.   In it I read an interview between Oprah and Paulo Coelho* (author of The Alchemist). This will help, I thought.

 It didn’t.

That night horror lifted me from sleep. That picture popped into my mind over and over again. I wanted to save all the animals of the world. I wanted that cruel man dead. I tried to think of something else. My new focus would work for a time, then the picture would come in again. I attempted to change the picture. I tried to create a happy ending.

This caused me to think: “What purposeful good can come of events such as these?” People want to see you happy, not sad. Don’t talk about it. I don’t want anyone else depressed. How, then, does one then rid their minds of horror?

I did write to someone. It was a wonderful friend who identified with me, who didn’t turn a deaf ear or a blind eye. Instead she offered help, identifying with me, telling me what she did in times such as the one I was experiencing.  She offered a link to Mira Kelley’s  past life regression tape.* Listening to Kelley’s soothing voice, I thought, I ought to create such an event that for my Grandson when he is overwrought and can’t go to sleep. Guide him to a beautiful place, allow him to create a helper, or another image of himself. Give him the tools to sooth himself and know that he has access to the beauty and wisdom of his own body.

This very morning Grandson had such an occurrence. He couldn’t go to sleep, He was over wrought. He wanted his Mommy to come home—she goes to work in the early morning hours. We sang, we counted sheep, eventually he quieted and slept, but next time—I hope there won’t be, but if there is—I will create a guided meditation.  

*The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Coelho coined the phrase “Personal Legend. “ One’s personal legend is  “What you have always wanted to accomplish.”

*Link to Mira Kelley’s meditation, Introduction by Wayne Dyer  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLzl0hdf8Os

Below photo just for fun

Please give a Look-See to http://www.motherslettersbyjoyce.blogspot.com

By popular demand!

Maybe, perhaps, possibility, a printed soft-cover version of Mother's Letters...and mine is coming.

I’m a Little Freaked Out Are You?

The new iphone that will enable the holder to tap the register and thus record their sale freaks me out.

This will tell you how old I am I suppose, that I have gone from a time where we spoke the number into the phone and an operator connected us—you know as in the song Pennsylvania 6-5-0-0-0--to ear plug-in phones.

When I was a kid we had a party line with four rings and we were number four. We kids would listen in on someone’s conversation, only to be told, not so politely, to get off.

The phone was tied to the wall by a cord—before that it was stuck to the wall with nails. And then came the long cord-- freedom. Then cordless—more freedom. The car phone came into vogue, followed by one that didn't. Okay, now we have cell phones. Remember what a pain it was if you needed to call and had to drive 16 blocks before you found a pay phone? And in Europe I couldn’t figure out how their damn pay phones worked.  That isn’t a problem anymore for now we carry our phone with us world-wide.

With the new iphone they tell us, and they are considering eliminating the word “phone” altogether, I think it is a fone or some such thing, anyway they say we won’t have to carry anything else but a phone. We will have a camera, a GPS, texting ability, calling, talking, videos, the internet and I don’t know what all, oh yes, access to your bank. My lipstick? Where will I put that?

Dick Tracey used to talk into his wrist watch—now people walk down the street talking and we don’t know if they are talking to spirits or to the device attached to their ear.

And what am I doing? Entering a business where real estate deals are signed, sealed and delivered online via a virtual signature. Oh, if someone wants to sign a real authenticated  paper form they can, but it will be scanned into the computer and sent to the head office. Companies are going paperless, might as well join the fray.

Yes, I passed my Real Estate licensing exam last Monday, (Yea!) and as soon as my background check approves me I will be off and running. (Yesterday I got an email saying my fingerprints were rejected, and I have to do them again. 14 prints for my little 10 fingers. Jeesch.)

My mind went off on this tangent about phones after reading “Seth’s blog”#  and his quote, “Society with a cultural, intellectual core feels awfully different than the society we are walking away from.”

Are we walking away from something precious we used to have, like human connection?  That is what I intend with my real estate adventure. I love houses. I love property, and I love people who are eager and enthusiastic about buying and selling it. It is real.  That is why it is called Real Estate.

Think about your first house, or first apartment. What fun. Gosh when we see something new it just makes our mouths water. (Horses and Houses, I’m into both.)

Seth commented that we all used to read the same newspaper, watch the same TV shows, and read the same book of the month—maybe that was good, maybe not, it didn’t add to individuality, but it added to connection. We could laugh at the same jokes, rail at the same injustices.

If you have any comment on this please share. We are all in this boat together.

Now here's my idea of fabulous Real Estate.

Comment from Reader:

You know, I've been wondering about this same sort of thing lately.  I have been somewhat concerned about the changes I've noticed just in this little neighborhood alone regarding the use of smart phones etc.  It's startling to see how quickly these alterations in behavior are manifested themselves.

For example, the person buying groceries at the store no longer converses with the clerk because she's too busy chatting on the phone.  How often do we see someone shopping at COSTCO or another store walking up and down the aisles while talking on their cell phone?  Office waiting rooms are filled with people reading their kindles or texting - no more magazines.  Families at restaurants don't talk to each other because they're too busy talking to friends on the phone.  Traffic jams, red lights, and road construction are now just all excuses to get back on the phone!

Kids waiting for the school bus these days all have their heads down to their phones, never looking up, all texting or playing games, or whatever. They couldn't talk to each other if they wanted, because they're all doing the same thing!  Kinda creepy.  I remember when I was a kid, the bus stop was always alive with conversations and laughter.  Now it's completely silent.

Another bizarre change is with the dog-walkers who pass by.  It used to be that the dog's owner seemed to be enjoying the walk as much as the dog, but now the person slowly saunters along behind, head down, clicking and tapping, while the dog sniffs around doing its duty, hopefully oblivious to the strange soulless creature behind him.

The freakiest thing is how emotionless the person behind the phone is.  They're like zombies, the walking dead, stumbling along, no expression, almost as if they're hypnotized.

I remember years ago when we were warned about the dangers of "vegging out" in front of the TV.  We were told that when we zone-out to a TV program that the brain actually shuts down, going into another level of consciousness, where the person becomes very vulnerable to programming and suggestion.  The cell phone thing is actually worse because the person's will is taking a backseat to the electronics, putting him into a state where he can easily be influenced and manipulated.

What is going on?  Where is this going?  My guess is at some point there will be a global event where the entire internet will go down and it will all stop.  Believe me, there will be some pretty unhappy people - perhaps even a temporary mass hysteria.  It will probably take awhile before cooler heads prevail.  Yikes ...electronic Armageddon!

Sean's Girl

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?