"Wednesday" October 31, 2025--This Blog Post, So Say my Stats, Received More Views Than any Other

This post was published on October 29, 2025. The highest view count was two days later on October 31, 2025 it received 76,118 views. I had to go back and recheck for I thought I had added an extra number. No, it was 76,118. Man, I love you guys. I must not have paid attention to numbers then. I wonder what caused people to click on my blog that particular day. Was there a glitch? 

76,118 has dropped to around the 500's. I guess I'm slipping or you don't like me anymore. www.blogarama.com/ used to find readers for me, I didn't know I was on it, and now that I try to register on blogarama, and it goes blank.

All those views and no one subscribes. How odd.

Yet if I check the all time ups and down of the numbers on their  graft, that day October 31 is still the all time high. Isn't that Halloween? Ah ha, something is fishy. 

I was about to send a submission and wanted to tell them about my blog--that's why I got into this mess about numbers.

Normally I try to follow Andy Warhol's advice.

"Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art."

 

Wednesday: this is the all-time high numbered blog post.

When I say I want the magic back, I mean the little things that, if we are aware, we see almost daily.

 

This morning, I sat in the shower thinking of such things. Once while driving west on a road in Eugene, Oregon, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a rainbow brilliantly displayed in the rain splattered eastern sky. In front of that rainbow, like the movie intro of E.T. riding his bike in front of the moon, a small flock of white birds flew past, illuminated by the setting sun.

 

It was so exquisite I wanted to turn around, but I managed to tear my eyes away from the scene and continue down the road.  

 

I look into the sky and see a 250-ton piece of metal —a heavier-than-air vehicle —carrying I don't know how many people, pushed through the air by jet engines the size of whisky barrels.

 

 Impossible.

 

Once daughter dear and I sat in a booth by a window at a beloved Mexican Restaurant in Rancho Santa Fe, California. As we joyfully dipped our chips in guacamole, we lightly discussed whether it was possible to manifest. "Well,' I said," we couldn't manifest a train here for there are no tracks."

 

Not a minute later, a large semi—one of those trucks who’s back trailer is covered by a tightly stretched tarp, stopped at a stop light outside our window.

 

Printed on the tarp was one word: "Trane."  (A technology company.)

 

We laughed, and often remind ourselves that miracles happen, and that the Universe likes to play tricks, and that answers come in mysterious ways.

 

I sometimes lose the lightness and I want it back.

 

I missed Tuesday's blog yesterday, too, so I am writing to you today. I did read something profound yesterday, though. It was from Martha Beck:

 

"The simultaneous destruction and creation of an individual can be compared to the moment of awakening. This isn't just about learning something new; it's about a fundamental, radical shift in human consciousness.

 

"Awakening is the transformation of that same caterpillar into an altogether different creature—one that can fly."—Martha Beck.

 

You have heard that the caterpillar's metamorphosis into a butterfly isn't a simple change; it's a complete breakdown. That poor caterpillar liquefies, but what emerges is all reassembled into a gorgeous butterfly.

 

I have read that if you are watching a butterfly struggle to emerge from its chrysalis and feel inclined to help, don't. It kills the butterfly. The butterfly must go through the struggle—like us being born—it rests for a few moments, allowing its wings to dry, and then it soars.

 

"When a human being awakens," writes Beck," the 'caterpillar' we leave behind is the part that fears, suffers, attacks others, grabs for power, wealth, and status, and lives in terror of its own destruction. 

 

"The 'butterfly' we become is at peace with both life and death, confident that the universe will provide for us, open to brilliant creative ideas that may pull us out of the mess we've created."

 

Thanks, Martha.

Tuesday and Wednesday and Rain and Sheep and Tigers

 

 

Tuesday slipped past me—Tuesday is normally my Blog-day.

         

I’ve been working so hard on my Prairie Report, I haven’t thought of much else. Although I scared myself last night when I was complaining about the state of the state, not just Oregon, all of the states. I gave myself a headache as a result.  So, I went inside the house, took two aspirins, and got rid of it.

And ripped up those pages.

 

Wednesday

Morning, I am out in my truck again with Sweetpea and coffee. This time, I parked next to an abandoned house for sale on 126 acres, not far from where we live. I figured I could sit here, attempt to get some rays, and watch the sheep in the field while I write to you guys.

It has begun to rain.

And those sheep in the field are out in the wet, and so are their babies. They don’t seem to pay much attention to the water falling on them—I guess those coats are pretty water repellent, with all that lanolin coating them.

Those babies know which dam is their mother, although I see a group of youngsters running together—whoops, two twins decided to stop by their mother for a snack.

The babies are youngsters, not babies, and run with the pack rather than huddle under mother most of the time. The rain stopped almost as fast as their snack time.

The fields are immense, 126 acres on this property so the ad says. $1,475,000 for the property with a house built in 1915. The land is rented for the sheep although their aren’t many sheep on it, only about 50 spread out over the abundance of green that covers the land.

This is a Zillow picture, I was curious about it. There were no vehicles parked beside the house when I was there, and I don't see any sheep in the fields, but they were there today.

 

 

Wise words:

“Healing is so hard because it’s a constant battle between your inner child, who is scared and just wants safety, and your inner teenager, who’s angry and wants justice, and your adult self, who is just tired and wants peace.”

--vensachingautamtero

 

Good news--tigers

Praise for the people in Kazakhstan who are implementing a reforesting of the land and a return of the tigers.

Kazakhstan, a country in Central Asia bordering Russia, is gearing up to bring the tigers back by planting 37,000 new trees for refuge and cover.

Kazakhstan has been inhabited since the Paleolithic era, and the Botai culture there is credited with domesticating horses around 3700-3100 B.C. The nomadic people of the country were pasturing their herds at about the same time as they traveled.

Now a team is making a grand effort to bring the tigers back to the wild places in the country’s south along the IIe River and Lake Balkhash. This area once sheltered the big cats.

The re-wilding isn’t just about the cats; the team has carefully chosen willows, poplars and other trees known to support deer and antelope that the tigers need to survive.

Already, wild grazers are foraging among the new growth, evidence that the landscape is slowly coming back to life. And soon, a pair of Amur tigers from the Netherlands may become the first of their kind in decades to roam Kazakhstan.

I didn’t know where Kazakhstan existed. It’s among other countries that end in “stan.”