Are You Guys’ Writers?

 Are you guys’ writers?

I know you are readers, for you are here. Thank you. I appreciate you immensely.

I am encouraging reading and writing. Don’t let either go away. Ray Bradbury said, “You don’t have to burn books, you just have to get people not to read them.”

Don’t do that. Keep on reading. Keep on writing. Both are good for that beautiful brain of yours.

“In times of crisis,” I read this morning in the Epoch Times: “it’s easy for your mind to feel bombarded—notifications, headlines, endless scrolling. It feels like information overload, but science shows it’s worse: shallow, fragmented content actually changes your brain, training it for distraction.”

I know that extended, focused reading is good for the brain. A study published in Neuroscience News shows that consistent cognitive engagement such as reading can even delay cognitive decline by years.

“What you feed your brain defines how it performs. Shallow content trains distraction. Deep, quality reading trains focus and insight.”

We need to delve into something of substance once in a while, immerse ourselves. Perhaps I should write longer blogs. But people have little time, so they want to get through information quickly. I suggest you use your precious leisure time to read a book. Savor it. Devour it.  And after that, write out your feelings, frustrations, blessings. Your life has meaning; it deserves your attention.

I was so excited yesterday after completing Suzanne Redfearn's novel Where Butterflies Wander, especially after she explained in the author’s comments following the book how she came to write it and how it morphed along the way. It fell in step with a discussion I had with my grandson the night before on what a theme is, a plot, should you write the ending first, those sorts of things. As she was writing her novel, she found an article in a magazine about a man in a cabin, squatting on someone’s land, and used that idea in her book. It gave her story backbone she said. And it gave her an ending. I wanted to tell somebody, but it was met with crickets, and I realized, once again, that discovery gives its gift to the one who finds it. Plus, you must jump on an idea while it’s hot; otherwise, it flies away with the wild ducks.

 It seemed pertinent that the two books I completed in the morning, that is not normal for me, were by the same author, Suzanne Redfearn. In April I mentioned Walking the Camino, and now I am talking about Where the Butterflies Wander.

When my girls were starting school, and I was reading about alternative education, I came upon the book, Education and Ecstasy. The author asked if we had ever, in our 12,16 or 18 years of schooling, had a teacher who believed learning was ecstasy. That’s the way learning ought to be, but mine wasn’t during those early years.  (That book is on Amazon; by George B Leonard, I just looked it up. Yep, printed in the 60s. That sounds right.)

That book just popped into my mind. That’s the way the brain works, and the way I wrote my memoir, like a mountain stream that splashes against rocks, beavers dam it up, the water breaks free, logs fall into it, but I trust the river knows where it is going and will take us there with it. (To the Source.)

It may sound ludicrous to say I’m writing a memoir, I'm not illustrious. I’ve never been to Mars. I’m not a celebrity, had a near-death experience, or chewed off my arm stuck on a mountain. However, I trust Natalie Goldberg when she said everybody ought to write a memoir, and it doesn’t have to be your life story. It can be any moment. It can be for those moments that take your breath away.

I wanted to visit my little girl self again, the one who could jump rope and run, and fearlessly jump onto a horse’s bare back. I wanted to visit my father again, who left for the Second World War, but I didn’t see him again until 38 years later.

I wished my ancestors had been more expressive. That way I would know how my grandmother responded when her 16-year-old daughter informed her that she was pregnant.

They had their thoughts and the right to privacy, but then those thoughts and feelings died with them.

I’m up to 70,000 words.

  

I agree that these are tough times, so was the war. However, then we didn’t have a society built on fear. We didn’t have a would-be dictator. We believed that our President was pulling with us. We still believed in democracy.

Now, there are many Americans who ought to be ashamed of themselves.

 

A moment of Reprieve:

Let us be as gentle and loving as this Momma Goat protecting her baby at the Lane county Fair in Eugene, Oregon. 

 

 

Life is What Happens While You Are Making Other Plans

The week has been filled with other events besides my writing. Thanks for hanging in there with me until I get back on track.

Today is Tuesday—yes, I know, I’m blogging late, but I had things in mind to write, just not time to tell them.

I wanted to talk about the takeaways I got from this past week.

Number One, The Buddhist’s Peace Walk:

 

 

 

I’m so impressed with the monks who make no political statements, no religious judgements, just walk to awaken Peace. And many people are responding. It is a great attention getter and people need a leader, so they rally. And so am I, for they have touched my heart.

They made me rethink the search for happiness everyone talks about. “Search for Peace.” That sounds more doable. We can’t be happy all the time, but we could be peaceful in our bodies, in thought and deed, and let happiness come as a surprise, a gift, a blessing.

The monks just walk, and Aloka, the Peace Dog, trots along, although now he is in recovery from surgery, and I’m glad they are taking good care of him.

And their walk added perspective to the hours I needed for a Continuing Education Real Estate Course I didn’t want to take.

Thirty hours were easy compared to walking 2,300 miles in 120 days.

Takeaway from my Course:

“Let’s sell the Tiny House on April 11, 2026 ,” I tell my daughter, “in honor of the Fair Housing Act of April 11, 1968.

That act was a Humongous TURNING POINT for the country and for human rights.

In 1968, President Lyndon B. Johnson pushed through the Fair Housing Act. This was when riots were happening, and America was in the midst of unrest. President Johnson called Congress and said, “Pass that Bill!”

The bill, which had been debated to the nth degree with strong opposition, passed the following day.

Now, no person can be denied the purchase of a house based on color, race, Natural Origin, familial rights (children), disabilities, or sex. Elder rights came next. And the Disability and sex (it didn’t make sex illegal, it allowed a single woman to buy a house) came a couple of years later.

Here’s our Tiny House on day one:

 

 Today, the Tiny House is not complete, but it is close.

Daughter Dear has no time to complete it, although it was dear to her heart when she began renovating it, and she’s good at bashing out walls, tiling, and adding exquisite features.

A buyer with a few hours could complete it.

She worked her fingers to the bone, and we found that a small house needs the same as a big house, just everything scrunched into a small space. The plumbing is in, the electricity was professionally installed, it’s piped for water, has a wall heater, kitchen cabinets, and an under-the-counter refrigerator. No countertop. We have the sink and bamboo flooring that need completion. DD tiled a complete wall in the kitchen and a complete bathroom with a tiled shower large enough for two people, or maybe a Great Dane dog.

The wall between the bathroom and the “living room,” which will be a bedroom at night, is still studs only. A mirrored wall there would give the illusion of a larger space, if an owner could stand to look at themselves that much.

Well, this sounds like a sales pitch. I wanted you to know what we are dealing with. And that my Real Estate course made me want to honor the FHA.

Three: Surprise,

The course mentioned the vagus nerve, and that it takes up more space in our bodies than our skin. It is there to connect to the amygdala of the brain, the seat of our feelings of unease and for telegraphing danger. It has kept us alive for millennia, though not in a fail-safe way, for we have developed so much logic that we talk ourselves out of intuitive feelings, sometimes saying it is only our imagination.

Real Estate Agents go into dangerous places sometimes, empty houses, warehouses, lofts, at night sometimes. The idea is to be focused and aware.

I was struck this week by a lecture on the Native Nations of  North America—how long they have been here, and that they had some of the same social issues we have—like fighting each other, and territorial disputes.

Sometimes you know something, but then later you really get it. That was the way I was with society and culture. I wondered how people like Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Leonardo da Vinci, and Jesus could be so wise in times of barbarism.

Like, suddenly brilliance pops up.

It’s that we have cultures within our society. We have skin heads, KKK members living alongside Priests and Saints, and monks who do not proselytize, yet get verbally attacked for not being Christian. We have Southern, Northern, Midwest, Rural, and Urban inhabitants.

We have people who want to bomb entire areas back to the Stone Age, while others say, “Don’t do it.” “Your decision effects the rest of us.”

See how anger gets attention, and a soft voice hardly raises an eyebrow? Yet silence--it seems that the monks are on to something, walk, meditate, be in relaxed focus, make a statement, push yourself for a cause. 

We have progressive personalities and Conservative personalities of varying degrees, some are genetically predetermined, some are taught.

And then we try to have a Democracy where the majority rules.

It’s tricky.

 

 

Here is the Tiny House now, we had it pushed in under a high overhead to keep it out of the weather, and to allow DD easy access to materials in the garage a few feet away. The trouble is, our wonderful creative House mover, moved himself to Eastern Oregon, and now we must find a way to get the house back out. 

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• "Life is pretty simple:
  You do some stuff. Most fails. Some works.
  You do more of what works."

  --Leonardo da Vinci

 

 "The curiosity and connection that create the Eureka effect rely on parts of the brain that don't feel fear."—Martha Beck.

 

Really?

 

I thought fear was all-pervasive. Yet, as I think about it, fear comes from our primitive brain stem, the part that's into survival.

 

Martha is right; it doesn't come from the creative side. 

 

That must be why we feel happy when we are into some creative endeavor or when faced with a problem whose solution has stumped us, if we let it sit a while, Eureka, "Out of the blue," comes the answer.

 

I know, however, that while the right side of our brains is creative, and it's so much fun to be in that space, I did not know it was fearless. The other side must creep in.

 

I've been hearing more and more that scientists are trying to pinpoint where consciousness lies and, so far, haven't been able to do it. They are pretty sure it doesn't reside in the brain as we have been led to believe. 

 

Don't we think with our brains? Doesn't it feel like it is coming from our heads? Yes, but what about those moments of transcendence where something comes to us from out of that blue space?

 

The first time l experienced an out-of-the-blue thought where I got the message that we can KNOW as a teenager.

 

This is silly, a trivial little thing, but it impacted me.

 

I had taken a knit dress to the cleaners, and when I picked it up, it was wrapped in brown paper like a package. I absolutely knew the belt wasn't in that package. But I didn't want to tell them, thus committing to such boldness, so I went to the car, opened the package, verified that the belt wasn't there, returned to the shop, and told them the belt was missing. They found it and gave it to me.

 

I have mentioned I am writing a memoir. This memoir could also fit into the Memoir/autobiography/travel/adventure/special interest categories. Every time I say I'm writing a memoir, I sound arrogant. Then I remind myself I do not know anyone better than I know myself.

 

Perhaps people will want to read it; perhaps they won't. Perhaps it will inspire others to write their memoir; maybe it won't. Either way, come hell or high water, I'm doing it. I mentioned I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days, but that doesn't mean it is complete; it just means I got words on the page, and now I am faced with a mess. 

 

Natalie Goldberg (Old Friend from Far Away), my inspiration, says you can write many memoirs in your life; every time you write one, you will be at a different place. And don't write about dreary stuff; you can write about pain, for that's a part of life, but generally, write about what takes your breath away.

 

Yesterday I was writing about Spankings, and I made this statement: 

 

"I don't know why it is embarrassing to be spanked like it is embarrassing to be bullied, molested, or unloved."

 

The moment I wrote the above sentence, I got the answer. 

 

When Joseph McClendon III talked about sleeping in a box in Lancaster, California, after somebody tried to kill him because of the color of his skin, he thought, "If someone would do that to me, there must be something wrong with me."

 

That's it. 

 

As McClendon erroneously thought there was something wrong with him, kids probably think there is something wrong with them and that they deserve punishment.

 

There was nothing wrong with McClendon, as there is nothing wrong with kids who get hit for some infraction. They are kids, remember?

 

I wonder how much punishment contributes to our culture's prevailing "I'm not good enough" syndrome. I'm not good enough to be loved. I'm not good enough to find a mate. I'm not good enough to write a good book, a play, a symphony, paint a picture or start a business. 

 

"I've been bad and deserve to be hit. I am a girl, a less desirable weaker sex, and I must keep my mouth shut. Boys will be boys, you know." 

 

Auugh.

 

That's the biggest Bullshit I have ever heard. 

 

I told you I was a Badass in training.

 

I will ask for pre-sales for the book PAINTING A LIFE from a Badass in Training by Jewell D. That way, I can hit the ground running when the book is launched. Getting sales right away is the best way to get a higher rating on Google.

 

"Obi-Wan, I need your help."

 

You can tell me you're willing to join my pre-sales campaign if you want to. Pre-sales are only charged once a book is launched.

 

So, nobody will be charged if it never gets off the launching pad.

 

Over and out, have fun, be creative, do a little dance.

 

What Makes Life Worth Living?

I lie in bed thinking. And then I thought that this mass in my head was doing it. And then I thought, what a marvelous thing, that all those neurons, synapses and whatever, like electrical wires are coursing through the mass that resides inside my skill. Such a strange mass it is, a lump that if you didn't know what it was and found it in your yard, you would think you ought to buy it.

 We carry a powerhouse atop our shoulders, yet we spend most of the day whining and throwing chemicals at the powerhouse, spurring it to work better, run faster, be smarter, get with the program, and make us happy.

I'm not a spring chicken, and I suppose that brings with age comes a certain amount of urgency to get things done. I read once that if you want to know about death, ask a 70-year-old. They've been looking at it across the street for a decade."

 I say, yep, look at it, then get on with life—that's what you're here for.

What is my purpose? What is my dream? What is my passion? How can I be of service? How can I feed my soul good things when I hear so much bad stuff? How can I combat negativity?

These are the questions of the ages, yet one lone soul dared to stand up and say, "Our purpose is to live in joy."

Do you believe that?

This morning I heard Oprah quote Maya Angelo. "I come as one. I stand as ten thousand."

 For Oprah, it was her people behind her, those with price tags attached should they ever be sold. They were listed in a slave ledger, Donna, $900; Lydia, $800, an 11-year-old girl, $500.

Oprah will not let herself forget where she came from.

I grew up thinking that war was just the worst thing that could ever happen. I heard about Hitler, and I saw the pictures of skeleton people with skin stretched over their bones, people from barracks, emaciated, so when I hear someone say, "Let's kick their butts," or happy that we "Bombed them back to the stone age," my heart aches. I carry those remembrances.

Oprah daily sees a painting that has prominence on her living room wall. It's of a slave mother standing on the sale's block holding her daughter's hand.

 Should we remember or forget? Is this remembrance a constant damper to our joy? Must we flagellate ourselves with something we didn't do and can't erase from the past? Two friends and I once visited Dachau, the German  Concentration Camp whose slogan is "Never Let Them Forget."

 Yes, never forget, so we never, never repeat it, but isn't it time to move on, to be better people? 

It's time we lived in joy. Although neuroscientists say it is built into us to have a "Negativity bias." Dr. Rick Hanson says we have Velcro neurons for negativity and Teflon neurons for happiness. We can, however, gently retrain our neurons. "Aim for a thought that feels best," Abraham instructs us. If we hold a kind thought for 17 seconds, another kind thought will join it.

I don't know where the 17-second rule came from, but it's a great idea that one kind thought will join another.

Yes, when we walk into a room, I agree that we carry 10,000 people with us. But could it be that those people, instead of being slaves and victims, are warriors? They are our mothers and fathers. They are the ones who escaped tyranny. They are the ones who immigrated to this country to make a better life. They were the pioneers that crossed the prairies to build a home. They were the suffragettes who fought for women's right to vote. They are the ones who formed unions to give workers a living wage. They were our grandparents who farmed and fed a nation. They were the ones who wrote a Constitution to ensure that democracy shall prevail. They fought for gay rights, birth control, a woman's reproductive right to choose, and the end of child labor. And they are still out there building wells in Africa, trying to stop the selling and enslaving of women for sex. They are the ones who believe that not one person on the earth should starve and that people should not be judged by the color of their skin but by the strength of their character.

 See how long that list is?

 Long ago, President Truman, who became president upon the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt, placed a sign on his desk as a daily reminder: "The buck stops here."

  "Your beliefs become your thoughts. Your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions. Your actions become your habits. Your habits become your values. Your values become your destiny." -- Mahatma Gandhi

 "I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something."–Edward Everett Hale

"We here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."--Abraham Lincoln

 November 19, 1863

What Makes Life Worth Living?

I lie in bed thinking. And then I thought that this mass in my head is doing it. And then I thought, what a magnificent thing, that all those neurons, synapses and whatever, like electrical wires are coursing through the mass that resides inside my skill. Such a strange mass it is, a lump that if you didn’t know what it was and found it in your yard you would think you ought to buy it.

 

Of course, it belongs in the skull, not in the yard. We carry a powerhouse atop out shoulders, yet we spend most of the day whining, and throwing chemicals at the powerhouse spurring it to work better, run faster, be smarter, get with the program, make us happy.

 

I’m not a spring chicken, and I suppose that brings with it a certain amount of urgency to get things done. I read once that if you want to know about death ask a 70-year-old, they’ve been looking at it across the street for a decade.”

 

I say, yep, look at it, then get on with life—that’s what you’re here for.

 

What is my purpose? What is my dream? What is my passion? How can I be of service? How can I feed my soul good things when I hear so much bad stuff? How can I combat negativity?

 

Questions of the ages, yet one lone soul had the audacity to stand up and say, “Our purpose is to live in joy.”

 

Do you believe that?

 

This morning I heard Oprah quote Maya Angelo. “I come as one, I stand as ten thousand.”

 

For Oprah, it was her people behind her, the ones that had price tags attached should they ever be sold. They were listed in a slave ledger, Donna, $900, Lydia $800, an 11-year-old girl $500. She will not let herself forget where she came from.

 

I grew up thinking that war was just the worst thing that could ever happen. I heard about Hitler, and I saw the pictures of skeleton people with skin stretched over their bones, people from barracks, emaciated, so when I hear someone say, “Let’s kick their butts,” or happy that we “Bombed them back to the stone age,” my heart aches. I carry those remembrances.

 

Oprah daily sees a painting that has prominence on her living room wall. It’s of a slave mother standing on the sale’s block holding her daughter’s hand.

 

Should we remember or forget? Is this remembrance a constant damper on our joy? Tell people to be kind to each other, love each other. Must we flagellate ourselves with something we didn’t do and can’t erase from the past? Aim for thoughts that feel better. Raise someone up when they are down, but first take care of yourself. That isn’t selfish. If you are limping along a dangerous trail, straight down on one side, wall on the other, shale slipping, do you want another limping person beside you, or do you want someone strong, someone who takes your hand and says, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

 

Be that person.

 

Yes, when we walk into a room, we carry those 10,000 people with us. But could it be that those people, instead of being slaves and victims, are warriors?  They are our mothers and fathers. They are the ones who escaped tyranny. They are the ones who immigrated to this country to make a better life. They were the pioneers that crossed the prairies to build a home. They were the suffragettes who fought for women’s right to vote. They are the ones who formed unions to give workers a living wage. They were our grandparents who farmed and fed a nation. They were the ones who wrote a Constitution to ensure that democracy shall prevail. They fought for gay rights, birth control, a woman’s reproductive right to choose, and the end to child labor. And they are still out there building wells in Africa, trying to stop selling and enslaving women for sex, believing that not one person on the earth should starve, and that people should not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the strength of their character.

 

See how long that list is? We don’t have baggage we have the spark of life in us.

 

President Truman placed a sign on his desk as a daily reminder: “The buck stops here.”

 

I suggest in response to the rabble “out there,” that we adopt that attitude.