Imagine

 

 

Imagine we are sitting in front of a fireplace. I pour the coffee, would you rather have tea, or a mulled wine, that is warm too? The fire is quietly burning, snapping occasionally, I guess those logs had a bit of water in them.

We settle down with our drinks, prop our feet up, and I explain that I have aired complaints on my blog for the last couple of years; now it's your turn.

So, tell me, is anything bothering you?

I used to have a close friend who would visit for a few days, and we would sit up at night talking. First, we had to get all the frustrations, irritations, and junk, out of our heads, and then about 3 in the morning we would get down to serious, insightful conversation.

It was like a writer's morning pages—write the junk out so the good stuff can come in

Steven Pressfield advises artists to "Sweep your floor, so the Muse doesn't soil her gown on the way in."

But here we are, you and me. 

If you don't want to tell me what's bothering you, that's okay. Write it down; I won't peek. Get personal, not just about world conditions.

(Ah, I have to tell you, a Robin just perched on a limb outside my window, and it's November 24, 2025. I thought winter was coming, and that robins are spring birds. He sat a minute, looked at me, and then flew on. Good luck on your journey, sweet bird.)

Having an interruption like that rather knocks those bothersome thoughts out of one's head, doesn't it? 

It did mine.

Lately, I've been reading and writing about "Get Happy." And I know the idea of "Let's just get happy" irks some people. I have a friend who says she is happy all the time, and she gets flak for it.

But I am investigating the possibility of "Let's Get Happy Now" using Joseph McClendon III's definition of happiness.:

"Happiness is a mental and emotional state of being where your internal focus is optimistic, and the body produces positive energy."

Now that's something I can get behind. It doesn't say, "Just decide to be happy."

It doesn't minimize hard times.

It doesn't say that we will live in eternal joy.

It doesn't say that being grateful will bring about happiness, although being thankful for the good in your life is a splendid idea. 

It doesn't say that your emotions of sadness, depression, grief, or anger ought not to be expressed; it says that "your internal focus is optimistic, and the body produces positive energy."

"Happiness," some say, "comes and goes." It's fun to be happy. But we aren't "ha ha" happy all the time. We laugh at a joke and it fills the happy coffer for a minute. We see a beautiful sunset, an ocean, a beach, or an exquisite alpine forest, and we are in awe. That's fun. We giggle with our children when we see them running in joyful enthusiasm. We love being in love—talk about endorphins. There are many avenues to happiness. But we don't live on the mountain top all the time; that might wear out our synapses, too. However, the idea of living in an optimistic, positive state sounds good to me.

I think when people say, "I just want to be happy," it means more like McClendon has described—being optimistic and allowing our body to produce positive energy.

Those individuals who have lived to be 100 or older, especially those who live in the "blue zones" of the world, probably have experienced sadness, grief, disappointment, anger, and resentment, but that is not where they live.

Generally, those centurions have a full life: they eat well, have social contact, a spiritual bent, and, as they mostly live in a village, they walk a lot.

Most of us don't live in villages anymore; we live in cities or on the farm or in residential areas where often neighbors never speak to each other. However, we can make an effort to create a healthier lifestyle. Joseph McClendon III, a neuropsychologist, says that when people come into his office and he asks them what they want, they usually have a grocery list of things they do not want. When he presses them by asking what they want, they go blank.

Here is an exercise McClendon suggests: Write down your most magnificent day as you see it in your mind's eye.

Or in our case, sitting here in front of the fireplace, we could share how we see our Magnificent Day with each other.

I would love to hear your take on this.

This has been a lovely visit, more on happiness later.

Thank you for joining me.

                        

P.S. I wrote this post for the newsletter I am trying to get going, but decided to also post it here so you will see what I am up to.

josnewsletter.com

Question

 One day, my niece asked me this question:

"Suppose a couple has driven their car out on one of those desolate roads in the middle of nowhere. They come to a four-way intersection and stop in the middle of the road.

What happens next?

Possibilities:

1.     They contemplate a moment and say, "This is an adventure, let's go that way. One points, and they laughingly go on their way.

2.     From out of the blue, another vehicle crashes into them.

3.     A devil appears and says he will give them their heart's desire (Maybe a recording contract), but in return, they must promise to give him their soul.

4.     They continue straight ahead in the direction they were going without much thought about it. They were only stopping for a breather.

5.     Can you think of another?

I'm thinking this is a road trip across the US, so there are many choices along the way.

If you are a writer, you might want angst like the crash. Or you might have been conditioned to expect the worst.

 You might be a person who thinks they must pay or suffer to get what they want.

You might be a person who takes a chance, or one who doesn't.

You might be part of a couple that gives in without expressing your opinion. Or you might be a couple who will argue endlessly and never come to an agreement. One person might give in to the other, then fume for the next 50 miles.

All this came up for me from this picture from an old blog, November 27, 2023

This picture struck me. It's of our yard, a Japanese maple, a fig tree, a St John's Wort. (The one with red berries.) Yet where did our eyes go? To that one little dead leaf up high in the fig tree. That's the way with people. We can't help it, we are built to find the broken, the moving, the different. It has survival value. 

It's the way our mind works.

"My mind is boggled." I wrote on that 2023 post. "I'm frustrated, disenchanted, disappointed, and when I tell my daughter of this, she says that others feel the same way.

"After all my grumbling, complaining, and ineptitude, I couldn't stand the News. And, as I like to keep a novel going most of the time, I was tired of trudging through pain, anguish, and grief to get to the happy ending. I was tired of movies that made me sad and publishers that want tension between lovers and angst in life because, without it, they have no story.

"I remembered a time when we were proud to be Americans, and when GI Joe was a good guy."

That gripe is two years old. That night, divine guidance led me to Louise Hay's book You Can Heal Your Life.

 She speaks of Affirmations. Well, Affirmations and I have a long history. I remember getting assignments to write an affirmation 100 times before bed.

That was penance.

I understand that an affirmation is meant to drum a new thought into our heads. (You never change an old thought without replacing it with a new.) But what if you plant the seed and then leave it to grow? A seed has its own internal guidance system, and that is, given the right conditions, like soil, minerals, and water, it will sprout. Love can help. But do not dig it up to see if it sprouted. (As with repeatedly writing the affirmation which is saying you don't believe it will happen unless you drum it into The Source.)

Trust that the seed will grow.

Think of affirmations this way: Every thought is an affirmation. (I know we have unwanted thoughts; don't beat yourself up. Be kind to yourself. We have a screwy brain. Yep, there are dead leaves, for heaven's sake climb up there and pluck them out, or wait, they will fall.

And remember, every moment is new. If we choose to believe we are helpless victims and that all is hopeless, the Universe will support that belief.

Every cell in our body responds to every single thought we think and every word we speak. Continuous modes of thinking and speaking produce body behaviors, postures, and ease or dis-ease.

Last week, I suggested that we get happy. And I was using Joseph McClendon III's definition of happiness:

"Happiness is a mental and emotional state of being where your internal focus is optimistic and the body produces positive energy."

It doesn't address Ha ha happy. It doesn't say  "Just think happy thoughts." It doesn't say that sometimes we need friction to get us motivated and off our butts. (or buts.)

Neither does it ignore that we read, hear, or see dire things. And we also see beautiful things. It means having the mental and physical capacity to carry us through.

To quote McClendon:

"Inside you is a warrior ready to conquer the world.

"You were wired for happiness, adventure, and abundance. Those attributes were embedded into your soul from birth. You didn't enter the world with a whimper. You entered it bold and defiant!"

Now sit up straight, hold your head up, look straight ahead, and put a big, stupid grin on your face.

Do you feel better? 

 P.S.

Do you have any suggestions for josnewsletter.com/

It is a babe in the woods barely digging its way out of its den, oh no, and with winter coming, well maybe we can snuggle in someplace else. Even Timberline Lodge at the base of Mt Hood in Oregon, has a gorgeous huge roaring fireplace.

 

 

Conversation Under the Maple #5

"I brought the snacks today," says Simad, setting a small ice chest on the table. "Since my cat cooks better than me, I brought store-bought mochi's."

"What's a mochi?" asks Twinkie."

"Japanese rice cakes- stuffed with ice cream--an ice cream you can eat with your fingers."

"Yum," says Harvey, "biting into the soft rice pillow filled with Mango ice cream. "My first. How many can I have?'

"Oh, there are about six a piece."

Harvey laughed. "My kind of guy."

"Harvey," says Ollie," pouring herself a cup of coffee, "how was your week? I wondered how it went after last Tuesday."

"Umpth," Harvey grunted, dropping into a chair. "You know what that Richard Bach fella said, 'If you wonder if your mission on earth is over, and you're alive, it isn't?" He placed one ankle over the other leg. "Well, Liz's was over, and mine isn't. I had been thinking of myself, not her. It makes me wonder, though, does a person know when it's time, or is our life just snuffed out?"

"Depends on your view, I guess," says Ollie. "It hurts if we think the person chose to leave us. But then it isn't much better to think their life was snuffed out without their consent. It's complicated since there are many ideas on the subject. I know it's hard when someone's physical presence is no longer with us. We miss them."

"Yeah, I suppose I will miss her forever—well, until I see her again. You know, ever since we're old enough to listen, we hear that death is the final hurrah. Our pets die, our Grandmas and Grandpas, parents even. When death comes, we are shocked. 'It's a tragedy,' we say. 'How did that happen? What did they die of?' I'm glad she didn't have to feel what I'm feeling."

"Oh Harvey," says Twinkie, "You took her pain. You were gallant to the end."

"What a dear young lady you are."

Simad pipes up: "There is a story about a famous hunchback in love with a beautiful woman. When she hesitated to marry him because of his condition, he said, 'I took it, so you didn't have to.' She married him."

"Oh wow," said Harvey, scratching his head. "You guys are something else. You know what else I did this week?"

"What?" "Tell us." "Go for it."

"You know Liz's garden has been fallow for almost two years, overgrown, a mess. I hadn't visited it until last Saturday. I stood there looking over the brambles and began to pull weeds. Among them, I found volunteer potato plants, so I dug potatoes, a wheelbarrow full of red organic potatoes.

"If you want some, I have a box in the car. And there was an oregano plant as large as the bathtub. I left it and cleared the area around it. There is spice for my spaghetti sauce—more than I will ever use. I gave some to the neighbors. I was so into cleaning that I rented a rototiller and completely cleared the area. While at the garden shop, I bought a box of wildflower seeds, except the gardener said to plant them in the spring, as they probably wouldn't winter over."

"Have your get-together in the spring, Harvey, and we will all throw seeds," said Sally. "Your kids might like that too. What a great honor to Liz."

"Better than visiting a cemetery, I'd say," says Shal. "a field of wildflowers. I wish it was spring."

"Me too."

"I'm proud of you, Harvey," says Ollie.

"Me too's," around the table.

"I'm going to hold you to it, Harvey," says Shal, "to have that gathering. I know how easy it is to lose momentum. Inspiration wanes if we don't act on it."

"I'll tell the kids this week so they can plan on it."

"What about having it before spring?" Shal suggests. "You can invite us back when the wildflowers are in bloom."

"I want to do it now." Harvey pulls out his phone and checks the calendar. "How about we do it on Saturday the 30th. No, Sunday the 31st. I don't want to interfere with Twinkie's Glass Blowing Class. You went, didn't you?"

"I did, all day Saturday. And I went back on Sunday, too. Oh, Harvey, I would love to come on that Sunday if it works for your family."

"I'll bribe them. Let's do it. I have a right to be impulsive."

"You let us know, says Ollie," Now, Twinkie, tell us about your class."

"Alan had me dipping the blow rod into the molten glass and carrying it to the table practically all day on Saturday. By the end of the day, those two pounds of glass on the end of that blowpipe felt like I was carrying an anvil, but I loved every minute. It doesn't hurt that Alan is a hunk and the nicest teacher I could ask for."

"Hum," says Ollie, "I detect more than a love of glass blowing."

"In my dreams," says Twinkie. "Everybody falls in love with Alan."

"The same with you, Twinkie."

Her cheeks glow pink.

"I went back on Sunday because Alan was having a demonstration for tourists, and he invited me. At the demo, he introduced me as a trainee, and asked if I would explain the instruments to them and tell them how hot the furnace is, and people wanted to know if we went to the beach to collect sand."

"Do you?" asks Simad.

"No, we must buy it, as it is a special blend. Expensive, too."

"How old is that Alan fella?" asks Harvey. "Is he married?"

"No. He isn't married. I sneakily asked about his family. No wife, no kids. He's in his early thirties."

"Okay then," says Harvey.

"Thanks, Pop, for looking out for me."

"You're welcome."

"Shal, Sally, Simad, what's happening with you guys?" Ollie asks.

"Well, I'm glad I began meditating again, "Shal says. "I'm less stressed out over work. My wife said I stopped pacing the floor. I didn't even notice. I did have an experience this week. You know I'm not religious. I don't want any organized events, doctrines, or dogma. But as I sat and meditated, I entered an altered state where I felt in touch with the divine. It was a feeling, not a belief. My head was light, and I drifted for the longest while. I was in space with endless possibilities around me. I understand what people mean by being spiritual, for I believe that space is where God is. And I want an artistic endeavor to be enthusiastic about, like Twinkie has, something I can sink my teeth into. I'm tired of selling things. I want to be visited by the muse."

"Be still and listen."

“Come over to my shop," said Harvey. "Look around. See if anything grabs you. I do woodworking from time to time."

"Do you have a torch?"

"Yep, I do."

“I've thought of sculpturing where you weld odds and ends together and come up with something like a college."

"Steampunk?"

"Maybe. More like free form."

"Gather some junk and come on over. We'll see what we can come up with."

"I'd like that, Harvey."

"Harvey," says Sally, "How about you give me a batch of Liz's wonderful red potatoes, and I will make an Italian potato salad for your gathering on the 31^st. It's great for an outdoor picnic since it has no mayonnaise, just oil, vinegar, and herbs, and it's best served warm."

"That would be perfect."

"And throw in some of that oregano."

"I'll bring something," says Twinkie.

"Me too says Ollie."

Simad and Shal: "I will. I will."

"Well, it's settled then," said Harvey, "I'll provide the meat, chicken, and veggie burgers."

"Okay, Simad," asks Ollie, "how about you?"

"Everyone else seems happy and I'm miserable. I'm going crazy. I have a deadline, and the closer it gets, the more uptight I get. Besides, my girlfriend is tired of me complaining about my writing. I think she wants to move on.

"When I'm in a jumble like now, meditation or affirmations just irk me. I'm stuck."

"Okay, guys, pounce on Simad." Says Ollie. "We set this up to be a support group."

 

 

 

P.S. Thanks for reading

 Here is a  brief explanation of what will occur on Jewell’s Substack.

"Conversations Under the Maple will continue to be here, so you guys can see them here, but I will be adding content between the conversations that will be from me, not the group.

I Subscribed to my own site and every time I post I get an email right away—it’s cool, and it didn’t cost me a red cent or a blue or yellow one either. 

The brief Introduction below will be my first comment to appear on Substack.

 

Build It and They Will Come

Will they?

 

If I could build a coffee shop, a hang-out place, I would. We could sit and read, talk, or get our group together, find new friends, and dare to get honest with feelings and questions on how to deal with life, the Universe, and everything. Spirituality, God, psychology, our psyche, our hearts, and our egos are all there. That’s life.

I’m glued to this page. But then maybe that’s the best way to meet you. Our local is worldwide. Our interests are diverse. It’s good you didn’t find me at the beginning of my tenure here on Substack, for I kept changing my plan. (If I’m painting a room, I change the color about three times too.) But now I believe I’ve settled down to a color.

Nope.

I dipped my paint brush into water into which I had dropped blobs of oil paint—remember when we did that in school? Water and oil paint don’t mix, so the paint floats on the water. Whatever you dip into the water will come out smeared with oil paint, a kaleidoscope of color. In school, we dipped jars. Here, I will dip my brush and swipe it across the page.

We will talk about whatever comes to mind, not gossip, but real stuff.  The subjects are endless. It’s all life. The mixture of colors.

I began Conversations Under the Maple on my blog, and when a reader mentioned Substack (that I didn’t know existed), I decided to check it out, and Viola’ here I am.

I will publish From Beneath the Maple Tree weekly as long as they allow me to listen in on the conversation. Interspersed between those posts will be my visit with you—as I am doing now. And I expect some input in return. Fair enough? Okay.

If you wonder how six people can gather under the maple tree for an entire afternoon one day a week, I think back to a six-month training. A group of twenty or so met for a full day twice a week for six months. Then, some of us went on to a second six-month training. And there were young people, lovers, couples, at least two engineers, a professor, a physicist, a doctor, writers, housewives, and a budding psychologist all mixed together. How did they get the time off? I don’t know. They were committed to their own life advancement.

Here, it will be easy: read for 10 minutes or so.

Ten minutes might change our lives.

I can’t wait.

P.S. Thanks for reading

 Here is a  brief explanation of what will occur on Jewell’s Substack.

"Conversations Under the Maple will continue to be here, so you guys can see them here, but I will be adding content between the conversations that will be from me, not the group.

I Subscribed to my own site and every time I post I get an email right away—it’s cool, and it didn’t cost me a red cent or a blue or yellow one either. 

The brief Introduction below will be my first comment to appear on Substack.

 

Build It and They Will Come

Will they?

 

If I could build a coffee shop, a hang-out place, I would. We could sit and read, talk, or get our group together, find new friends, and dare to get honest with feelings and questions on how to deal with life, the Universe, and everything. Spirituality, God, psychology, our psyche, our hearts, and our egos are all there. That’s life.

I’m glued to this page. But then maybe that’s the best way to meet you. Our local is worldwide. Our interests are diverse. It’s good you didn’t find me at the beginning of my tenure here on Substack, for I kept changing my plan. (If I’m painting a room, I change the color about three times too.) But now I believe I’ve settled down to a color.

Nope.

I dipped my paint brush into water into which I had dropped blobs of oil paint—remember when we did that in school? Water and oil paint don’t mix, so the paint floats on the water. Whatever you dip into the water will come out smeared with oil paint, a kaleidoscope of color. In school, we dipped jars. Here, I will dip my brush and swipe it across the page.

We will talk about whatever comes to mind, not gossip, but real stuff.  The subjects are endless. It’s all life. The mixture of colors.

I began Conversations Under the Maple on my blog, and when a reader mentioned Substack (that I didn’t know existed), I decided to check it out, and Viola’ here I am.

I will publish From Beneath the Maple Tree weekly as long as they allow me to listen in on the conversation. Interspersed between those posts will be my visit with you—as I am doing now. And I expect some input in return. Fair enough? Okay.

If you wonder how six people can gather under the maple tree for an entire afternoon one day a week, I think back to a six-month training. A group of twenty or so met for a full day twice a week for six months. Then, some of us went on to a second six-month training. And there were young people, lovers, couples, at least two engineers, a professor, a physicist, a doctor, writers, housewives, and a budding psychologist all mixed together. How did they get the time off? I don’t know. They were committed to their own life advancement.

Here, it will be easy: read for 10 minutes or so.

Ten minutes might change our lives.

I can’t wait.

 

Please go to

Jewell D's Substack

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