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The Columbia River Gorge: this is a tributary following through a little canyon before flowing into the  Columbia River. My friend and I hiked, through the water of this canyon one hot day, fully dressed. The water came almost to our waist, and my leather sandals, became stiff images of their former self.  It was wonderful. I still remember my friend's perfectly manicured pink fingernails clutching the mossy rocks and we guided ourselves along the rim of this canyon. She was game for just about anytime she could be in water. She's swimming in heaven now, but that day was a mighty close second to it.

 

Have you noticed that some speakers and writers write better than they speak, and some speak better than they write?

One writer I positively adore reading, but not listening to.

Another, a teacher, I love hearing, but fall asleep while trying to read her books.

I suppose it's a rare soul who can achieve both writing and speaking to the reader’s/ listener’s satisfaction. Yet, we expect them to. I know one agent who will not take on a manuscript unless the author is a speaker. Well, that’s a bummer.

There is a phenomenon where a blogger, especially a blogger or a columnist, someone who writes regularly, wears out. “Jumps the shark.” That expression came from the TV show “Happy Days,” when Fonzie, while water skiing, jumped over a shark. That phrase "Jumping the shark," became known as explaining that something has reached it's end, actually it means something has gone a little too far. 

That show should have ended slightly before that episode. Yet, no baseball batter hits a home run every time at bat. It could be that they stay in a rut, or the reader has moved on. Either person can change their interests, become bored, or fall into a cliché.

We either grow together or apart.

So, what is your interest today?

I read a commenter who said she was 70 years old and had weathered many storms, and was tired of people telling her she needed to change. Change this, change that. Another writer said she had it up the kazoo with spiritual truisms, although she was spiritual.  

Maybe stop reading it and live it.

It’s time to declare our greatness and get on with it.

Be selective with what you read. It is so easy to get into something depressing, doom-and-gloom. Hey, give us a break here with you trying to over shock the other writers.

I try to add value, not just listen to my head rattle. Some say you are writing to get attention. So?!! We are all little kids at heart, Mommy, look at me.”

But we grow up and say, “What do I want to share?”  “There is something stuck in me itching for a way out.” This comes after the basic needs are met, like breathing, eating, drinking, shelter, and some modicum of financial security.

We aren’t meant to go through life harvesting fruit only to have it turn to glop in our pocket. In the movie Yentl, “Where is it Written,” Barbra Streisand sang the song, Where is it Written? “Why have the taste if not to drink the wine?”

There comes a time in one’s life when there is a genuine desire to express, to be creative, to contribute, and to have a dialogue with one’s fellow inhabitants. And it doesn’t have to be in words. Have you ever viewed a painting that so inspired you that you wanted to run out and do something creative? That happened to me once with a lounge singer in Las Vegas. I don’t know who he was, or the name of the song, but somehow his song, or his voice, or his rendition of it got to me that evening, and I wanted to go out and write something.

Nature can do that.

Go out and take a forest bath— with awe, not water. (Water works too.) 

Have you ever felt the brush of a horse’s mane, soft and fresh smelling against your cheek, and felt his lips gently nibble-kiss you? Have you ever buried your face in your dog’s fur and felt that gentle curve of his neck as he acknowledges your embrace? 

These are the moments that take our breath away.

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What Are We Willing to Put Up With?

“If You Could See Me Now:”

I’m driving—well, not driving, I’m parked—but a minute ago, I was driving the brightest, yellowish vehicle I had ever seen outside of sports cars. Every inch of this vehicle is screaming yellow. I feel that I’m glowing as I drive down the road.

I just dropped off my champagne-colored Ford Fusion to have a solenoid replaced, and they gave me this loaner car. Bless those people. I love that this company offers loaner cars, and they are probably the greenest (environmentally) repair company in Eugene, Oregon. “The car’s out front,” they said, “the key is in it. “That yellow one!” I exclaimed. It’s great, I was just surprised.

 

I bought coffee, grateful I had transportation, and drove to the park in Eugene, Oregon, to talk to you guys.

The park runs alongside the Willamette River. It’s gorgeous. Two Maple trees in front of me are providing shade, and behind them acres of green lawn spread out before me. A cement path is beyond the green, and a line of trees frames the North side of the path. I can see a bit of blue that is the river, river peeking through the trees.

So, what do you want to talk about?

This calm, tranquil place with only an occasional biker cruising down the cement path is not a setting to get into world politics—Oh, rats, someone parked beside me, but then, we will share the shade: two maples, two cars.

What I have been into the last few days, besides physical therapists coming to the house for my husband who broke his hip, contractors coming, nurses coming, dogs out for the nurses and therapists, in for the contractors. Dirty dishes into the sink, clean dishes out. It’s like the children’s book “Big Dog Out, Little Dog In.” “Little dog out, big dog in.”

I’ve been thinking about my old analogy about how one’s life perspective depends on which window we look through.

I hit a window the other day—on the computer—and saw a picture of bloody fighters having a cage fight on the white house lawn. Now, how can you unsee a picture such as that?!  First, the gladiators. Will we have lions next?

 

What are we willing to put up with?

 

With my window analogy, looking through one window will show you wars, bombings, and chaos in the world. But then another window will show you that the trees are leafed out and delicate in their spring newness. The flowers were dressed in their Sunday best—looking like Easter with flashy, fuchsias, golden yellows, yummy oranges, pinks, reds, and all of them basking in glorious sunshine.

And here I’m outside, well, no, I’m not. I’m sitting in a car looking through a window.

 

Incidentally, as I mentioned, the car repair shop I just left is green. It used to be for foreign cars only, then a couple of doors down the strip, they added another shop for domestic vehicles. We can now use them again. And they said a third shop was coming—I don’t know its specialty.

I was reading a newspaper clipping on the wall while waiting for my loaner car, about how the owner bought the property, renovated it, did the right thing from the beginning, insulated the structure, placed solar panels on the roof, buried tanks in the ground for various fluids so that they would reduce the amount of deliveries and trucks, and the amount of plastic bottles. I don’t know what else my car loner arrived, but I remember that we used to be greeted by a Standard Poodle, and they had a loaner bike.