What Am I Missing?

 

Pray tell, why do we have some much violence as entertainment?

 We’re good people. We love peace. I don’t believe we want to train our children to be fighters. Am I wrong in this? We lobby for gun control while using guns abundantly in movies or on television. Are we teaching that a gun is the way to solve a problem?

 

I don’t get it. What am I missing?

 We have no television in our house. Oh, we have a television set, we watch DVD’s, and download certain television shows primarily Gray’s Anatomy, and Glee. Project Runway ended a while back as did Americas’ Next Top Model, so we haven’t watched them for a while. Having no regular television or commercials has, however, heightened our sensibilities. Now when we watch we are appalled at what we see.

On the rare occasion that Daughter Darling takes Little Boy Darling to the movies I say, “Wait until after the previews, you can’t trust them.” We did go to the movies with him recently—husband and I regularly attend, but daughter and her son do not. I retrieved them from the race-car game outside, thinking the feature was about to begin, but still we were assaulted with about one half hour of commercials—of course the military was in there—and then came the previews of coming attractions. We were so rummy by the time the feature film came on screen we had forgotten what we came to see. (Oh yes, I remember. It was Parental Instincts. I love Billy Crystal and Bette Midler.)

When a particularly violent movie scene manages to hit me unawares, I sometimes I look around at the audience and notice that people are generally sitting with no expression or reaction. That strikes me as strange. Are people internalizing this activity? What am I missing?

People want to feel. We want to feel even if it is a bad feeling. I’m from the old school, I think angst is to show the hero overcoming obstacles and rising triumphantly. That way we believe we can also do that. Yes, yes, yes, I have heard ad-nauseam that without conflict you have no story. I believe that writers resort to violence as a convenient way to add conflict. Fight scenes reign supreme—even in so-called children’s movies. Okay, I know stories are to entertain, enlighten, or enrage. I guess the violence is doing its job—it is enraging me.

 

 

 

The Eagle and The Condor

 

My daughter in Oregon told me of this gift.

The Native Americans have given us many gifts one is a prophecy from the natives of the Andes.

They say that North America has the sign of the EAGLE, while South America carries the symbol of the CONDOR. The eagle signifies the mind. It is into technology and learning, and that is where we have resided for the past 500 years. The condor symbolizes the heart, intuition and spirituality.  Since October 12, 1992, we’ve been in the Fifth Pachacuti, which is said to be a time of partnership and union, where eagle and condor “fly together in the sky as equals.”

Now we have a blending of the heart and mind. Now is the time to ask for what you want, and to ask for what you want for the earth.

It is a time for newness, for celebration, for dreamers to dream, wishers to wish, and for askers to receive. The Oraibi, the elders of the Arizona Hopi Nation say the river has its destination. We must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water.

They say it is a time in history to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.

The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we've been waiting for.

".... Remember that feeling as a child
When you awoke and morning smiled
It's time its time you felt, felt like that again
Come with me, leave your yesterdays, your yesterdays behind,
and TAKE A GIANT STEP OUTSIDE YOUR MIND!"
---written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King, sung by TAJ MAHAL

  

"There are only two ways to live your life: one is as though nothing is a miracle;
the other is as though EVERYTHING is a miracle!" --- Albert Einstein

 

 P.S.

A book I must look into:

June 18, 2012 | Review by Bill Gates

The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined (Book Review)

How would you go about making the world a fundamentally better place? Eliminating violence, particularly violent deaths, would be a great start. Cognitive scientist Steven Pinker shows in his masterful new book just how violence is declining. It is a triumph of a book.

People often ask me what is the best book I’ve read in the last year. Steven Pinker’s The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined stands out as one of the most important books I’ve read – not just this year, but ever.

The Lady Still Stands

"Give me your tired, your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp besidethe golden door!"

 

Excerpt from the poem The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus', engraved on the pedestal of The Statue of Liberty.*

 

The boy’s father was killed in a construction accident. The boy was 15 years old, the head of a household that consisted of his mother, two sisters, and a little brother. He grew corn for a living.

 

Every year the price of corn was going down, this year the co-op manager told him not to bother planting it. “Plant only what your family can eat,” he said, “Mexico will be buying American corn because it is cheaper.”

 

“But how can they sell it any cheaper than we do?”

 

“The government is subsidizing the farmers, to keep them in business.”

The boy’s family was barely scrimping by. His mother said they might have to move to the city. The boy knew what that meant—his mother would be another woman sitting on a corner waiting for hand-outs.  He didn’t know what would happen to his sisters. His little brother was always hungry. That cannot happen.
 
He wasn’t a brave boy, but what to do? He didn’t have coyote funds for smugglers to take him across the border like his friend did. He had to cross the border from Mexico into the United States where he could find work and send money home to his family… He had to make a run for it.

 …Tie his shirt around the ladder that extends up the outside of a freight train, so when his hands turned numb it would keep him from falling off.

Did he make it?

I don’t know. I haven’t yet finished Will Hobb’s book, “Crossing the Wire.”

 

* Ellis Island took a beating from Hurrican Sandy, but the lady stands firm, her torch lifted in freedom.

 

 

 

 

Screenplay Writers Unite, or is it More Fun to Play with Puppies?

[Don't miss the adorable pictures at the end of this post. I'm in love.]

As I attended a screen play writer's question and answer session in Los Angeles, Daughter Darling and Little Boy Darling cruised the mall where it was held. And guess who they saw?  Betty White.

You know that Betty White is much involved with animals, and a Pet store in the mall was encouraging people to adopt from Animal Shelters.  Daughter said the store had turned the pups loose in the shop and they were running, chasing, careening around corners, and generally having a ball, and there was Betty White in the midst of the chaos.

The Screen writing event was held in the inner sanctum of the mall. The sign inside the glorious mall was clear enough, “Community Room B” with an arrow. Okay, you open the door---creak---suddenly you’re outside.  Okay, follow the arrows. You walk along a dreary deck alongside a dreary long cement building. You step over puddles from a dripping over hang. There’s a door—whoops it’s a storage room.  Oh yes, there’s Community Room B. You step into it, decent room, it’s okay. You wonder if this is what they think of screenwriters—poke them into some obscure spot.  One participant commented that if you couldn’t find Community Room B, you didn’t deserve to be a screenwriter.

The agent/manager presenter, who probably chose the room, was illustrious enough, as was her moderator. The 20 or so attendees were a fun lively group.

Here are some fun facts:

An agent is the one who wears a suit. His or her focus is on making money.

A manager wears jeans, will listen to you, wants to develop your material, and is into a long-term relationship.

And some fun facts regarding whoever buys scripts:

“Can’t wait to read it,” is never going to happen.

It doesn’t matter if you are clever—that’s fluff.

If your query is more than 3 paragraphs, don’t bother.

Get to the point, don’t tell us how great you are.

Bottom line: Ask yourself, “Can I sell what I have and make a lot of money?”

According to this agent, here is what Hollywood is buying:

1.       Thrillers

2.       Horror

3.       Drama

Romantic comedies, she said, are almost impossible to sell. Comedy, don’t know about that—movies aren’t so funny anymore. (My comment.)

And why is Hollywood focusing on thrillers, horror and drama? It’s what sells overseas. The oversea market is where the money is. Think about it, how long is a movie in a theater in your town? A week?  If they are lucky. After their glorious week in US theaters, they go straight to the foreign markets.

Other fun facts: (Fun?)

If you are a minority and young—go for a staff position, they will hire you in a heartbeat.

White female—Pfftt.

Build your network—Facebook, Twitter, Linked-in. Here we go again.

 

And after the discouragement comes this:

"There's a market for everything, it's just how you go about doing it."

Let's talk about the greats, who wrote the marvelous movies staring Merle Streep?  Merle, I just love you, you are 63 years old, you sang exquisitely in Momma Mia, was a devil in The Devil Wears Prada, an uptight nun in Doubt, played Julia Childs in Julie & Julia, had two men fighting over your in It’s Complicated, spiced up your love life with Tommy Lee Jones in Hope Springs, and won the Oscar in Iron Lady. Talent prevails.

Yes, and how about Dame Judi Dench? These women just keep getting better and better. Doesn’t that give you hope? Oh, but these are the actors, who wrote their screenplays?

If you haven't see Judi Dench in The Exotic Marigold Hotel, rent it!

The following pictures have nothing to do with the content here. I just love them. They were sent to me by a friend in Oregon. Love, love, love.

Joyce

This Gypse Vanner horse lives in Oregon, and this is the first day of her baby's life. When the mother laid down, the foal trotted over and crawled into her lap.

 

 

  

Two Beers from Joyce

Here’s something I remember from college chemistry class: (This has nothing to do with beer.) First of all, we had a duck pond on campus and the professor decided to demonstrate that detergents (not soap) dissolve grease and that they work just as well in cold water as in hot. Ah, this was a time when we debated such things as soap vs. detergent. Anyway, the professor took a goose from the duck pond and bathed it in detergent. He then placed the goose in a tub of water. Poor goose, floundering in that tub, his feathers soaking up water. The demonstration was complete, the professor, however, being so smart, was stuck with the goose until it regained the oil necessary to keep him afloat. (Did this lead to sea birds rescued from oil spills by washing them in DAWN detergent?)

Why did I think of this? The following story did it. Well, mainly it was people’s response to the story. Some said a philosophy professor would never offer such a motivational demonstration. (An enlightened philosophy professor might.)

Originally I thought this story belonged to the blogger where I first saw it printed, however I found the story plastered all over the internet, so it seems fair game. This is from The Colorado State University site.

The Mayonnaise Jar & Two Beers

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.

When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and filled it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full.

They agreed that it was...

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly.

The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full.

They agreed it was...

Next the professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar.

Of course, the sand filled up everything else.

He asked once more if the jar was full.

The students responded with a unanimous “yes.”

The professor then produced two Beers from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand.

The students laughed...

“Now,” said the professor as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.

“The golf balls are the important things---your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions---and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

“The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car.

“The sand is everything else---the small stuff.

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.

“The same goes for life.

“If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

“Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.

“Spend time with your children.

“Spend time with your parents.

“Visit with grandparents.

“Take time to get medical checkups.

“Take your spouse out to dinner.

“Play another 18...

“There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal.

“Take care of the golf balls first---the things that really matter.

“Set your priorities.

“The rest is just sand.

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the Beer represented.

The professor smiled and said, “I'm glad you asked.

“The beer just shows you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of beers with a friend.”

 

P.S. I just noticed today’s date. December 1, 2012, exactly three years ago today we landed in Hawaii—supposedly our BIG MOVE. The BIG MOVE, though, was moving away.

And now being December and 24 days until Christmas, YIPES, you might have gifts to buy--and you might find something on our eBay stores, especially if you have need of a child's gift. Hint, Legos. 

1.   Daughter sells Legos—great Christmas gifts. ID = nbrancaccio

2.   Daughter and I sell Lego Duplo—that is the young child’s version of Legos, bigger pieces, easier to handle, no choking hazard, and cute, cute, cute. Also we are carrying children’s clothing and girl’s junior jeans. ID = wiggly wombat

3.   My site began with Lego Duplo’s, and has some miscellaneous listings as well. ID= douglasfir541

Look under SEARCH advanced (upper right), By seller (on left side of page)

Aloha from Joyce

 

 

 

 

The Pause Between Heart Beats…

It’s the day after Thanksgiving and I rush to my computer to find I’m being followed on Twitter by Johnny Depp. I’m Twitterpated.

Now I need to write some clever tweets, oh my, the pressure.

So, here we are the day after Thanksgiving, and if you would open our refrigerator you would be met with a mound of silver, that is aluminum foil wrapped packages as big as an Oregon woodpile. Now the only way to find what is in those packages—you know, left-over turkey, cranberries, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potatoes, relishes, is to plow through the packages. Oh, the pressure of it.

What shall we talk about today? I have things rattling around in my head—thoughts like what am I doing here? Isn’t life a fabulous mystery? When did the spark of life that is us begin? Isn’t it incredible that a physical form is enlivened one minute and gone the next—where did it go? Was it always? And will it continue into forever?

These are questions I can’t answer. I saw a documentary this past week that stirred my mind into the comments I am placing here. The documentary was titled, “I AM” by director Tom Shadyac. In one interview Shadyac speaks with a scientist who studies the heart. He stated that the heart has more control over the brain than the other way around. Scientists have tracked the sign-wave (beat) of the heart and they found that when the heart pumps there is a spike on the monitoring screen. Between spikes are small sign-waves. In those small spaces EMOTION can be observed. Anger, pointy peak, calm peaceful emotion, smooth peak. In metaphysical circles I have heard it said that God resides in the pauses. Perhaps here is evidence.

In meditation, God can be found in the silent no thought moments when the mind stops yammering. It is in those moments that God speaks to us.

Shadyac also observed that while we the people have been taught that animals, including us, are in a competitive world with a dog-eat-dog mentality, that is not so. There is more evidence of cooperation than of competition. How about that!

Well, well, well.

Aloha from Joyce

P.S. I have found no other place but Hawaii who has such a beautiful premise under which their society operates. In Hawaii it is Aloha. It means to give without expecting anything in return. The word “Aloha” has come to be a greeting, hello or goodbye, but it is more. In the spirit of Aloha we can gain the wisdom of the wind and water and soil and trees, and when we greet someone with “Aloha,” is it similar to the Indian word Namaste, taken from Sanskrit which essentially means, “The God in me sees the God in you.”

Foul and Fowl

Foul:

Genetically Modified: The 2 Words the Food Industry Spent $45 Million to Avoid Using

(Primarily Monsanto (MON), PepsiCo (PEP), Coca-Cola (KO), Kraft (KRFT), and Kellogg (K)).

Here is a fascinating factoid:

Produce is labeled already!

Note, produce, not packaged goods.

Here are the produce sticker codes:

Stickers on produce have a 4-5 digit number as a price look-up.

4-diget PLU in the 3000 means conventionally  grown produce.

5-digit PLU starting with a 9 means organically-grown

5-digit PLU starting with an 8 means genetically modified produce.

My daughter in Oregon said that proponents for GMO labeling were heartened that 46.9% of California voters still wanted labeling despite the negative campaigning. "Okay," they say, "What's next?" How about that for an attitude?

That threat of a $400 per year grocery bill increase scared some voters into a no vote I guess, otherwise who would give a flying rat's ass if our foods were labeled.
 

 

Fowl:

Okay back home on the farm.

Fowl care is foul at times. Turkeys have died off on a regular basis. The owner contained them in a too small, too humid space and they caught colds. He built a wonderful airy palace and they are happy, although not fully recovered from the flu. We are treating them, maybe some will make it. I out-finagled the coyote by putting up poultry wire with small holes over the field fencing that turkey heads would fit through to lure in a coyote. You just have to shake your heads at turkeys.

Home of the twenty-egg omelet:

Delicious eggs by the way.

You know about the quail and all those lovely eggs? No more. We are down to four quail, and no eggs. One morning I discovered five quail. This was out of about 30. Five? What in the heck… gone. No evidence. I searched the enclosure and found a 4 inch hole where the wire had been pulled back. The bobcat we figured. Husband dear saw the modeled, short-tailed, wild cat one night.

One sweet little quail died in my hand as I was carrying her to the house—I blessed her on her journey.

The quail are in the tractor garage now—I’m taking no chances.

Okay, another shoring up of enclosures. The owner put double wire on the sides, and wired the top and bottom of the former quail enclosure. It now houses 14 “silky” chickens (a breed). He said to count them every morning, 14. Three days now and we still have 14. Ta Da!

The original chickens are doing great. They have a wonderful new home and they are happy as clams (or chickens). And they seem to like me. They are getting to be grown-up pretty chickens, maybe they will begin laying eggs soon. (Probably our days are too short right now. Sun comes up, gives us a couple hours, and wham, its down.) This morning upon approaching the chicken pen I was greeted by a debut crow from one of the “hens.” Ah ha, I had a suspicion. And a lovely one he is too.

I have to shuffle in both the turkey pen and the chicken pen lest I step on bird’s toes. We move as a unit. Guess I’m the momma now.

What Makes You Happy?

Can you name seven things that make you happy?  I took the challenge…here are mine.  I would love to see yours.

(1). I lost a pan lid. I don’t know how one loses a quart-sized sauce pan lid, but I did. Little Boy Darling said worms carried it away. Congers up a fascinating image doesn’t it? Happiness entry number one--Living with a 3 year old. What a kick.

(2). Sitting here at my desk in front of a window—I always have my desk in front of a window—I remember in Oregon when I first got my horse Duchess, I would write and look out the second story window and watch her grazing in the area we had cleared for our septic drain-field.  She made me happy. Remembrance of happy counts doesn’t it?

(3). Here, by my eastern window the sun wipes out my vision for the computer screen so I close the blinds—rather defeats the purpose of a window. Okay I opened the blinds as the sun has moved (not scientific), and now outside I see bright yellow Marguerite Daisies alight in the sunshine. Happiness number three—a view from my window, from my computer, winter in California, flowers are blooming. (A lot was stacked into entry number three.)

(4). Life—Life makes me happy. Animal life, plant life, my family’s life, my friends lives, my life. I read this morning that life is our greatest gift. We should not have to be reminded, but sometimes we (I) do.

(5). Something I enjoy doing. I enjoy writing. It is my self-expression. I tell myself it is important to sing whether anyone is listening or not. (I am hard to convince sometimes.) Still writing makes me happy. With it I’m in a zone, I go to a place where time stands still.

(6). Packing my suitcase in anticipation of going someplace fun—well the going is fun too, travel makes me happy.

(7). Getting e-mails from people I simply adore…that could be you.

Trick or Treat

What did you do for Halloween?

It slipped past us, but I did learn a fascinating fact about it recently: The first of November is “All Saints Day,” also called “Hallowed Days.” The eve before all Saints day is Hallows eve. Viola’ Halloween.  Okay, you may have known that already, but what I found fascinating was that the pagans believed that the veil between this world and the next was the thinnest at that juncture between the eve of October 31, and morning of November 1. People dressed hideously to scare off any unwanted spirits that might have crept through that veil.

 And we dress up in scary costumes to this day…Halloween  provides excellent inspiration however.

Best dog costume ever.

 

 

Chocolate covered pretzel pumpkins swith sprinkles, now that's something I could sink my teeth into.

I have an aversion to masks—carried over from when I was a child. Does anyone else feel that way? I don’t even like clowns, and horrors, when I was a kid, Santa Claus wore a mask complete with a fake beard. I knew though, that that wasn’t the real Santa Claus, and the idea of sitting on fake Santa’s lap was abhorrent to me. Luckily I never had to do it.

You could say I had a trauma. I always think it’s odd when someone says, I was scared by something as a child and now I am afraid of that something,” but with me and masks I wonder. Perhaps it was the scare I had at two or three years of age that did it. I ran to greet my father as he came home from the grocery store, and stopped short, screaming. He was wearing a mask! A cereal box came with a mask attached, and with the best of intentions, my dad thought it would be funny to come home wearing it.  It wasn’t.

One more tidbit before I close. A philosopher named Ernest Holmes called prayer “A Treatment.” This comes, like Halloween, from way back. Way back, physicians, that is doctors, were not the skilled scientists we have today. (And I have a feeling that Star Trek’s doctor Bone’s comment will prove correct. “It’s barbaric,”he said when he saw our present-day treatments.) When did doctors learn about germs and to wash their hands for heaven’s sake? Late 1800’s I believe. So, a person in need of healing had two choices—they could choose a doctor or a metaphysician (Medicine man, medicine Woman?) for treatment.

 

Holmes applied the term “Treatment,” as well for prayers.  He did not believe one ought to beg or plead for their desired results.. For while “God “ is “Out there,” He is also “in here,” meaning “Within.” Therefore, prayer is to prepare oneself. It is to allow oneself to me in a mood of receptivity. It is a “Treatment.”

Women, Let's Stand Together, but Not in Five Inch Heels

Okay they make clever cute shoes these days, but come on, Ginger Rodgers danced with Fred Astaire in 3 inch heels (maybe less) and looked elegant and sexy. We went to our high school Prom in 3 inch heels and danced the night away, but still ended up in sock feet, and our dates didn’t care.

I have been astounded at the shoes I see and the women who walk in them. Even women who can handle walking on their toes, walk pitched forward in 5 inch heels, and to me, that doesn’t look graceful.

 

This morning I hit the limit. While waiting at the car repair shop for a new rear wheel ball bearing replacement—glad it was the car and not me, I caught up on my women’s/fashion magazines. And here’s the clincher: Sara Wexler wrote about a $1,200 treatment to inject the feet with Juvederm or Restylane. This adds padding to the feet, and in 4 to 5 days the precipitant of this treatment would be comfortably back in heels.

Bosses encourage women to wear these outrageous shoes, according to Wexler, and she told of attending a wedding where she kicked off her shoes and a woman came up to her, Honey, that is for the under 15 crowd, she pointed to the teen-aged girls, we’re all in pain.

Why do women stand for pain?

 

Come on...

 

                       Do you find these attractive? And these are mild compared to some.
 

We used to be appalled at the Chinese practice of binding a baby girl’s feet so they would be in pain their entire lives, take cute mincing steps, and look appealing to men.

To top off the day I saw where the Republican party is hampering women’s rights—birth control and abortion for two.

What is this war on women?  And I see these shoes as representitive of restriction. Try to run in these shoes...lace them up the calf so they can't be kicked off if need be. This is handicapping women.

And if there is any man not in favor of women’s rights—shame on you. Don’t you have a mother, a wife, a sister, or a girlfriend that you love, respect, or at least care a little about? What about a daughter for God’s sake?

And women? I just shake my head.

We are powerful. We do not have to bow to convention or coercement—that  would be akin to sexual harassment.

There is a war on women and I count myself as one who will not stand for it.

I know women have had a long history of being repressed of not feeling good enough, but listen to a grandma, you have courage and strength you haven’t even tapped yet.

I rushed home from the car repair, got the pick-up truck and took it to another repair shop to have a mouse nest removed for the heater/air-conditioner fan, and I felt that there was an artificial world on the edge of my reality. But then maybe the artificial world is what we believe from women’s magazines. It would appear that none of those gorgeous women ever had to remove a mouse nest from their car.

I looked down to my feet—cowboy boots. Thanks God for cowboy boots…They look good under pants, have good comfortable heels, and are the best for the feet according to one osteopathic doctor I am quoting from my childhood. (The arch support apparently.)

I wear a refined version of a cowboy boot, cut off at the ankle, and a more modified heel. Don’t know how these would pass in the board room, not well I don’t suppose.

I'm a Rhinestone Cowboy

Not!

I’m a Turkey Wrangler.

I was singing “I’m a rhinestone cowboy,” as I was wrangling, though, does that count?

As I mentioned in the last blog, I am taking care of turkeys here on the “farm.”  The coyotes were taking care of them as well—having them for dinner, or killing and leaving them in the orchard. Two nights ago I solved the situation by wrangling about 100 turkeys into a small secure enclosure and locking them up for the night. For two days we haven’t lost any turkeys to coyotes, but yesterday morning—one dead turkey in the enclosure, today two—what is it with turkeys? If something doesn’t get them, they volunteer to croak anyway.

Now the chickens and quail—they are hardy, and are thriving. We get about 20 quail eggs a day. The chickens aren’t laying any eggs yet.

Think of the many Thanksgiving turkeys—wow, those farmers must really work at it. And turkeys being what they are, I believe if a coyote comes to the fence they would go and greet their doggie friend outside the wire—whoops, no head.

I think of the chickens I had in Oregon, Mille Fleur, Dixie, and Sir Winston. I kept them on clean sweet smelling hay in a little house with a hinged roof. When I replaced the hay they loved it so much they rolled in it. Dixie and Sir Winston were Mille’s children, and before we left Oregon Mille hatched three more baby chicks. What a woman!

Our amazing little Peaches dog, our poodle, is back from death’s door. Another “What a woman!” She walks on all four legs now, eats, drinks, and was jubilant to go in the car yesterday. I love my Peaches dog. For further details go to http://dogblogbypeaches.blogspot.com

For entertainment? Husband and I thought it would be a movie, but after giving The Seven Psychopaths the 15 minute test, we walked out—got a rain check, though, so we’re not giving up on movies. We thought The Seven Psychopaths might be funny, but it was totally gross—well, until we left. I can’t say after that. Being close to Halloween, the pre-views shown now are enough to make many a stalwart soul run for the waste basket. We did see one interesting pre-view of the upcoming movie Hitchcock.  In it I learned a fun fact: It was Alfred Hitchcock’s wife who read the script Psycho, and said, “Don’t kill your heroine in the middle of the film, kill her in the first two minutes.” And daughter told me it was the wife, too, who told Hitchcock to focus on the eye. The wife is played by Helen Mirren, a powerful actress to play a powerful woman. What a woman!

Right now, I’m not into anything that I can avoid that puts terrible pictures in my head. I need my head for other uplifting things.

 

 

Thank you to my readers. I love you.

Foul Play

FIRST OFF, I HAVE A QUESTION:

Have you heard of Kickstarter?

It is a funding site for small start-up businesses.

I put my book, The Island, a journal there. Also on Kickstarter, I am pledging an on-line Travel magazine entitled, Nowhere. Projects are pledged, but it the applicant does not reach their goal, it doesn’t get funded, and Amazon does not collect the money from the pledges.

Kickstarter’s lovely people really really encourage applicants to make a video. Being the coward that I am, and not wanting to make a video (fool) of myself, I opted for a slide-show instead. It you want to see the pictures—of the people, animals, and places that populate my book go to:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/theisland/a-book-the-island-a-journal

If you decide to watch the slide-show and only if you feel inclined, I would appreciate if you would tell me if the slide-show is too slow. It’s slow on my computer, but then, I have a slow computer.  Its infernal  “spooling” drives me nuts. But I’m working on the internet speed, not the nuts part--although maybe that's what I ought to work on.

Right now, regarding Kickstarter site, I feel like Mr. Cellophane—“they can look right through me, and never know I’m there.”

LIFE ON THE FARM:

As I was feeding turkeys this morning, I noticed a young turkey lying askew on the ground. “Dead,”  I figured. It happens, especially with fowl. I thought about the song that had been going through my head already, Mr. Cellophane, and how I felt invisible. (From, the play/movie, Chicago) I wondered how many others feel  invisible too. I thought about people and animals dying without notice. That doesn’t mean that their lives were meaningless. It doesn't mean they are not important. We never know in the fabric of the universe what thread holds everything together, or how many threads we need to do it. All of us, I figure.

As I prepared to enter the enclosure and retrieve the turkey’s dead body, another turkey came along and pecked her. She MOVED.  Slowly, like an automaton a leg lifted and fell.

Poor baby!

I took her to the garage—the hospital--where yesterday I placed a turkey with a broken leg into a box, gave her food and water, and this morning found her sleeping in her food dish. She appears to be thriving. The almost dead turkey now can now rest comfortably (if that’s possible for her). She will be neither cold nor wet, nor pecked at, and she will lie wrapped in a soft towel. I don’t think she will recover.

On top of everything, yesterday, I found that three “silky” (a breed) hens that the owner had put in a make-shift enclosure, were not there. Gone. The rooster was still in the enclosure, strange. One of the plastic crates the owner had used for a fence was scooted aside leaving a one foot square hole. There was no evidence of struggle, just rooster there, hens gone. White feathers were scattered about—evidence of foul-play.