Mice, Ash, India

 

I awakened this morning with my mind awash in memories.

I was running events through my head to find the one memory that could be the opening act for my memoir. You don't have to begin a memoir with "I was born in …" It can start anyplace. Playing in my mind, what fun. Often, when I come to my office, I get distracted, but in bed, memories flow.

Ideas, so said one writer, are like shooting ducks (which I don't do), but the idea is the same: shoot quickly or they are gone.

I hit a memory of my daughter who found a nest of baby mice in an old chest of drawers she wasn't using. She and her son thought those baby mice were so cute—they had fur, but their eyes weren't open. And since my daughter and son feared that the mother wasn’t coming back, they began feeding the babies with a teeny bottle.

My daughter had planned a birthday celebration for herself, which included a two-night stay in a hotel with a room that featured a jacuzzi tub. She didn't trust her son to take sufficient care of the baby mice or me either, or didn't want to bother me, so she took her little stash of mice on a trip, smuggled them into an upscale hotel, fed them, had her stay, and smuggled them out.

The mice thrived, and when they were old enough — with eyes open and eating regular food — she and her son took them to a field near a pond and ceremoniously released the city mice to take their chances as country mice.

I have heard some people say that the best thing you can spend your money on is something to make memories.

Last night I completed a novel where the author said, "It takes a lot of funds to be a Vagabond."  She wished she could travel the world. A present, she was being a paid companion for a disabled girl.  

They were following a trail of the girl's mother that led to India. What a description of India: "The land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty, of splendour and rags, of palaces and hovels…the land of a hundred tongues, of a thousand religions…" --Mark Twain.

India: 

After a 14-hour flight six of us from San Diego landed in New Delhi, India.

Three were seminar leaders quite devoted to the “Holy” man we were going to see. We three women were not Devotees, but considered ourselves open-minded. One woman left early, so that left Florencia and I as traveling companions.  (I loved her, one couldn't ask for a better traveling companion). We were offered the chance to visit a guru, who, so it showed us via a movie that he could  produce vibhuti (holy ash) from his hand, and kept a giant jug flowing with vibhuti as long as he stirred it with his hand. (Don’t get me, I’ve seen better magic acts.)

So, we visited an ashram and slept in a cement room, ate cayenne pepper coated cashew nuts and drank lime soda, for we were afraid to eat the food. (We did eat in their cafeteria once, a rice dish one ate with their fingers.) Following that, we traveled by train across the countryside to visit the Taj Mahal. On the way home we made a few airline stops. Yet when we landed in New Delhi, the windows of the airport looked like my car window after the dog's nose had circled it a dozen times, and walking outside, the scent of baby poop hit me. It seemed to permeate the air, and if you remember, baby poop has a basic sweetness layered with other scents.

I understood why the Indian people are strong on incense.

These descriptions are cryptic; I’m saving the full ones for the memoir, although I would prefer to call my book a journey instead of a memoir. 

A memoir sounds staid. A journey is fun, an adventure. However, these memories were my opening call of the day. 

There was a time when being a Vagabond sounded appealing, but for now, I'm letting my fingers do the walking, aka typing. My memories are like a river flowing through my mind, and I never know where it will splash next.

 

P.S. This past week I ordered the teeny paper book Where the Frogs Sing Café’ I have been talking about. It came in two days. Whoa, and that was with on-demand printing. 

It cost me $4.60, so see I am starting out in the hole. However, I see the price went up to $5.20 after I joined UK.

It is presently being offered for FREE on Kindle Unlimited, and to purchase the Kindle version is 99 cents. Remember, I am keeping my WHERE series under 10,000 words, so as I said, the book is small.

Since not everyone has a Kindle, I am offering a FREE transcript on a private site that I will link to you via your email address. 

Click here: Yes, Please 

 Yep, there is a physical copy in on my desk.

"What if We Had a War and Nobody Came?"*

 

 

There's a computer under there.

 

 

"Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words can heal us."

—Sobya Tunsleu

A change from what we heard as a child isn't it?

 

"We use ‘softeners' in our language," Tony Robbins said at a seminar.  We use euphemisms. For example, we write "the F-word" because we don't want to say it or write it.

Presently, in essays, commentaries, and media talks, we have used the word 'Pedophile' so much that it has lost its power. If we described what a pedophile did to young girls and boys, we would be shocked and perhaps up in arms.

No one dares write that, for they would be censored, or labeled as containing adult language, or they would fear reprisal in many ways.

I have noticed a curious phenomenon.

When I was into my political rantings, I got more readers.

Anger has power.

What about healing words?

What are they?

For while I felt that talking happy talk was frivolous when so much unhappiness and control existed in the world. I thought I was giving the message that I didn't care. I feared I would be ignoring the situation.

I do care.

In the '60s we were confronted with this message:

"What if We Had a War and Nobody Came?"

Could that principle be applied to the hype we are experiencing now—hype which makes us afraid, causes worry, and keeps us off kilter? You know, creating fearful people makes it easier to control them.

Don't go there.

We seem more complacent now than in times past. Have we lost spirit? Do we feel we have no power? Do we feel railroaded, and thus, we have shut down?

Somebody said long ago, "Without vision the people perish." (Proverbs 29:18) It's hard to have fun with the heavy blanket of fear draped over us like a shroud.

Isn't that their intent?

And we are falling for it.

 

What if many of those attention-grabbing sites weren't visited? (Is that what I am doing? No. I’m offering thoughts you can take them or leave them. And my frogs sing of good times, not bad.)  Be aware. Businesses must advertise or nobody knows they exist. It's tricky. However, if we really pay attention, we can tell the difference. What if we are more selective? What if we sought out simpatico individuals who uplift us? What if we found people who encouraged us to be better versions of ourselves?

We might begin thinking our own thoughts, instead of those of influencers.  Maybe we would connect to a higher power. Possibly, we could lay aside some of our less attractive tendencies.

It is human nature to enjoy "Talking Trouble."

It takes a stalwart soul to stay out of that trap.

We are stalwart souls!

We are the ones to make a better day.

So, if words can shock us, Sobya Tunsleu is correct when she says that words can heal us.

Let's go that'a way.

Love,

 Jo

 

P.S.Yea!, Amazon published my paperback book. I didn't think it would pass their test. 

Where The Frogs Sing Cafe'  Available on Kindle unlimited for FREE.