San Luis Obispo Story - Laguna Lake

Yesterday I went to Laguna Lake for a walk. I wanted to be aware of what was there, to notice what was living and growing and happening.
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It was overcast, but pleasant. I parked a bit away from the lake to give me a longer flat walk, easy to navigate. As I passed by the area where people can barbecue, I caught the delicious smell of whatever it was they were cooking, and watched the young and the old all taking part, getting stuff out of the trunks of  cars, carrying things, cooperating, having fun.

Near the lake, the geese were peacefully plumped down on the grass, not honking and being noisy as they usually are. Coots were walking around taking occasional pecks in the grass, gulls were flying in and out, landing, walking a bit, then taking off again.

I walked on the road along the shore, breathing in the sharp fresh air, seeing birds out on the water, feeling the life in everything around me. I wanted to take in this beauty and this aliveness, to feel separate from the worries of the world, both public and personal. I wanted to feel the presence of  my inner self, my real self, experiencing Laguna Lake.

I went as far as the "turn around" where a path begins that goes on out into the fields, but is too rough and uneven underfoot for me to navigate safely. As I came around the turn I was near the small dock where Cal Poly students and others learn how to launch sailboats and how to sail.

There was a solitary crow sitting on the ramp railing and as I watched, he flew down onto the ramp and began walking toward the dock. But every couple of steps he would stop, walk over and look through the uprights of the railing, first on one side and then on the other. He did this very deliberately all the way to the beginning of the dock. What he was looking for I can't imagine, but he seemed to know.

 When he reached the dock, he flew up again onto the rail and sat there,  looking around. I was conscious of our being together somehow, our connection even in our separateness. The crow seemed to sense my presence as well, and when he took off from the rail flew low and close to me before he rose into the air and disappeared into the trees. It was not aggressive, but like  a gentle acknowledgment.

When I was almost to the point where the road turns away from the lake, I heard what sounded like a Meadow Lark coming from some small shrubs or trees on the edge of the lake. I stopped and peered into the branches, following the sound, moving slowly. I looked down to be sure of my footing, and there at the edge of the road was a little ground squirrel sitting on his haunches, looking at me.

I turned my attention to the squirrel and spoke to him gently. Although I was close to him, he made no move to run away.  His head stayed turned toward the sound of my voice. After a few moments, he put his front paws on the ground, and then slowly and tentatively began to cross the road, heading toward the grassy fields beyond. I went on my way too, slowly, so as not to alarm him.

At the turn of the road I looked back. He was almost three quarters of the way across the road. Just then, a huge SUV rounded the corner. For a moment I was horrified, thinking it would be the end of my little friend, but the driver must have been unusually observant. He spotted the squirrel, slowed down, and waited for him to get across the road and into the grass before proceeding.

There we all were, separately together in the same moment.   

Trayvon and George--Was it Racism?

You don't have to be black to understand that George Zimmerman's shooting of Trayvon Martin was based on racism.

George Zimmerman announced his fear, suspicion, and hatred of blacks in his initial conversation with the police. He voiced his fear of Trayvon because he was black, wearing a  hoodie, unknown to him, and also young. He "knew" he was "up to no good" and didn't wan't him to get away, because "that kind, (xxxx blacks), always do."

George Zimmerman's epithets clearly expressed his fear, suspicion, and hatred, not of Trayvon as an individual, but of blacks as a group. That is racism.

About George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin

If George Zimmerman had not been carrying a concealed and loaded weapon, the whole story would have been different.

Without a loaded weapon at his disposal, Zimmerman would not have dared to get out of his car and follow Trayvon Martin on a dark and rainy night.. An unarmed person is forced by prudence to avoid dangerous confrontations, no matter how much he may believe himself to be right and another wrong.

Any person with a gun has an unfair advantage over a person who is unarmed, and especially over those who are unaware that he is actually carrying a loaded weapon.

Owning the gun is not the problem. Carrying it concealed and loaded is the problem.

Think about it.

Thanksgiving--How It Really Began

When all the foolish and inaccurate hoohah about Thanksgiving began to rob me of my sanity, I decided to find out what actually happened, and how Thansgiving really began. I had a lot of fun digging up a few of the facts. So for all of you out there who are equally in the dark about the true beginning of Thanksgiving, here is a brief summary of how it all came about.

After leaving Plymouth, England, on September 6, 1620, to go to the New World, the original 102 Pilgrims finally saw land in late November, but it took time to find a suitable place to land. Finally, on December 11, they disembarked at Plymouth Rock. While still on the ship, they signed the "Mayflower Compact," America's first civil document , which introduced the concept of self-government.

The Pilgrims were unprepared for the harsh New England winter, and suffered from scurvy, malnutrition, and various contagious diseases. Only half of the Mayflower's original passengers and crew lived until spring.

They were visited by a native American, Squanto, a member of the Pawtuxet tribe, who had been kidnapped by an English sea captain and sold into slavery, so was able to learn English before managing to escape and return to his own land. He taught the Pilgrims how to cultivate corn, extract sap from maple trees, catch fish in the rivers, and avoid poisonous plants. He also helped them forge an alliance with the Wampanoag, a local tribe, which would endure for more than 50 years. Sadly, it is one of the few examples of harmony between European colonists and Native Americans.

Because of help from Squanto and other Indians, the settlers had a bountiful harvest of corn, pumpkin, beans, and barley, and had learned how to make many Indian dishes and the many ways to use cranberries.

To give thanks to God and to the Indians, Governor William Bradford organized a three-day feast, starting on December 13, 1621.  Four Pilgrim men were sent out "fowling," or bird hunting, in preparation. The Wamponoag guests, about 90 of them, including their chief, Massasoit, came bearing five deer.  Lobster, seal, and swan were also on the menu, as well as ducks, geese, fish, and cranberries.The Indians even brought popcorn.Together, they all celebrated the good harvest, and the Pilgrims gave thanks to God and to the Indians for their indispensable help. This was the first American Thanksgiving.

Some of the most notable passengers on the Mayflower included Myles Standish, who would become the militaray leader of the new colony, and William Bradford, a leader of the Separatist congregation, who wrote the classic account of the Mayflower voyage and the founding of Plymouth Colony, and who also became governor of the colony.

At the end of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln asked all Americans to set aside the last Thursday of November as a day of thanksgiving. Much, much later, the day was changed by Congress to the fourth Thursday in November.

I'd say that the first Thanksgiving was a sincerely thankful celebration, and undoubtedly so was the Thanksgiving at the end of the Civil War. But gradually it deteriorated into a day for sports, which began in the 1870's, parades, which happened in the 1900's, and shopping, as well as a day to cook, and gather together and pig out.

What I am thankful for today is very simple and very basic--much more real than what I thought of when I was younger. Now I know it is a gift just to be alive and to love and be loved. That's what I'm thankful for.   

Freedom Is Choice

My son, Bobby Jameson, has been engaged in conversations on Facebook about people who  want to impose their religious beliefs on others, either by proselytizing or by passing laws to institutionalize what they believe. He gets all sorts of comments--some silly, some adversarial, and some intelligent.

Many people seem to equate the concept of not wanting to be forced to accept someone else's religion with denying the existence of God. The point is not whether God exists, but the freedom to decide for one's self. It's not even about the attributes or failings of any particular religion; the point is the freedom to choose your own religion or no religion.

People came to this continent in the first place in order to obtain freedom from religious persecution, and for the freedom of individuals to choose what they believe. In other words, freedom of religion and freedom from religion, "freedom of" religion being the right to choose, and "freedom from" religion being the right not to have any religion imposed on you. You can choose any religion or no religion; you get to decide. Otherwise, there's no freedom at all.

Even if  you think you cannot respect what another person or group believes, it is still important to recognize and respect their fundamental right to believe it.

Democracy Yes, Theocracy No

I don't want to live under a theocracy, no matter what religion it is based on. People came to this country in the beginning to escape religious persecution and to have the freedom to follow their own religious beliefs.

Governments are made up of ordinary men and women, not gods, and it is not the  province of government to be a religion, or to make up religious rules, regulations, or laws.

In a democracy, all are equal under the law. Under a theocracy, equality would be impossible.

Because that is true, religion should be separate from politics. Of course, people's religious faith will always influence their political beliefs and their ideas of personal integrity, but that does not mean they have a right to impose their beliefs on others, or to pass laws making others subject to any sort of religion-based restrictions.

Under a democracy, people of every religious persuasion are equal under the law. No religion is considered to be better than any other.

However, at the moment, those on the Christian right, be they Catholic or Protestant, are so fanatic about  the truth of their own beliefs, they have lost sight of the fact that others have a right to believe differently.

Why should the religious right be able to dictate whether or not a woman can have access to birth control? Many married women do not want to refuse their husbands, and yet don't want to have a baby every year. Why should a woman ever be put in this position? And why should unplanned-for babies be born into families that can't afford them? Or to families not equipped to give them proper love and care?

It is irresponsible for anyone to insist that every time a sex act is performed, a baby must be born. No man would hold that opinion if he were the one who got pregnant.

Let's all back off a bit from the position that our opinion is absolutely right and our religion infallible. Let reason prevail. Let kindness modify our actions.

Telephones I've Known and Loved

We just got new landline telephones, and it made me much happier than I expected. They are so much better in every way--easy to see, easy to use, and very clear. I didn't realize how bad the old ones were until we got the new ones. And they weren't even costly. I love our new telephones!

Something about this experience caused me to think of the difference between phones now and phones early in my life. The first one I ever saw was an oak box attached to the wall with shiny metal bells on top, and the receiver hanging from a hook on the side. Talking on this telephone was not a relaxing experience, impossible for a child unless you stood on a chair.This was the telephone we had in the early twenties when I was very small.

Then as technology began to develope and life began to become more effortless, we got an exciting innovation: a "candlestick" phone. It was upright, the receiver still hung from the side, and it sat on a little table that also held the phone book. I liked those telephones. They were comfortable to hold and I felt somehow important and efficient answering when it rang, or calling one of my friends. The numbers in our small town were very short. Ours was 2742. The cab company was 666! Easy to remember, but with unpleasant connotation which I wasn't aware of at the time

There was no such thing as a dial tone. You just took the receiver off the hook and waited. An operator would say "Number please!"  Sometimes this happened immediately and sometimes not, depending on how busy she happpened to be. You would give her the number and she would connect you.

The operators did many other things too, such as delivering messages in an emergency, or helping a tearful little kid who was hurt track down his mother when he couldn't remember where she said she was going. Most of the operators were very kind and helpful. .

The operators always sounded a bit odd because they were taught to enunciate in a certain way in order to be perfectly understood. They would say "Number ple-uz!". And if they had to repeat a number to make sure they had it right, it was said in the same exaggerated way: "Fi-iv fo-er tha-ree!"

Even small towns had a switchboard where one or more operators would sit connecting and disconnecting calls. When I was 9 or 10, an operator called our house to tell us a friend of the family, an amateur pilot, had crashed his small plane at a farm just outside of town and been killed. Neither of my parents were at home. My mother was performing, playing her violin at a local church that afternoon. I told the operator, and she rang the church, but no one answered. So I ran six or seven blocks to the church and went breathlessly up to the podium to give her the sad message.

At other times operators would track down doctors or family members in an emergency. More than once, they were instrumental in finding a lost child. And I am sure there were countless times when instead of hearing a number, they heard a frantic, weeping child, and did what they could to ease the situation. Really, I can't say enough for operators--they helped over and over in a myriad of ways. They were like a dependable connection that was always there whenever you lifted the receiver. Looking back on it now, it seems almost like a cosmic source of aid and connection.

Some time in the early thirties, we got a "French" telephone, a cradle phone. We thought it was so new-fangled! You only had to use one hand to hold both the mouthpiece and the receiver, and then you could write with your other hand. How modern! What would they think of next? Secretly, I liked the old candlestick phone. It seemed so official and business like. To me, it had real personality.

But the rest of the world didn't see it my way, and before too long our cradle telephones had dials. That was really a radical step forward. No operator? Just dial? Amazing! Now we only had to use the operator for long distance. We had to dial "O" for operator, and then ask for Long Distance.

Eventually, I can't remember exactly when, the world graduated to push button phones. That made it  inevitable that sooner or later we would be able even to call long distance without having to involve an operator in most cases.

How can people born into a pushbutton or cell phone world even imagine how much every new development in telephones affected our daily lives? How could anyone today imagine the importance of telephone operators in small town life back in the twenties and thirties?  It was a differnt world, and in some ways a much nicer one. Even though we were less connected telephone-wise, we were  more connected in almost every other way. It was a good time to be alive.

Our Bodies Can Do More Than We Think

When my children were small, I was a single mother living in southern California in Newport Beach. I developed a hacking cough, but my two little boys, Billy and Bobby, kept me very busy, and there seemed to be no time to stop and rest, or to take care of myself long enough to get well. Finally, I went to a doctor. He listened to my chest, x-rayed me, and ran various tests. When he had had time to asses the results, I went back to hear my diagnosis.

I wasn't expecting anything too serious, but he announced that I had bronchiectiasis. "What on earth is that?" I asked, never having heard of it. "It's a situation where phlegm collects in outpouchings on the bronchial tubes. If not treated, it can become a chronic, wasting disease."

"So what do I do to cure it?" I asked. "You need to have a resection of the bronchial tubes to remove those pouches." He took a sheet of paper and began to draw me a diagram showing where the cuts would be. When he showed it to me, I knew in an instant that I wasn't going to let anyone do that to me unless I were absolutely at death's door, and maybe not even then. I thanked him, said I'd think it over, and beat a hasty retreat.

By a very lucky coincidence, right after my visit with the doctor, I had an unexpected opportunity to go and stay with my Uncle in Winchester, Massachusetts. I packed up everything, put the kids in the car, and away we went across the country--a long trip with two little boys! After several days and no really serious mishaps, we arrived in Winchester. Uncle Easty had a pleasant roomy house, an old Colonial with three stories, plus a basement, and a wonderful porch which wrapped around the front and side of  it.

Suddenly life was much easier. My uncle had a housekeeper, Marion, who had been with him for years, and my cousin Ann was still living at home and attending Radcliffe .I was no longer responsible for every meal, Ann and I did our laundry together, and shared the cooking responsibilities beyond what was done by Marion. My boys had more people to relate to than just me, and I also had more people around me than just the children.

Now I was able to rest for a change, relax, exercise, spend time in the sun, and pay more attention to what I was eating. As I was able to rest and relax, the boys became much happier too. Oddly enough, I spent more time out in the sun in Massachusetts than I had in California. Soon my hacking cough began to get better, and before too many weeks was completely gone.

As with my previous dire diagnosis (of disabling arthritis, which I spoke of in a previous post), I  have often wondered how different my life might have been if I had submitted to that radical surgery, instead of encouraging my body to heal itself. It's so important to follow your own gut instinct and to be skeptical about any cure that involves invasive surgery. The medical world might have laughed at the idea that I could heal myself, but it happened, and rather quickly at that. The body has amazing powers of self-healing.

Since the advent of antibiotics, the recommended treatment is no longer surgery. How glad I am that I didn't do it, and how lucky I was to have had the opportunity to stay in a safe spot where I could concentrate on doing everything I needed to do to improve my general health. so my body could take care of itself!

The Big Guy Doesn't Always Win

Years ago, for a brief time, I lived in Mesa, Arizona, I used to walk around the neighborhood, and when I did, always avoided the street where a huge mastiff lived and threatened all who passed by.

One day I was out walking with my little wire-haired Fox Terrier, Teddy, suddenly remembered a forgotten appointment, so was in a hurry, and had to go down the forbidden street. I tried to scurry past the house before the mastiff caught sight of us..

But we didn't make it. This huge canine beast came menacingly down his driveway looking as if he would like to eat Teddy for lunch. I had a moment of real terror. Teddy was about one-eighth the size of the mastiff, and I was sure was no match for him. But Teddy was having no part of my imagined scenario, and took off toward the giant dog, barking so ferociously even I was impressed. My normally loving, docile, friendly little Teddy had turned into a diminutive personification of anger and defiance. The mastiff took one look at that fuzzy bundle of fury, stopped in his tracks, and turned and ran back down the driveway and disappeared into his own backyard.

As soon as Teddy saw he had won the day, he lost all his ferocity and trotted happily back to my side wagging his tail, and became his usual docile self once more. It was as if he had said, "Well, that's how you do that---nothing to it!"  I was dumbfounded.. Teddy was a friendly, loving version of a terrier and had never before ever shown his fiesty side. More than that, I was full of respect. He seemed not to have had even an ounce of fear.

After that, whenever I walked with Teddy, I never hesitated to go down that street. If the mastiff happened to be outside as we approached, as soon as he caught sight of us he would turn tail and run to the safety of his own backyard.

For me, it was a good life lesson. Being huge and strong doesn't alsways win the day, The spirit to stick up for oneself regardless of the odds, often seems to mean more than size, strength, or importance.This is not only true of terriers and mastiffs, but of human beings  as well, as I found out later in life in some confrontations of my own.

Medical Advice I Had to Pass Up

I didn't get to be 93 by submissively accepting everything a doctor ever told me. Far from it. During my first pregnancy, my doctor told me I had "post-traumatic arthritis" (due to a couple of serious falls as a teenager). He said my entire back was involved, that eventually I would be in a wheel chair, and be disabled for the rest of my life.

I often wonder what my life would have been like if I had believed that doctor?

But I didn't believe him, perhaps mostly because I didn't want to. Instead, I went to the library to find out all I could about arthritis. For several days I immersed myself in facts about arthritis, how it affects you, what you can do about it, and what the prognosis might be. The main concept I came away with was that it was important to move whatever hurts or is stiff (or both), and not to give in to the pain and be inactive.

From then on, it became my habit to walk, swim, play tennis or golf, or go bowling-- anything that allowed me to keep moving and have fun at the same time. I did NOT end up in a wheelchair, exceot on the rare occasions I was put in one when I left a hospital after the birth of a baby, or some surgical procedure such as a breast biopsy or hysterectomy. Of course I was able to walk out on my own, but hospitals like to deliver you safely into the custody of your own family, so they will be free from blame or lawsuit in case you fall.

The arthritis in my back was actually never as bothersome as the osteoarthritis that came later on and stiffened my joints without mercy. Yet I have always kept moving, no matter what, and there have been very few things I just couldn't do, except for reaching certain guitar or ukelele chords. That was very disappointing, but far less dramatic that spending my life in a wheel chair.

Over the years I have congratulated myself so many times for not having accepted the doctor's dire prognosis. Thank God I absolutely refused to accept the idea of living a helpless, invalid life!

This was only the first of several disastrous diagnoses I absolutely had to ignore. I'll tell about others in future blogs, and in the mesntime, I encourage everyone never to follow anyone blindly, not even a doctor. It's your life. Ask every question you think of. There are no stupid questions when it comes to your own body and your own life.

Bob Crosby and the Bobcats 'Way Back When

I just saw and heard Bob Crosby and the Bobcats on a PBS show about singers from the past. They were doing "Big Noise From Winnetka," which immediately took me back in memory to the Blackhawk Restaurant/Nightclub in downtown Chicago in 1936 or '37. I was a student at the University of Chicago then, and another student, Grant Adams, took me to the Blackhawk along with some others, to hear Bob Crosby and the band. Grant was absolutely nuts about the Bobcats, and as soon as I heard them, I was too. They sounded great and were wonderful to dance to as well.

Grant got so involved in the music he clapped his hands and whistled through his teeth in accompaniment. I wondered what the musicians thought about it, but at least they could tell he was an ardent fan. Not only did he clap and whistle the first time I was there, but kept on whenever I went there with him again after that first time.

Later, when I heard the Bobcat's record, "Big Noise from Winnetka," on the radio, I knew it had to be about Grant. The record started with whistling that sounded exacly like him, and he actually was from Winnetka, a suburb north of Chicago on the "North Shore."

I don't know for sure when the song was written, but I think it was about 1938. Of course I immediately bought a copy, and played it over and over. It was a 78-speed record in a paper slip-cover with advertizing on it, which was standard for that time. I think Bobby Haggart, the bass player, did the whistling as he played, Ray Bauduc was on the drums, and Bob Zurke was playing the piano. I can no longer remember who the other musicians were.

Going down to the Blackhawk to hear Bob Crosby and the Bobcats was one of the highlights of my college life. I loved that music! And I went to hear it whenever the opportunity arose. Fortunately I knew several people who were also crazy about the Bobcats Dixieland take on music. We listened and danced and had a wonderful time. It was definitely happy, upbeat music.

I loved Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, and lots of others I can't think of at the moment, but Bob Crosby and the Bobcats have always held a special place in my musical heart, and they still do.

When the Guides Don't Guide

Every morning I read the Daily Guides in Science of Mind Magazine, not because I am in complete agreement with what Science of Mind teaches, but because I find ideas that make me think, especialy when I disagree with them. Then I have to ask myself, "if that isn't true, what is?" And I have the fun of thinking about it and writing down what I think.

One recent morning, the subject was "spiritual liberation." The affirmation at the end was, "In this moment, I know I am free. I set the course of my life. I choose my thoughts and concentrate on what I wish to experience."

My reaction was, that if I choose my thoughts from what I already know, I will be imposing limitations on myself.

I would prefer to be open to possibilities I haven't yet thought of. I know there is always more in the "big picture" than I can even imagine, so I want to find new ideas that might be able to change my way of processing the habitual substance of my life.

I have been functioning in, living in, and experiencing the same situation for several years, and am constantly learning new ways of understanding and interchanging with the two sons that are sharing this experience with me. I and they have learned to cooperate with and be kind to each other as we interact every day in all our different moods and states of health.

Earlier in my life, when things were difficult, I used to try to change the outer things--people, jobs, my location, or whatever. Now, instead, I try to look at myself with more honesty, and see what I can change there.

I know that my thoughts create the kind of life I get to live, but I have to do more than keep picking my thoughts out of the same old familiar barrel. Just choosing the best out of the worst is not enough. That's why I don't focus on "getting what I wish to experience."

I've discovered over time, after many decisions that made things worse instead of better, that there are principles involved in choosing thoughts--principles that can keep me from allowing self-will be the sole arbiter of what I do.

The one that has changed me the most is the principle of treating other people the way I would like to be treated. That doesn't mean, "I'll be nice to you if you'll be nice to me;" it means "no matter what you do, I will still treat you the way I would like to be treated in the same circumstance."

Actually, this concept is the reason we believe in the right to a fair trial. It's why civilized people have learned to be polite to each other. It's why we believe stealing is wrong. It's why I greet people with a smile even when I feel down.

It is vitally important to me to give what I'm hoping to get. Otherwise, I don't feel right with the world.

The Homeless Are Human

Downtown today I saw a young homeless man that I have seen before, sitting on a bench outside a store with his sign. When I came out, I went over and greeted him and geve him a dollar. He smiled and said "Thank you! I haven't seen you for awhile." I answered "That's true. How are you?" A shadow seemed to cross his face. "I'm O.K." He paused. "Last week was kinda hard." He seemed to be making an effort to keep control. "I had to put my cat down...with my own hands." I was horrified. "Oh, that's awful! What happened?" "She was so badly injured, she was dying, and I had no money for a vet."

It was all I could do to keep my composure and not cry. I have lost and wept over many cats, but the thought of having to put one out of its misery myself was too horrible to contemplate. "I'm so sorry that happened and that you had to do that," I said. His face, though as close to stoic as he could manage, showed the pain of that decision, that action, and that loss. I spoke to him for a few minutes, told him how sorry I was, wished him well, and then I had to go on my way.

As I walked to my car I deeply wished that more people could see the humanity of the homeless, the suffering they go through, and the hardships they face just to eat, to stay alive, to keep warm, to find a place to wash, or even a place to sleep that is safe.

I've heard people comment that since they are homeless, why are they so foolish as to have pets? But what else could give them the unquestioning, unconditional love that they must sorely need in such a dire situation?

If only I were rich, I would help every one that I could.

The Flow of Wisdom

Recently, as I was doing some small task, it came to me that information and wisdom are constantly flowing, always available to anyone who listens within. If I am not aware of it, or receiving it, I am not being quiet enough or attentive enough to hear. The source never goes away; I go away.

All that day, I kept sensing the dynamic energy and intelligence of the Universe, always in action, and yet always resting in some way--resting, but not at rest. It is balanced, alive, functioning, and ready. It can't be commanded, but can be brought forth by individual attention and awareness. Every individual has to find it for themselves by temporarily letting go of their own thoughts and listening. No one else can do it for you.

Many things--experiences, books, people--help to widen your scope, give you new ideas, and so on, but in the end, everyone has to come to his own awareness of what is beyond the finite, physical self and the finite, physical mind.

Human thought is apt to be limited to what we think of as realistic, to what we already know. We cut ourselves off from the not-yet-known, the infinite possibilities that lie beyond our ordinary thinking, no matter how educated or intellectual our thoughts may be.

I have found that there is an unlimited source of wisdom available to anyone who decides to listen for it from within.

Laguna Lake Park

My friend and I walked again at Laguna Lake a few days after the time of the preceding blog. We took the same abbreviated route as before, but found another path that looped back to the lake in a more interesting way through the fields.

There was absolutely no breeze, and the lake was completely still, smooth as glass, and reflecting everything--trees, houses, boats, docks, reeds, and tall grasses along the edge of the lake. So beautiful! I have never before seen the lake that still and smooth.

As we were going back to our car along the road by the lake, a big white goose was making a racket at the left side of the road, and another big white goose was marching across the road leading a combination of ducks, geese, and coots toward the lake.

As soon as they passed, we started to continue on, but the big goose on the left reprimanded us with loud squawks as a second, and larger, contingent of geese, ducks, and coots started acrose the road. It was exactly as if he were a crossing-guard saying, "Stop! You can't go yet!"

We waited respectfully while the second group of assorted birds made their way to the lake. The crossing guard followed, his job having been successfuly accomplished.

Neither of us had ever seen such a procession before, nor a pair of geese cooperating to make sure a whole bevy of different kinds of water birds got safely across a road and to their destination--the lake. I still laugh at the thought of the crossing-guard's peremptory honks. He did a perfect job. It was so clear what he meant when he stopped us, and the goose that led the procession also knew exactly what her job was.

What fascinated me was the cooperation happening between not only the two geese, but between them and the other types of birds that were being led. I was not aware that this ever happened.

I am even further amazed and admiring that the goose "crossing-guard" could communicate so clearly, not just to different birds, but to a completely different species--humans.

Now if only humans could do as good a job of cooperating, in spite of their differences, as these birds did!

Walking At Laguna Lake

One day in the spring when the grass was still lush and green, I walked with a friend at Laguna Lake Park. It was my first walk in some time because of a problem with my back, so we opted for a short walk along the lake.

We parked close to the spot where people often come to feed the birds, and sure enough, there were birds, birds, birds! Geese, gulls, ducks, coots, and others were gathered there together, some squawking loudly, some just standing in the sun, and some running hither and thither looking for seeds or insects to eat.

As we got out of the car, a small gull stood nearby watching us, waiting for a hand-out. He wasn't afraid of us at all, just hopeful. But having nothing to offer, we had to hard-heartedly go on our way, leaving him to ponder our selfishness.

The lake looked like a blue gem sparkling in the sun. There was a fresh breeze coming from the direction of the ocean, and I was glad I had brought my jacket and scarf, which had almost seemed unnecessary when we started out.

As we walked at the lake's edge, we could hear all sorts of bird sounds--songs, twitters and chirps, coming from the trees we passed, and yet we couldn't see one bird. I am amazed at how hundreds of birds can hide themselves so completely in the leaves, and then, if disturbed by something, all rise like a cloud out of one small tree.

We turned away from the shore and walked between two rows of eucalyptus trees along the edge of an open field. It was uneven underfoot, but pretty and shady. Then we turned onto a path going back in the direction from which we had come. It took us past the refurbished restrooms and the off-the-leash playing area for dogs. We wondered how the owners can be sure the dogs will get along and play with each other instead of growling and snarling and getting into fights. I don't know the answer, but dogs of all sizes, shapes, and colors were all playing happily together with no signs of tension.

How lucky we are in San Luis Obispo to have this large and beautiful park! It's set apart so completely from the hustle and bustle of the city; you feel as if you are out in the country even though across the lake you can see houses, docks, and boats. The sounds of civilization, even the traffic along Madonna Road, are muted and far away.

In every direction you see hills, either close by or far away. And in addition to the rather tame assortment of birds that wait for food, sometimes wild birds also come looking for morsels along the edge of the lake--Egrets or Great Blue Herons.

The herons don't appear to be blue when standing still in the reeds looking for prey. Not until they fly can you see their true color. I don't know of anything more beautiful than the sight of a Great Blue Heron opening his enormous wings and taking flight. The first one I ever saw, I saw at Laguna Lake.

No matter how contentious and crazy the world may seem to be, there are still lovely things in it to enjoy. And to think that some of them are here, right at our own doorstep!

Thoughts Beyond What I Know

Sometimes my thoughts are just made up of the "stuff" of my life rattling through my head, ranging from "wnat do I need from the grocery store?" to "why do the Republicans negate their good ideas about small government by favoring the rich and ignoring the small guys?" --(something that has flummoxed me for years!).

At other times, often in the midst of some small repetitive task, new ideas will come into my mind suddenly and clearly--a new way of looking at something, a solution to a nagging problem, or a better understanding of someone else's point of view.

These insights fascinate me because they come so clearly, as if I hadn't initiated them myself. The newness and the clarity are what set them apart from my own ordinary thoughts.

It makes me believe there is an intelligent energy in the universe that can enter when our own thoughts are quiet. It seems to enter into the space between thoughts somehow, when we are relaxed and open to it. I can't really explain it, but I love being the recipient of it when it happens.

It is like the thing that happens when I am painting and I "know" how to mix a color, or when I'm writing and the perfect word or phrase pops into my mind. I can imagine that some composers must experience the same thing in writing music when the right notes come from "somewhere" beyond day-to-day reality.

I believe we must all have access to this flow from beyond our everyday selves, and that it is a constant thing, always available, like electricity, if one can find the key to making use of it. It seems never to insist, or to play favorites, but just to wait for us to open up some hidden inner door.

Perhaps it is the wish to go beyond the known that opens up this door and brings new ideas, true colors, the right words, and beautiful melodies. It seems to be pure potentiality.

What A Park!

Yesterday, I went walking with a friend at Laguna Lake Park. We hadn't walked there for some time as we had become enamoured of Bob Jones Trail south of town. We loved walking on a smooth path (it's a bicycle path)through the oaks and sycamores.

We parked near the lake, not too far from the area where people aften come to feed the birds. Sure enough, there were many of them waiting--birds, birds, birds! Geese, gulls, ducks, coots, and others I couldn't name, were gathered there, some squawking loudly, as if in protest, some just standing in the sun, and some running hither and thither looking for morsels of food.

As we got out of the car, a small gull stood nearby. He watched us, waiting to see what we might have to offer. He wasn’t afraid of us at all. I’m sure he was hoping for a hand-out, but we had nothing to give him, and went on our way, leaving him to ponder our selfishness.

The Lake looked like a big blue gem sparkling in the noonday sun. There was a fresh cool breeze coming from the direction of the ocean, and I was glad I had brought my jacket and scarf, which had almost seemed unnecessary when we started out.

We took the road along the shore, and walked toward the small dock form which people can launch their boats. We could hear all sorts of bird sounds—songs, twitters, and chirps, coming from the trees we passed, and yet we couldn’t see one bird.

It has never failed to amaze me how hundreds of birds can hide themselves completely in a tree, even a small one. And then, if something disturbs them, they rise up out of that one small tree like a sudden cloud of birds.

Because of the recent rains, the grass was smooth and green, not the dusty brown you see in the dry months of the year. I thought I saw a ground squirrel in the meadow a few yards away, and it reminded me of one we saw once on a hot summer day, standing on his haunches trying to eat something from the top of a dry weed.

Just as we stopped to watch him he lost his balance and fell over backwards. He looked so surprised! But he got right up and tried again. After nibbling for a moment, he went over backwards again. This time, he looked a little sheepish, but still, he got up and took another whack at it. We were admiring his persistence in the face of confusion, but, alas, he fell back again. I swear he looked embarrassed, if a squirrel can be embarrassed!

When we continued on our way, he was still looking up at the weed, as if wondering what he should do next. I have a feeling he figured it out in the end and got what he was striving for.

After walking for some moments along the shore, we turned and followed a shady path that ran between two rows of eucalyptus trees. It led us to another path going back in the direction from which we had come, past the refurbished restrooms, looking very spiffy, and then past the off-the-leash playing area for dogs.

We wondered how the owners know the dogs will get along and play with each other instead of growling and snarling and getting into fights. I don’t know the answer, but dogs of various sizes, shapes, and colors were cavorting about happily with no signs of tension at all.

How lucky we are in San Luis Obispo to have this large and beautiful park! It’s set apart so completely from the hustle and bustle of the city; you feel as if you are out in the country, even though across the lake you can see houses, docks, and boats. You can’t hear any sounds of civilization, not even the traffic along Madonna Road.

In every direction you can see hills, either close by or far away, and, in addition to the rather tame assortment of birds that wait for food, wild birds come looking for food, either in the park itself, or along the edge of the lake. We have seen egrets there, and sometimes even Great Blue Herons standing still, waiting, in the reeds.

I don’t know of anything more beautiful than the sight of a Great Blue Heron opening its enormous wings and taking flight. What a privilege to see such lovely wild things up close!

No matter how contentious and crazy the world may seem to be, there are still beautiful things in it to enjoy.

A New Year

I've been listening today to comments about the New Year: Should we or should we not make New Year's resolutions? If we do, will we keep them? Why do so many of us male resolutions and then not make a serious attempt to succeed? And so on.

I think that if you make a resolution because you think you ought to, you will probably fail. If you make a realistic resolution about something you seriously want to change about yourself, you up your chances of success. Especially if your resolution is specific, measurable, and has a time limit.

On the other hand, the idea of making a change at the beginning of a year implies that this is going to be a different kind of year than the one just past.

The only trouble with that is that no one can live a year at a time. You can visualize a wonderful year in which all your bad habits are gone, but you can only live it as you go, one day at a time, or sometimes, one moment at a time.

Now that I am old, I have given up worrying about what I ought to do, and instead am having a lot of fun figuring out who I am, what is important to me in my life, and then living with as much enthusiasm and integrity as I can muster.

I like the Dalai Lama's comment: "My religion is kindness."

If I have a resolution, it is one that is within me this year, last year, and next year: to be kind, kind to myself and to others. I don't mean a sentimental, slushy kindness that condones everything. I mean an attitude of kindness and grown-up understanding in the face of both wrong doing and right doing.

That's what's fun about being old. You can make up your own mind about yourself. Looking back you can see all the lousy advice you got, and followed, from other people during your lifetime, and all the trouble it got you into. So now, I'm just who I am, and am willing to take all the reponsibility for any train wrecks that occur.

I guess that means I resolve to laugh, be creative, help others, and enjoy life even when things go wrong.

Homeless Man on Marsh Street

Yesterday, as my son, Bill, and I left the pharmacy on Marsh Street, in down town San Luis Obispo, we passed a man with reddish hair and a sad face. As we walked by, I was strongly aware of his feelings of despair, but he didn't ask for anything, so I continued on.

"Do you give people money even when they don't ask for it?" I asked Bill. He said,

"Yeah, I do, when I can tell they need it."

"I wanted to give something to that man in front of CVS. He looked so miserable."

"I noticed him, too. Maybe he'll still be there when we go back to pick up my prescription."

Later, when we came out of the pharmacy, we saw him again. This time he approached us, and asked for help.

"Could you spare a little money, so I can get something to eat?" Bill and I both dug in our wallets for something to give him.

"It was so cold last night, I couldn't get warm...and I was hungry. I'm still hungry." We both gave him some money, saying we wished it could be more. His face brightened into a smile, he thanked us, and started off down Marsh Street.

This poor guy kept returning to my mind. We could tell he was new at asking for money, reluctant to do it, but driven by need.

I thought about how easy it is, now, for people to fall out of the system and become homeless. It hasn't ever happened to me, but it could have. I have often been on the edge, financially, wondering how I would pay the rent. Somehow, I always did.

I live on a tiny income in a mobile home park. I own my home, free and clear, because I bought it years ago when mobile homes were cheap. I don't feel poverty stricken, and yet technically, I am below the poverty level. Even so, what a chasm there is between me and the redhaired man who is hungry and homeless!

My house is warm and dry, I have a bed to sleep in and food to eat. I have a studio in which to paint and a computer to write on. I have musical instruments to play and books to read. There are geraniums, succulents, trees, and a beautiful bougainvillea growing in my back yard. My son, Bobby Jameson, owns the house with me, lives here, and is the reason it is warm and dry even though the roof is 40 years old. He worked on it for months to be sure it could withstand the winter rains, and it has.

So I feel rich. I have everything I need. But the homeless man with red hair has nothing he needs, except the clothes he wears. And you can multiply this man by the hundreds, just in this one town. Worse than that, many of the homeless are women and children.

This breaks my heart. If only I could help! That is, with more than just a couple of dollars.

I grew up in the depression. There were many homeless then too. We called them "hoboes," and we would feed them when they came to our house hungry. They wandered about, "rode the rails," and lived however they could. We were far from rich, but seemed to have everything in comparison to the hoboes. I wished I could help them, and so did my mother, but all we could do was give them food when they happened to come, and now and then a hat, or a sweater, or a pair of shoes.

This disparity of fortune is heart-wrenching. The only positive side to it is that it makes me appreciate all that I have. Because of the homeless man with red hair, I know I am truly rich.