Remembering dear old Jocco . . .

It’s fairly well known among my friends that I don’t like Dogs, and some look at me in disbelief, and I forgive them. After all they, not their dogs, are my friends, and if they wonder how come? Well let me tell you.

A long time ago there was a little reddish-brown cocker who was just plain hell-on-four-legs, and he quickly erased any previous loving thoughts I ever had for the canine clan. His name was Jocco, but that isn’t what I called him, and what I did is unprintable.

He was a one-man dog, and that man happened to my brother-in-law, Jake. But there came a time when Jake moved and couldn’t take Jocco with him, Jocco slowly changed his allegiance to my husband.

Oh, he tolerated anyone who would feed him, but that wasn’t me. He ignored me completely and if ever was forced, by some turn of events to notice me, he did so with reluctance and obvious dislike.

See, there was a catch, for as long as he was a one-man dog, he expected his ‘man’ to be just as one-sided in his affections, and drove him wild to see any display of affection by his ‘man’ to anyone else, and at one time, it was considered real hilarious (not by me). And it was thought funny, to watch the dog growl and show his teeth, when my husband would put his arms around me or pull me down to sit on his lap.

Jocco would stand there growling, and I suspect he would have jumped at me if the real culprits had not been there. Yes, it was funny, but it was also mean and cruel, but just try to tell that to a couple of laughing, men.

It didn’t really matter, for we lived a few blocks away, and so the two of us, Dog and Woman, had little time together, and until Jake had to move, the dog never left that place. But with Jake’s move the dog mourned, pined and then . . . found out where we lived, and would have lived with us, too, if he could have. But I wouldn’t have him in our home if I could help it, but at times I simply had no choice. And so Jocco learned where we lived.

One blizzardy afternoon I came home from work and that dog was sitting on my doorstep. He was cold, icicles hanging from his fur, paws the same, and  I couldn’t get in my own door except by getting past him, and he wouldn’t move. Impatient to get in, he growled and snarled at my reluctance, and as soon as my key turned, he pushed me aside and was in the house before I could cross the doorstep, and I hated him.

He settled himself in a living room chair, licking his frozen paws, smelling as foul as only a wet dog can smell, and generally defrosted himself while I inwardly fumed.

Once I got my coat off, I was so angry at ‘whose house is this anyway? mood, and determinedly took the broom and tried to drive him at least out of my living room chair, but Jocco, as determined as I was, jerked the broom from my hands and then, with flashing eyes, sat down and proceeded to tear into the bristles of that broom. I was licked and both of us knew it. And he was probably as glad as I, that he didn’t live with us.

I came home around mid-nite one time and my husband was already sound asleep with Jocco asleep on the foot of the bed.

As I walked back and forth, kitchen, bathroom, closet, getting ready for bed, that dang dog’s eyes never left me, and each time I approached the bed, he rose on his feet, bared his teeth, growling at me and relaxing and settling down only when I stepped to Kitchen or Bath.

Finally and every word of this is true, I had to waken my husband, so he could give that dang dog a hard whack and got him off the bed. So I could get in.

No, I don’t like dogs, I know all this was the fault of those two crazy men, but just the same, Jocco loved his part of the act, and now, every one of that canine breed could disappear off the face of the earth and all I’d say . . .if someone called my attention to their absence . . . would be, “My my, I hadn’t noticed.”

But inwardly I’d be cheering, long and hard, and thinking, “It’s about time.”

We are all a bit silly, thinking We Are The Center Of It All . . .

I was a child when I heard the Bible’s first words, “In the beginning God created heaven and earth’,  and to me that meant this valley circled by the Wasatch and Oquirrh Mountains, with its covering dome of the sun, moon, and stars. And I was content. Heaven and Earth. Right here. Good.

Of course my knowledge grew, and now I know that heaven and earth continue into distances never then imagined, and the more we learn, the more we know that what is ‘out there’, is not new. This far-flung world we live upon has been here since The Big Bang, and just because none of us knew it, doesn’t make one bit of difference. It is here. Always been here, and it’s good.

Columbus changed our concept of heaven and earth back in the 15th century; Magellan did the same as he circled the world, and when we saw Neil Armstrong take that small step onto the Moon, we shivered and knew another ‘boundary’ of Space had been scaled.

We no longer wonder if there are Beings ‘out there’. for now we know.  ‘Bodies’ (and never an explanation as to, ‘what kind of bodies’), remained after that Texas UFO crash. The event was immediately CLOSED DOWN to Everyone. And that meant ALL, including , police, doctors. all news sources, TV, Radio, innocent victims, owners of the land it lit upon, and on and on. All sworn to Absolute Silence. And the penalties stiff.

But, everything that was found and survived from that crash, (and it was said to be a lot) is now at Nevada’s Area 51, the most famous, secret Military Installation in the World. And that secret Area 51 was built for the sole purpose of examining, and caring for those UFO crash remains.

And moreover, we also know that those UFO people are far more intellectually advanced than we are,  because they found and ‘called upon’ us, at the time when we were first becoming  aware of their presence,  and seriously began wondering what MIGHT ‘be out there’. I can only guess the questions, answers, and wonders of what we learned and are learning in Area 51. It has to be awesome.  Frightening?.

I, a very average person, am baffled because, as we explore, we are constantly surprised in finding that Space extends far beyond where we ever expected. The heavens and the earth exist, and  have existed, ever since In The Beginning. At one time I, as a child, didn’t know there was an Africa, but what I knew and didn’t know did not matter. Africa was and always had been there. It was part of God’s creation and so are the Beings that inhabit those far off places in Space, and who found us. And whether we like it or not, they are here, and are a part of that primal act of God’s Creation of Heaven and Earth..

Remember, when we hear of dangerous actions in some part of our Earth World, we send forces to go find out ‘what’s going on over there’.  We want to put a stop to foolish activities. So, who knows? Just maybe the UFO people might have been surprised, alerted and alarmed at the time of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And just maybe those we call Aliens were sent. and continue to be sent, to determine what is going on in this corner of Space. Who knows? It’s the same protective kind of  actions we take.

And, it just might be that they want to save us from problems they, perhaps long ago, met, and conquered.

It is all the same Space (God’s Heaven and Earth) and I am boggled at where my mind is taking me. For step by step, it then follows that those UFO pilots are also God’s creations, and so belong to our ultimate Family. They are our kin.

We have been slow in realizing that no matter what color the skin, shape of eyes, land of origin, those ‘odd’ people who live down the street, or from what we call outer Space. It’s all part of God’s Heaven and Earth, and so a part of Our family. And, as such, it is good.

I can’t be the first or only one to have such thoughts, and so I reach out to hear from you. Thanks, and a reply is not required,  but would really be great…

I could see his ‘wheels spinning’ faster than a Tibetan prayer wheel . . .

Ten year olds are wonderful. Their basic learning skills are conquered and with minds like sponges, eyes ready to see, ears ready to hear, minds not yet cynical, they are avidly ready for new ideas, and I do believe this past summer I saw one such boy become a dyed in the wool environmentalist.

See, Joey was with me as I poured a pan of dirty water down the drain, and casually mused, “I wonder who’ll be the next person to drink that water?”

His eyes told me he didn’t know what I was talking about, so a big discussion about water began. He later told his school teacher about it, and she had him tell the class. Not bad for a ten year old, huh?

So, what did I say that entranced so young a lad? Well, I explained that there is only so much water in the whole world. That we are re-using the same water that Adam and Eve used, and it will still be the same water when the opposite of The Big Bang happens. The very same, just used and re-used over and over and over.

Then it became a game as we began naming its different forms, all the way from a mountain stream, to ice, snow, rain, gutters, sewers, glaciers, clouds, dry ice, steam and so forth.

But before long, with a serious look on his face, he edged back to the ‘sewer’ bit and with a grin on mine, I said, “Now, Joey, almost every time I see you, you have some kind of drink in your hands, and just where does it finally go?” I could see he didn’t want to accept where my words were taking him. But reluctantly he said, “Well, I go to the bathroom.” (and no, that isn’t how he said it), but I laughed and said, “Yeah, and you don’t think it gets thrown away, do you? And anyway, just where would they throw it?”

I handed him a bottle of water and said, “Joey, this is the very same water Noah floated his ark upon; that Moses parted in the Red Sea; where the Indians paddled their canoes; and the same water dinosaurs mucked around in before there were even people.”

We followed the circle backward from the mountain stream, to melting snow, to the heavy clouds that drop the snow (or rain) and further back to the way those clouds are formed from moisture rising from the oceans.

He didn’t have too much else to say, but as he left for home, I could see his ‘wheels spinning’ faster than a Tibetan prayer wheel, and the next day he was back with one big question, that of, ” How does it get cleaned up?

He hadn’t liked the idea that water, no matter in what form we use or see it, ultimately comes right back to our kitchen tap, and was now doing his best to get clean water there. And I believe it was at this point he started to become a serious ‘save the environment” kind of kid.

It was wonderful to watch his mind follow the trail from snow of a thousand years ago, forming glaciers, which either melt into streams or ‘calf’ off into the oceans. He spoke of steam at his mother’s stove, ice cubes, and on and on. It was a delight to watch his mind work and almost wished I could have been a school teacher.

I don’t think he will ever again look upon ‘water’ in any form, the same way as he did before knowing that the clear, clean water we’re drinking has been used by so many different people and in so many different ways. It’s sobering, and not too comfortable, but like it or not, this ole’ world has only a certain amount of water (and earth, too). and that they both do get used over and over and over.

I saw Joey’s ten year old mind digging deep and I doubt he’ll ever again think of water (and perhaps the earth, too) in a casual way again. I believe I saw an environmentalist come into being, and it was good. And doubly good that I had had a role in awakening that young ten year old to a greater world.

Everything happens for a reason . . .

Anyone who knows me well enough to say “Hi”, also knows that Ethel is odd. And they’re right in a way, for at times, I have odd things happen. But at the same time, I suspect what happens to me is just about what happens to you, too. We’re all the same, except I tend to talk or write about it all. And so, here goes.
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At times, since childhood, I’ve been aware of what others were thinking, who was going to give me a phone call, or now, it has happened with email, and sometimes I even know what they’re going to tell me. Nothing big, but as I say, it’s odd, and once I even told the caller what she’d called for, and we laughed, and I couldn’t convince her that someone else hadn’t already called and told me. See, that’s what I mean.

Before you cross me off your list as being  downright wiffy, hold on a moment. These happenings are not scheduled, or sought, but come hit or miss, and if I try to make them happen, (yeah, I’ve tried), I draw a blank. It doesn’t work that way.

But a few days ago one came that startled me, and so, I’m writing this column. See, Beverly Wheeler Mastrim, born at Wheeler Farm, life-long artist, and I, Ethel, produced a nice Coffee Table book. The words mine, the art work hers.

So, to continue, there’s a delivery man who comes to my door and we’ve become friends and I decided I would gift him with Bev’s and my book, “The Sunset of the Farmer”.

I autographed it, and wished Bev were here to do the same. But it’s become difficult for us to get together, and so, a day or so ago, when Bev came to my home for the first time in more than three years, we laughed and talked. However within a few moments the doorbell rang, and yes, it was that fellow, and so he not only joyously received the book, but with Beverly’s autograph, too. Nice.

The synchronicity of the three of us coming together within that 5-10 minute time-slot is unbelievable. I hadn’t spoken of my wish to anyone, but nevertheless, Beverly, the man, and Ethel all came together in the right place and time, as though it had been planned. Eerie.

Ok, here’s a more common experience. My husband, who died long ago as a fairly young man, appeared to me twice in the following few years, when I was alone, needing comfort, and he, non-verbally gave me reassurance that all would be well. And he was right.

Then one day an acquaintance, called from Denver and as we idly chatted about this and that, he casually included a bit of information I, with no results, (Google had yet to be invented)  had been searching for, to complete an article I was writing. It was really not important to our conversation, for the words were almost out of context, but I got goose bumps and wondered how the information I needed came so casually, and without asking. And I knew it was another time for me to silently thank my Unseen Helpers.

Once I felt the coming death of a young, healthy, and active girl of about ten or eleven years old. I tried to toss the thought away as just a result of my crazy mind, but just the same within days that young girl died suddenly from a car accident, How and why did I know? I have no idea for there was nothing I could do. It’s the only time such knowledge ever was mine, and I hope I will never experience it again.

And then, since childhood I’ve heard humming near me. As a child, I of course thought everyone heard it, but one day I mentioned it to my mother and she told me she hadn’t been singing, and didn’t know what I was talking about.  It doesn’t happen as often as when I was a child but once a glorious sunset brought it, and then one time it came as I saw moonlight on the pasture pond. (This was before   it became Mick Riley Golf Course)  and II heard it once with a group of meditators, where the humming was like a choir, and, then of all unlikely places, I’ve heard it twice in Murray Public library. I don’t hear it as often as I did as a child, and wonder if it’s because a child just enjoys and doesn’t try to analyze.

Odd? Yeah, I know, but I also bet ten-to-one, that you could match everyone of these happenings with those of your own. But for some reason, we hesitate to tell others. But I think we’re very normal and without knowing why or how, at times we’re able to use our Minds at a higher (deeper?) level. Exactly as our Minds are meant to be used. TYG.