Poe Gets Inspired and How

When I become Queen of the World, the Ken Burns National Parks series will be required viewing for everyone. And not just because I’m a smug, controlling busybody. Because…

My first visit to the Tetons.
The summer I was fifteen, my mom and her sister decided we’d all meet in Grand Teton National Park .

So we four cousins, aged 15-20 got hauled to this place where there was nothing to do. The grownups spent the week exclaiming over the scenery. Bo-ring. Where were the movies? The hip nightclubs? The amusment arcades?*


In short, where were places to meet boys?**

We kids lounged around in supreme restlessness. It was too cold for swimming. The nearest stores were an hour’s drive away. We were the only young people there.


Of course, it wasn’t all bad. We went horseback riding every day. At night Mom and Aunt Bernadine played accordion and guitar and we sang folk songs.
But beyond that I felt it was a week that could have been better spent.

Now, as a famous radio announcer used to say, “Here’s the rest of the story:”

Years later my husband suggested we vacation in the Tetons and I jumped at the chance. You see, somehow amidst that teen boredom a connection had been made; I felt like the Tetons were MINE.
Upon arrival, I noticed the park had changed. Hmmm. How to describe it? “Majestic?” (Nah, too tame a word.) “Magical?” (Not right either.) Ah, I've got it:

I looked around this immense valley where the mountains touch the meadows and realized I was looking at the face of God.

The moral: Do not be afraid of boring folks by exposing them to holy things. In ten years they’ll have bragging rights.






















*Nowadays this is not a problem.

**Or girls as the case may be.

On the Road Again.

Off to the coast where JR will participate in a century bike tour.

While riding in the car, I read about developing a sense of awe in life, to see heaven in a wild flower and infinity in an hour.* I decided to look for the Divine in everything.

About that time we got in a traffic jam. You know how normally cars just rush by impersonally. Now I took the opportunity to look inside our fellow “stuck” cars. I noticed almost everyone had something hanging from their rear view mirror: A graduation tassel, a Mickey Mouse doll, rosary beads, a Jesus fish, a brightly colored card.

My Mistake.
I mentioned my observation to JR.
He came right back with, “I had something hanging from my rear view mirror yesterday.”
We’re not hang-stuff-from-our-mirrors types so I said, “Oh yeah, what?”
“A used condom.”

(His idea of a joke.) Now normally I would have been hurt and quickly fallen into shame: Oh I am unworthy, the Superior Male knows my topic of conversation was without value, I shouldn't have opened my piddly soul to him.
But this time I thought, “How insecure and anxious he must be. ” I reached out and lovingly rubbed his back a while. He looked most surprised. But I could feel him soften.

The end result, he felt better and I felt lots better, the direct result of following my...
...I was going to say “Spiritual Path,” but it’s more like a Spiritual Maze-Discontinuous Pavement- Under Construction-With Lots of Traffic Jams. And with lots of interesting cars to look inside.

“Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”
I too many and many a time crossed the river, the sun half an hour high;
I watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls—I saw them high in the air, floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and left the rest in strong shadow,
I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging towards the south.

Walt Whitman


*Everyday Holiness by Alan Morinis

A Fool of Myself

Terrible time this week. Took me two days to draw a stupid door; just couldn’t get it right.


Then I looked at the cover of the SCBWI* magazine and thought, “A real artist would do something like this, what’s wrong with me?”











Every time I open that magazine I feel like I’m back at Interlochen Arts Academy where everyone could write and illustrate circles around me.


I tell my friend Nance this.
Nance:If you didn’t routinely give yourself these negative messages, what would happen?”
Me: (Pause.) Good question. Oh! I know! I might go out and make a fool of myself.

You see, in my family you could murder a dozen people, blow up the Sherman Minton Bridge, cheat elderly widows, and it still would not compare with someone thinking you’re a fool.

My dad also had this notion that we kids were artistic geniuses, so he sent me and brother Steve to The Interlochen Arts Academy high school. Now Steve was a musical prodigy and did well there. Within two seconds of my arriving I could see my piddly cartoons that delighted folks at home were trash can fodder here. It was like trying to swim the English Channel, surrounded by four hundred kids in motor boats laughing all the way to Calais.

After that, I learned to hide my light under a great big fat bushel.

Then one day I said, “You know, Poe, you’ve always had a dream of writing a comic book. If you don’t do it now, you probably never will.”

Do you see the danger? I can feel Incompetent Fool forming already.

But even as I write that, I remember an incident from when I was seventeen, acting in my first play:

An older actor (Age 19; I thought he knew everything) told me, “If you’re going to act, you’ve got to be willing to make a fool of yourself.” (You can imagine my horror.)
But over time I learned that is the trick—If you’re gonna make a fool of yourself anyway, better do it on purpose.

(I wrote this on Friday; after which I had the following dream:)
I’m reading a comic book in which I’m once again attending Interlochen Arts Academy. But this time I’m older. I make friends effortlessly, even among the very kids who formerly wouldn’t give me the time of day. Reading the comic, I accidentally skip ahead and find that terrorists will show up in a few pages. But I quickly turn back to where I’m having a great time riding a double decker bus and roasting hot dogs over a campfire with all my creative genius friends.

*Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators

Triumph! Triumph! Read All About It!

Last Monday:
My husband JR and I are driving home from a party. He’s had too much to drink and it seems to trigger his internal critic. (In fact, you’d think I’d said, “Honey, over the next 45 minutes see how many faults you can find in me.”) He doesn’t approve of the food I brought to the potluck or my plans for tomorrow. I’m driving too fast, I’m driving too slow, I should pass this car, I shouldn’t pass.

Our whole married life he’s been like this and I've always absorbed his every word, thinking, “I can't do anything right.”

But something is different this time. You see, I’ve been doing the "Good Enough" exercise I described in my previous entry.

I drive along, watching JR with calm detachment as if he’s portraying a mean teacher in a play. Nothing he says even touches my self-esteem because I know I'm a good, competent, industrious, careful, beautiful human being.

He continues to harangue me. I think, “This has absolutely nothing to do with me. And he really should get offstage."

Good Enough

My friend Nance is the Queen of Wisdom. This week we were talking about why people never think they’re good enough.

The Cause:
Innocent and vulnerable children get picked on by insecure big people.

In my case, I thought my folks really knew the score when they told me I was:

1. Stupid
2. Bad
3. Crazy
4. Lazy
5. Ugly
6. Immature
7. Careless
8. Boring

Even today I still believe these things. No wonder I'm whacked.

The solution, Nance suggested, is to examine each one logically and ask, Is this really true?

My Findings:
1. Stupid? I graduated from college. Stupid people can’t do that.

2. Bad? My hobby is doing random acts of kindness.

3. Crazy? I freely admit I am nutty. Truly crazy people don’t do that.

4. Lazy? When I’m not paralyzed by fear of failure, I am very industrious.

5. Ugly? What does an ugly person look like? I have no idea. (Anyway I think I’m kinda cute.)

6. Immature? "You're grown up when you can have a good laugh at yourself." I do that all the time. Every day, in fact.

7. Careless? When not distracted by fear of not being good enough, I am very careful.

8. Boring? “A bore is someone who talks on and on about their surgery when you want to talk about your surgery.” Not me.

The Plan:
Every time I feel worthless I will go over the list. By doing so my self-image will hopefully change.

Someday I may even become like Nance:

She was having trouble with her computer. Instead of calling herself stupid, etc. she said,
1.“I know I am a smart person."
2. "I’m not getting this."
3. "Therefore I need to get someone to help me.”

Missed Opportunity

I’ve always sensed my sister-in-law doesn’t like me. She never wants to chat. She never invites me to do things. When I drop something off at her house, she usually doesn’t even open her door all the way.

This morning she called to say she was coming by to pick up something. I went out and started sweeping my yard. I found myself hoping she’d arrive in time to see me. Maybe she’d think, “Why, look--I’ve misjudged Poe; she's industrious. I want to make her my best friend and queen of the world.” (I'm telling the truth--this is the way my mind works.)

By the time sister-in-law rang the doorbell, I had long finished sweeping. Opening the front door, I realized I'd never cleaned the doorstep, which was absolutely filthy with leaves and debris.

Big sigh.

Oh well...

“These Seats Are Saved," Part Two

November 1997: One of my favorite Al-Anon speakers, Father Tom W, is doing a Twelve-Step workshop in San Jose, a town I’ve never visited. Eager to hear him again, I do a most brave thing—drive up there by myself. I follow the map, everything goes fine.

Until I enter the church where the workshop is. I find myself in a huge room filled with dozens of large round tables. Several hundred strangers are taking their seats. I stare around the room. Panic. Junior High. How will I find a seat when I don’t know a soul?

But I have been in Program for seven years. So I pray, “God, show me where to sit.” Immediately I feel a Powerful Nudge toward one table. Only two people are sitting there, lots of empty seats. I go up and say, “Okay if I sit here?”

They respond, “NO! WE’RE SAVING THESE SEATS.” (In every organization there are always a few people who don’t “get it.”)

But I feel like I’d been slapped. I respond with a cheery “Oh, okay!” like getting shut out at an Al-Anon event is everybody’s favorite experience. I stumble to an empty table and drop into a chair, shaking with shame and humiliation. But mostly with anger. (“Hey, God, I thought you were my friend. Did I not ask you for a safe place to sit? Why did you direct me to that snake pit?)

People come up to my table. Of course I let anyone sit there who wants to. The whole time I am still thinking,: “Why Why Why? Does this just confirm what I’ve always known-- nobody likes me? Born human by mistake?”

Then I notice a late-comer, a young woman with a very familiar deer-in-the-headlights expression. She obviously doesn’t know a soul either. But by now all the tables are filled.

I call out, “Would you like to sit at our table? We’ll make room for you.” Relief lights up her face. We find an extra chair, everyone scoots over, and waitstaff brings another place setting. Suddenly I am not in a room full of strangers; the young woman and I become instant friends. (Now THAT’S the Al-Anon way)

Clever Reader, do you get my meaning: God is in how I respond—Will I succumb to shame and resentment or will I let Badness motivate me to do the opposite?

“If in the course of a day you run into somebody who doesn't like you, that happens sometimes. If in the course of the day you run into three or more people who don't like you, you’re the one who doesn't like you.”
Father Tom W, paraphrased