A Tale of Uncle Al and Two Dolls

Imagine you’re five, walking with your family around a city park. All of a sudden your Uncle Al climbs a tree. What in the world…?
When he climbs down, he’s holding a carved wooden doll. “Somebody stuck it on one of the branches. Would you like it?” he asks.

“Yes!” I squealed. I loved the doll and I loved Uncle Al, so strong and handsome, even though he had gray hair. He was ten years older than all the rest of our grownups, but we kids didn’t know that.

Uncle Al was great for playing airplane. He’d pick us up by one arm and one leg and swing us around and around. We begged “Do it again! Do it again!”
All too quickly he’d beg off. “I’m tired,” he gasp. How could anyone get tired when we were still having so much fun?

But he redeemed himself the time I found a big hole in a quilt and crawled inside. It was all quite exciting till I tried to crawl out and got lost in the maze of cotton batting. I began to scream. Immediately Uncle Al’s strong arms were there, carefully pulling me out. How I adored him after that.

As the years went by, he lost a lot of his eminence as he succumbed to age and infirmity.
But he died before I could realize "my rock" wouldn't live forever.

I still have the doll he gave me, which sits in a mug by my writing desk.

Not long ago one of our wooden spoons broke in half. Since I can never throw anything out, I made the spoon into a doll, gluing on yarn hair and tissue paper features and sewing her a green dress from fabric scraps. Remembering Uncle Al, the next time I went to the school where I tutor, I set the doll on a bench. When I came back a few hours later, my heart kvelled to see her gone.

Curious note that just now occurred to me:
That day in the park, I named my wooden doll after Al’s daughter Nona.
I left the new doll at Mayfair Elementary, where Nona went to school.

Unhappy, Unhappy

“Unhappy, Unhappy, you have no complaint
You are what you are and you ain’t what you ain’t…”

Had to go early to set up my monthly women’s spirituality group. I wished I’d stayed home and worked on my art project instead. (Probably didn’t help that they were already set up when I arrived.)

I decided I’d sit at an empty table in the back of the room so I could hide out and ink my drawings during the meeting. Got breakfast and hoped nobody would come to my table.

Then nobody did. I ate my whole breakfast and no one joined me. It began to bother me. A lot. I watched friends, even my cousin, walk right by to sit at other tables, tables that already had lots of people at them. This pissed me off. I thought, “If one of them was sitting by herself, I’d sit with her.” Tables filled up and mine was the only empty table. That’s I went to “Nobody likes me; I don’t belong on planet earth. “

I recognized this place; I used to live there. I was sliding down into a hole that is very hard to get out of.

So my Al-Anon kicked in and I prayed, “God show me how you want me to be.”

Here are some of the thoughts that then came into my mind:
*Maybe I’m subconsciously conveying “stay away.”
*People aren’t sitting down with me, not because I’m a loser, but because they don’t feel safe with me.
*People are my mirrors. If I’m feeling good about myself, they will be attracted to me; If I’m rejecting myself they’ll stay away.

I tried feeling good about myself (See previous Blog entries); still nobody came over.

Then I got up to get more hot water and saw Janet, a woman I know to be extremely friendly and nurturing. I gave her a hug and asked, “Would you sit at my table?”
I went back to my seat. And before Janet could get there, Saundra, Mary Claire,and Deborah sat down. “Oh what wonderful drawings,” they said.
.

“…So listen up, Buster, and listen up good
Stop wishin’ for bad luck and knockin’on wood.”
John Prine

Poe Writes in Response to Dear Amy

Here's the original letter (not written by me):

DEAR AMY: I have been enjoying a group of friends for the past 10 years. During the past year I have had a real problem over their pontificating about their political point of view. I am the only person in the group with a different political view. The past four times I've seen them, I've come home feeling very upset about their bashing of the new president.I did not act like that when the previous administration was in office. We have had some angry, awkward moments and it makes me want to stay home and avoid the whole thing. I have tried to tell them I feel bullied, but they always say we all should be able to express our opinions and I shouldn't take it personally. What would you suggest that I do?
--Linda

DEAR LINDA: I recently heard Glenn Beck refer to the president as a socialist and call filmmaker Michael Moore a "fatty-fatty fatso."
Is this the sort of civilized intellectual discourse our foremothers and - fathers had in mind when building this great nation? Probably not.
But while you may have been sheltered from this sort of passion during the Bush years, I remember many heated, shocking and extremely disrespectful bashing sessions coming from the left - both through the media and privately.
Yelling is the unfortunate reaction of people trying to mitigate their powerlessness.
We live in fascinating times, and you might benefit from understanding the passion of the other side. Don't let your friends bait or bully you, and don't feel you must defend practices or policies they find indefensible.
If you don't want to participate, you can do your best to change the subject, but if you can't and still want to spend time in their presence, listen passively or (my trick) offer to wash the dishes.

(My letter, which I sent Ask Amy day before yesterday):
Dear Amy:
I certainly related to LINDA’s problem with friends pontificating about their political point of view*. When my friends start spouting off, I like to ask the following questions:

*What life experiences led you to your political point of view?
*In what areas do you and I agree?
*Is there anything ___________ (whoever they’re pontificating against) said or done that you approve of?
*Has anyone ever told you that you converted them to your point of view?
*Have you ever changed your mind due to something someone said?

Most folks have never thought about these things and it invariably leads to fascinating conversation and a lot of bridge building.


We'll see if she prints it.

*Actually mostly my husband's relatives

Stupidity As a Healing Force

Growing up in an alcoholic home, I learned to constantly beat myself up over everything.
I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop.

After I joined Al-Anon, I heard "If I want to make a change, I have to actively do the opposite."

So...
Once a day I thought up five good things about me. It would take forever to come up with that many, but I stuck with it.

Now I do over a hundred several times a day. Takes about a minute.

Recent examples:
I send my cousin a birthday card and a gift bag of candy
I made myself a big salad for lunch—very healthy and delicious
I gave the cats their flea medicine.
I did some beautiful drawings for my book project.
I paid the Visa bill on time.

Every morning and frequently during the day I take a minute to look on myself the way I'd look on a small adorable baby. (When I look at, say, my 10-month old great-nephew I don’t compare him to other babies or think, Hmpf! He didn’t pick up that toy correctly. I just groove on the wonderful, lovable boy he is.)

Loving and praising myself feels really stupid. But it's proved more powerful and healing than anything has before.

I'm not saying I'm all well--I still think negative thoughts. They've just gotten less and less frequent, with shorter and shorter durations.

Examples:
You may remember our cat died last week. My first thought: “If,two years ago, I'd taken her to the vet sooner, maybe she'd be alive today.”
I thought that for only about 30 seconds. Then “Oh Poe, that’s just self-hatred; give it up.” And I did.

After we buried her, I thought, “Gee I really didn’t check one last time to make absolutely certain she was dead. What if she wakes up down there?”
Had that one for about twenty seconds. Then: “Poe, she was stiff as a board. Let it go.”

You see, I couldn’t stop self-hating thoughts before because I was standing on a base of “Poe is bad, can’t do anything right, never good enough.” Now I am building a base of Poe is good, kind, lovable, and competent.

Too Sad to Write Today

Garrison Keilor says it all:

When we got home, it was almost dark.
Our neighbor waited on the walk.
“I’m sorry, I have bad news,” he said.
“Your cat, the grey-black one, is dead.
I found him by the garage an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for letting us know.”



We dug a hole in the flower bed,
The lilac bushes overhead,
Where this cat loved to lie in spring
And roll in the dirt and eat the green
Delicious first spring buds,
And laid him down and covered him up,
Wrapped in a piece of tablecloth,
Our good old cat laid in the earth.

We quickly turned and went inside
The empty house and sat and cried
Softly in the dark some tears
For that familiar voice, that fur,
That soft weight missing from our laps,
That we had loved too well perhaps
And mourned from weakness of the heart;
A childish weakness, to regard
An animal whose life is brief
With such affection and such grief.
If this is foolish, so it be.
He was good company.
And we miss his gift
Of cat affection while he lived.
The sweet nature
Of that shy creature
Who gave the pleasure of himself:
The memory of our cat…

Prodigal
March 27, 1996-October 31, 2009

One Last Vacation Story

My mother has a gift for saying stupid things.

Just one example: on our recent trip to Michigan, she kept telling total strangers that she was 86 years old and her doctor, a lovely Sikh man, had suggested that she have knee replacement surgery; however she thought she was too old to go through with it but now maybe she would have that surgery. (After a while I wondered if she was hoping for her own reality show--"86 year old Woman Deciding Whether to Get Knee Replacement Surgery.")

There was a time when I would feel it was my duty to point out to Mom that she was stupid. But in Al-Anon we have two slogans: How Important Is It? and THINK (Is what I’m about to say True? Honest? Intelligent? Necessary? Kind? If not, don’t say anything. )

In this case I happily kept my big intelligent mouth shut.

Amazing how much better Mom and I got along on this trip.

I used to think we could only get along if she changed.

Funny thing that.

A Few Entries from My Travel Journal

(Last week I travelled to Michigan to visit my brother and his wife.)

Oct 7
Flying into Lansing, I thought about all the people down below, affected by the noise of our plane. Maybe some wouldn’t notice. Maybe some would be annoyed: “I have to stop talking because I can't be heard over the noise of that plane.” Little kids might look up and think, “Crash, crash.” or folks like me might pray for our safe landing. Thus I felt a connection with all these people I'd never know and who'd never know me.

Oct 8
At the Lansing Days Inn the elevator had a handmade sign posted inside: “If the door doesn’t open, push Door Open (Bottom Button).”

Oct 9
At Village Market, they put our groceries in an orange plastic bag decorated with pumpkins and bats and this message: “Use this Bag for your Halloween Treats”
On the other side of the bag, sideways, in the tiniest of print: “To avoid danger of suffocation, keep this plastic bag away from children.”

Oct 12
Driving with my sister-in-law, we passed a cemetery. Robin said, “The people who live around here can’t be buried in this cemetery and do you know why?”
“No, why?”
“Because they’re not dead.”

Oct 13
Sign outside a store--TAKE OUT CHICKEN ICE CREAM CONES.

Oct 14
Back at the Lansing Day’s Inn, they offered a free breakfast. JR went down to get some, but came back disgusted.
JR: The coffee sucked and when I tried to get juice, only water came out. They had plenty of cereal, though, provided you like Raisin Bran.

Later I went to check out, and the lobby was empty except for a woman wearing plastic gloves and a man in a suit (the manager?) I heard him complaining to her that the juice dispenser didn’t work.
She got all mad: “Well I put juice in there! This is what happens when Irene doesn’t show up.”
(She saw me and asked what I wanted.)
Me: I’m ready to check out.
Lady:(pleasantly) Oh I can do that for you. (As she processes the papers) How was your stay?
Me: Fine, except my husband tried to get juice out of the dispenser this morning and he only got water.
Lady: (mad all over again) “Well, I put plenty of juice in there!”