Autograph books

Dick Cavett finishes his book Talk Show, which is a collection of some of his NY Times blogs, with a story on how he got a personalized photograph of John Wayne. It got me thinking about the autograph book packed away in my box of family stuff. For years I had kept it in my bookcase, but a couple of moves ago it graduated from easy reference to history.
 

In that book are the clever “2 good 2 B 4gotten” (we were well ahead of our time) notes from friends and exhortations from elders and teachers who were part of my life during late elementary school years. I also had an autograph dog. It was a tan dachshund of some material easy to write on. There was an elastic piece that held a pen. That memento went the way of many childhood treasures once I left for college, but the book remained.
 
Once in junior high, autograph book and dog were replaced by the yearbook. There, friends and school chums reminded me of something funny or happy during the year and wished me a good summer. In senior year, such notes took on more nostalgia and good wishes themes. Best friends wrote whole pages.
 
Adults pack away autograph books and yearbooks and go for the real thing – signed copies of works by favorite authors. In some cases a signature adds worth to the publication. At the Oak Park Library annual book sale there is a table set aside for such more valuable books. I once stood in line for P.D. James and was delighted when the little pixie of a woman made her mark in my book; however, said book is no longer in my library. Perhaps it made it to that table at the book fair. Since I have a brief personal knowledge of such a thing, I will share that I found it a thrill to be asked to sign a book that has your name on it but obsessed over what to write.
 
I suppose that in today’s world we might hope for an email or personal text from a celebrity, a different form of an autograph, although I wouldn’t hold out hope. The only fan letter I ever wrote was to Leonard Bernstein after I either heard or saw his Mass in the every early 1970s. After many months I got a typewritten note signed by an assistant thanking me for my interest in the composer’s work. Ah, well, not one for the autograph book.
 
What old and new treasures are on your shelf? Whose autograph do you wish was there? Whose autograph would you stand in line to get?

Marilyn

Doing the best we can

Since there are no perfect families, despite what Norman Rockwell paintings might portray, part of our journey to maturity and self-acceptance is the ability to adjust to what we didn’t have. And, I think part of that growth is the understanding that our parents did the best they could or knew how to do. While we have all met people who never should have been parents, no one sets out to deliberately screw up their child. That simply happens along the path to adulthood, to all of us children in some way.
 

Parents whom I admire, at least in what I see outside of their family’s four walls, tell me that they had to learn to parent each child differently. Such adjustment requires knowing a child’s needs and balancing that with their responsibility to raise a healthy, well-adjusted child ready to participate in and contribute to the world around them. For example, one child might get a quiet timeout while another lose some privilege.

There are so many things my parents never taught me. Dealing with emotion and finances are at the top of my blame list. Over the years my anger over this has softened as I learned lessons the hard way and gained some skill. Also, when I examine who they were – at least what I can know – and my limited knowledge of their own upbringing, I have come to believe that they did indeed do the best they could. That has shifted my finger pointing somewhat and my feelings have gone from anger and resentment to sad and regret.

Some might preach that there needs to be forgiveness. Perhaps that is true, I simply don’t know, and if that is true, I’m not there yet but also don’t feel a need to be. By getting to the point I have, I’ve discarded baggage that I’ve been carrying for decades.

There is no easy or step-by-step formula that has gotten me to where I am so, no, the next blog will not be ‘how to get over the disservices done to you in your childhood.’ I’m not even sure why this is the topic for today’s musing. I do know that each of us has stuff to divest and that very fact is another thing we all have in common. Whatever stuff you have gotten rid of, are dealing with, or wish you could face – well, I would enjoy chatting about the process with you if you’d like. Meanwhile, pack up only what you want to take with you on your journey today. See what you can leave behind.

Marilyn

In the dark

Most of us don’t experience the total darkness our ancestors once did. Whether it is just the LED of the modem or clock radio or the light on the smoke alarm, it is hard to find an inside place that is completely dark. Outside there are motion light sensors, streetlamps, blinking car alarms, or even iridescent clothing that break up the dark in the neighborhood and distant city lights brighten a nighttime sky.

When I was growing up I occasionally got to sleep in what we called the attic. It was so named because it had no floor radiator so it got cold, and because there was a side alcove for trunks and cedar chests and the like and a small door for access to storage under the eaves. The attic also got totally dark. The heavy drapes over the two windows blocked out any light. I loved to sleep in that room, particularly in the winter, bundled up under layers of comforters.

There were many years when I could only fall asleep if the room was really dark. It was a time when I was travelling a lot for both business and pleasure and I kept a couple large metal binder clips in my suitcase since so often the drapes in hotel rooms don’t close or overlap well. That need gradually changed. Now I travel with a nightlight. I also recently lived in a place where my bed was right under the window and I could look up and gaze at the night sky.

All of this is to say that we need contrasts in our lives. We need the light and the dark. The liturgy for these Epiphany Sundays has been about coming out of the chaotic dark. I think that sometimes we need to be in the dark, both literally and figuratively. We need to rest and to wait, to curl up under whatever comforting layers we can find as we listen and face in the dark what we are not yet ready to take into the light. Some things that are in the dark need to be brought into the light when we are ready to face them. Some things we need to pack away in one of those trunks in a dark attic and leave them there. Maybe we’ll go back for them one day or maybe not and either is ok. There are also areas of life where we may choose to remain ignorant.

Whatever dark space we are currently in, we can decide when and how to emerge. We just need to make sure that a) we know how we got there in the first place, b) that we have choices on coming into dim or bright at the appropriate time, and c) however dark, we still have the contrast of light inside us. Or as Elizabeth Kubler Ross said, “People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.”

Marilyn

Rock-paper-scissors

From drawing straws, flipping a coin, or “eenie meenie miny mo,” we learn early on in life that many decisions and outcomes are out of our control, even when we follow a proven process. We also learn that sometimes there are ways to beat the odds, that some people cheat, and that sometimes cheaters don’t get caught or punished.

As the consequences of our choices become more important, we add other skills and elements to our decision-making process. Research. Advice. Best practices. We might draw from other traditions, such as convening a Quaker-style Clearing Committee, or we might meditate. We develop our own style and discover what it takes for us to be comfortable with our answer or solution. We choose how much or how little to engage others as we methodically work our process. One friend involves everyone in her circle in major and minor concerns and another simply makes an announcement of something his friends had not even known was an issue.

I have followed many courses in making both big and little decisions, but I usually fall in that latter category. After a lot of mulling in the back of my mind, I make decisions quickly. How I get to a decision mostly involves following my gut with not a lot of outside influence. If I could package what makes one thing feel more right than another, well, Shark Tank might provide some backing.

While we have come a long way from rock-paper-scissors, particularly when there is no moral right or wrong path, it can seem that, even after lots of deliberation, our adult process is ultimately no better than our childhood methods. It make take us longer and be much more involved, but often it is still a game of chance. And, whatever our usual procedure, it will only work when we have a say-so in the decision. Too often change is imposed on us by outside sources. What we do when that happens, well, that’s a different musing.

Marilyn