I haven't posted for a long time, almost a year. I lost heart when someone used one of my happiest posts against me. It made me so sad that I lost all heart for writing anything. But I have found so much comfort in Anne Lamott's writing that I wanted to repost her words somewhere that belonged to me. Thanks, Anne.
I would be just fine most of the time, if it weren't for my mind. I try to distract it with arts and crafts projects--felt, pipecleaners, glue stickws, glitter--but it prefer to go everywhere with me.
And it has constant concerns that it wants to discuss with me, most of which have to do with disappointment in recent decisions, weight, money and general character.
It also has tiny c...ontrol issues, hardly worth mentioning, and a tendency to judge everyone and everything, esp you, me, and all of life.
So there I was back on book tour, in 30 degree weather, about to go back on stage, in Whiny Baby mode. I am still hoarse and congested, and was frustrated about having to leave the hotel for a reading one hour after arriving from airport.
I prayed. But Jeus, the Mothership, could not locate me on its GPS because I was too pissy. Or else He grimaced, and tip-toed away. So I idly texted my older brother, who is housesitting, and an evangelical, to ask if Allan the rat man had come by to check his worthless Have-a-Heart traps. I mentioned in passing that I was freezing, exhausted, and crabby.
And he just lit into me, in his old big brotherly way. He said that yes, Allan the rat man had been by to check the traps, and had been so sweet and talkative--so glad to be of service to people, especially those who are perhaps the tiniest tiniest bit afraid of rats. And my fundamentalist brother said Allan was so much happier a human than any spoiled writers out on tour would EVER think to be. Allan was grateful for the skills and experience to make a good living, and loved being a helper. (Remember Mr Rogers's mother telling him as a child that if he wanted to see God after tragedies, to look for the helpers?)
John wrote, "Tonight is going to be great, because you are going to rise to the occasion, like Allan. These people love you. They only want to hang out with you for while, just a short connection: and tonight, baby Sister, you are just the woman who is perfectly positioned to make your readers believe that the world is a slightly better place than it feels like--and that love and grace and humor can overcome the difficult lives they lead.
Just ask yourself, What Would Allan the Ratman do?"
I got spritzed by the spiritual plant-misting that I would call grace. I laughed--wow! Then I got my act together--made myself a cup of tea, put on a little make-up, some color in my cold cadaver cheeks, exchanged my bitter intellectual wire rim glasses for the super cute glamorous frames (see Selfie below), and a fuscia scarf. Then I showed up for my Witchita event in happy movie-star mode, and told them all about my big brother and Allan the rat man.
And we all got in the best moods (well, except for one cranky old lady who perhaps took umbrage at my thoughts on Sam Brownback). So thank you John, Jesus, Allan and Watermark readers. Way to go.
And it has constant concerns that it wants to discuss with me, most of which have to do with disappointment in recent decisions, weight, money and general character.
It also has tiny c...ontrol issues, hardly worth mentioning, and a tendency to judge everyone and everything, esp you, me, and all of life.
So there I was back on book tour, in 30 degree weather, about to go back on stage, in Whiny Baby mode. I am still hoarse and congested, and was frustrated about having to leave the hotel for a reading one hour after arriving from airport.
I prayed. But Jeus, the Mothership, could not locate me on its GPS because I was too pissy. Or else He grimaced, and tip-toed away. So I idly texted my older brother, who is housesitting, and an evangelical, to ask if Allan the rat man had come by to check his worthless Have-a-Heart traps. I mentioned in passing that I was freezing, exhausted, and crabby.
And he just lit into me, in his old big brotherly way. He said that yes, Allan the rat man had been by to check the traps, and had been so sweet and talkative--so glad to be of service to people, especially those who are perhaps the tiniest tiniest bit afraid of rats. And my fundamentalist brother said Allan was so much happier a human than any spoiled writers out on tour would EVER think to be. Allan was grateful for the skills and experience to make a good living, and loved being a helper. (Remember Mr Rogers's mother telling him as a child that if he wanted to see God after tragedies, to look for the helpers?)
John wrote, "Tonight is going to be great, because you are going to rise to the occasion, like Allan. These people love you. They only want to hang out with you for while, just a short connection: and tonight, baby Sister, you are just the woman who is perfectly positioned to make your readers believe that the world is a slightly better place than it feels like--and that love and grace and humor can overcome the difficult lives they lead.
Just ask yourself, What Would Allan the Ratman do?"
I got spritzed by the spiritual plant-misting that I would call grace. I laughed--wow! Then I got my act together--made myself a cup of tea, put on a little make-up, some color in my cold cadaver cheeks, exchanged my bitter intellectual wire rim glasses for the super cute glamorous frames (see Selfie below), and a fuscia scarf. Then I showed up for my Witchita event in happy movie-star mode, and told them all about my big brother and Allan the rat man.
And we all got in the best moods (well, except for one cranky old lady who perhaps took umbrage at my thoughts on Sam Brownback). So thank you John, Jesus, Allan and Watermark readers. Way to go.
