Tell Me Everything

My writing style is tight.  I try to eliminate every single word that I deem unnecessary.  Years ago, when part of my job was to edit marketing pieces, they referred to me as "the slasher." I took it as a compliment. 

On the other hand, I love the author Elizabeth Strout.  My niece, Sheri, and I have enjoyed reading her novels for years.  A fun part of her collection is that some of the same characters pop up in every book.  Several of them are in this book.  Olive Kitteridge has been around forever, first as the protagonist and later in other novels, in large and small roles. 

At some point, Lucy Barton took center stage. 

When Sheri sent me Strout's latest book, I thought, "Oh no, I can't read this.  After being ill for the past few months, my brain in not back to its full capacity."

And, trust me, you need brain capacity to read this novel.  It has multiple, multiple characters, doing and saying seemingly unremarkable things. 

But, like Picasso's elusive art pieces "Tell Me Everything" is not on trial.  It's been on the New York Times best seller list for a while.   This past Sunday it was #3.  And, more importantly to some, it's this year's Oprah pick.  

Sheri read her copy over a weekend.  After a couple of weeks I finally finished mine this morning.

Unlike "Seinfeid" this book's not about nothing.  It's about everything.  Following is a quote.

Olive laughed.  She really laughed at that. "Lucy Barton, the stories you told me - as far as I can tell - had very little point to them. Okay, okay, maybe they had subtle points to them. I don't know what the point is to this story!"

"People," Lucy said quietly, leaning back.  "People and the lives they lead.  That's the point."

"Exactly," Olive nodded.

My favorite character in all of Elizabeth Stout's novels is, and has always been, Olive Kitteridge.  My guess would be that she's the favorite of most of Stouts' readers.  Except, possibly, Sheri.  My guess is that Sheri's favorite might be Lucy Barton. 

 Like me, Olive is getting old and slowing down.  She is 91 in this book.  But, as my grandma used to say, still full of vinegar.  My guess is that she might be the favorite of the author as well, since Olive Kitteridge is responsible for Elizabeth Stout winning the Pulitzer Prize. 

Thank you Elizabeth and Sheri for this life affirming book. 

***

Thanks for Memories

Yesterday I returned a glass jar, with beautiful wicker braiding and a little wire handle, to my neighbor.  A couple of weeks prior, after I'd returned from the hospital, she left the jar on my doorstep filled to the brim with flowers.

After removing the flowers and spreading the drying rose petals in my big potpourri basket, I filled the jar with wrapped chocolates and added the card pictured here.  

Then I couldn't get this picture out of my mind. 

I am feeling so very grateful for friends and family and my entire life.  Some of it hard.  Some of it life changing for myself and others.  Some of it scary, but worth it.  

This card was made from one of my husband, David's, paintings.  After years of hard, but meaningful work, we traveled all over Europe.   I remember this street.  I remember having lunch at one of those outside tables.  I remember David telling me that he and his first wife, Audrey, walked down the same street.  I don't remember what country we were in. 

David signed all of his paintings.  Sometimes the signature is hard to find.  In this one, it's on the menu. "Runyan 2016."

***

 

Annie Potts

 I love Annie Potts. I loved her when she was the Ghostbusters sassy secretary.  I loved her as the wisecracking feminist in Designing Women.

And, now, at the age of 71, she's outdone herself as the beautiful, funny, strong, sexy Meemaw on Young Sheldon.  

I especially love the line she often uses "Are you tryin' to kill me?"  Like when she wakes up to young Sheldon beginning an analytical conversation.  Not at home in his own bed, but, unbeknownst to her, sleeping  next to her in her bed,    

23rd surgery

"Are you tryin' to kill me?"

But 71 year old Annie Potts has another story, one that's unbeknownst to many of us.  When she was 21 years old, she was hit, while walking, by a drunk driver.  She was left with every bone in her body below the waist (except one) broken.  

She recently had knee surgery.  But this wasn't her first surgery.  Over the years, she had many, 23 to be exact, including several knee replacements.

I wish every person in their 20s knew Annie Potts' broken body story.  For most of us, life is long, and tragedy happens, but it does not have to define us.

By the way, I sometimes want to say to family members whom I love........"Are you tryin' to kill me?"

***

Shadowlands

 

I suggest to you that it is because God loves us that he makes us the gift of suffering.  C. S. Lewis

This is not a photo of C. S. Lewis.  This is the great Sir Anthony Hopkins portraying  C. S. Lewis, in the 1993 film Shadowlands.  

I watched it yesterday on YouTube.  For free. 

Yes, I've seen it before but I loved every bit of it yesterday. 

Many people have never heard of C. S. Lewis, despite having written around 40 books, including Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. 

His children's series "The Chronicles of Narnia" have sold more than 100 million copies. 

However, I'm not qualified to explain anything about C. S. Lewis's intellect.  

But, I want to share three things:

First, Lewis, who was born in 1898 and died in 1963, was a scholar at Oxford.  While there he was part of a group called The Inklings.  These were scholarly men who, for the most part, challenged each other.  But they were respectful and, above all, curious. 

This kind of growing has gone on since the beginning of humankind.  Men (no girls allowed, of course in the beginning) challenging, learning and growing as a species began around campfires in the wilderness.

Second, in his later years Lewis fell in love with an American woman.  Hopkins portrayed him well.  He was an awkward but kind genius who lived almost entirely in his head. The woman, Joy Davidman, was his intellectual equal on many levels.  The movie is romantic and tragic.  

Finally, this morning I discovered that I'd already written about Shadowlands.  In 2008, when I was a mere 68 years old and newly in love with this man named David, I was visiting him at his home in Edina Minnesota.  It was winter.  My guess is that David had never heard of C. S. Lewis.  But, for my birthday, he took me to the great Gunthrie Theater in Minneapolis to see  the play "Shadowland", the love story of C. S. Lewis and Joy Davidman.

***

Canes

 I have a cane collection.  My husband, Ken, started collecting them and, as the years went by, he was given many intricate, hand carved canes from all over the world.  

The history of canes, or staffs, is almost as long as the history of human kind.  Moses' staff in the Old Testament was miraculously transformed by God into a snake and then back into a staff.

Later staffs, or canes were carried by primitive humans for walking, hunting and protection.

Later still, well crafted canes or walking sticks were used as status symbols by wealthy men and was part of their gentlemen's attire. 

In the 1700's the first settlers in America continued to use cans as symbols of wealth and refinement.  Later, the Puritans put a stop to that.  Canes were no longer fancy and were not to be used to show off. 

Now canes are used mostly by old, sick people.  Social status is out the window.  I have had to use a cane at several points during my ten years of battle with Meniere's Disease.  I didn't like it one bit and worked very hard to gain back strength and balance so as not to need the cane.  

I haven't used one for a while now and was feeling good about it.  But then, a few days ago, out the of blue, my Apple watch informed me that my walking steadiness has been poor for several weeks and I could expect a fall within a year. 

What?  Have I been doing those 20 squats a day for nothing?  

So, I'm back to using the cane.  It is not fancy like the ones depicted here.  It's basic black.  The Puritans would be fine with it. 

***

What Do Women Want?

 

I wrote this poem in the 1970s.  I know we should all be grateful for Sigmund Freud and others, like Carl Yung, who was influenced by Freud, in their pursuit to discover what the heck we're all about.  

Later on, C. S. Lewis brought a spiritual dimension into play.  

I was thinking about this question, "What do women want?" when I was in my water aerobics class this morning.  Many of the women in the group are older and the primary caregivers for their unwell husbands.  My guess would be that their "wants" would not be in tune with Freud's conclusions. 

What brought this on was, last week, on TCM, I watched "Freud:  The Secret Passion," staring Montgomery Clift as Freud.  He was perfect for the roll of the depressed, suffering Freud, because Montgomery Clift looked that way in every one of his roles.  

But what got my attention was the young woman he was treating for "hysteria." Her name was  Cecily. 

When he discovered Cecily's diagnosis he also discovered his own.  It's a good movie but I was doing some major eye rolling throughout. 

I'm still sticking to my poem.

***

For more poems, my book New Day is on Amazon. 

The Good Old Days

 And you knew who you were then.  Girls were girls and men were men, Mister, we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again.

Didn't need no welfare state, Everybody pulled his weight,  Gee our old Lasalle ran great. Those were the days. 

Theme song for All In the Family as sung by Archie and Edith Bunker.

I've finished four of the big, thick historic novels my friend Christie gave me.  So I can officially say the part of my brain that processes large amounts of information in a timely manner seems to be up and running again.  

As with each of these books, The Saints of Swallow Hill is not a fun read. I was reminded why I've always had a "depression mentality."  And I learned something.  I had never heard the term "Turpentiners."  I had no idea turpentine was extracted from tree trunks.  It's why North Carolina is the "Tar Heel" state.

The book takes place in the south during the depression.  The vast majority of people were poor.  Turpetentiners did hard, dangerous work. No bonus for excelling but harsh punishment for falling behind. There was no safety net.  "Didn't have no welfare state." 

Rae Lynn Cobb and her husband were turpentine farmers but they were barely hanging on.  When her husband unexpectedly dies, Rae Lynn takes to the road to find the only work she knows how to do.  She ends up in Swallow Hill.  Knowing they wouldn't hire a woman, she disguised herself as a young man.  She worked hard but couldn't quite make her numbers, so she was punished.  

And this brings us to the sweatbox.  The small sweatbox is a form of torture that, I'm sad to say, was popular in the south during times of slavery and beyond.  It's still used in some parts of the world.  The sweatbox, a draconian form of solitary confinement,  is most effective in hot, humid weather. 

Rae Lynn was put in the sweatbox for three days. When she's freed, not quite dead but close, the novel takes a different direction. 

***