Mrs. McGillicuddy, et al...

 

Some names become representative of a type of person -- so much so that a name may come to conjure up a stereotypical image. This is not fair really and often it is inaccurate.  Nevertheless, I don’t know of anyone who would name a sweet baby girl Marie Antoinette, and it seems that the name Karen (a perfectly lovely name) is now experiencing a burst of unpopularity in some circles.

Nurse Ratched of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest has come to refer to any woman who appears to be cold, heartless and ... scary.  Mrs. McGillicuddy of I Love Lucy comes to mind when thinking of Edith Bunker and the like – "… dimwitted, scatterbrained, but still loving…” and loveable.  Gladys Kravitz - of Bewitched is now any nosy neighbor.  Sort of fun really to think about. These examples are obviously linked to the Baby Boomer generation although some overlap occurs  -- some do span generation gaps. There are reruns after all....

Baby Boomers (born 1946-1964) will probably recognize them all.  Not sure what names would do the same for all the letter generations.  You know who I mean. Generation X (born 1965-1980, Generation Y (the Millennials we hear so much about these days (born 1981-1995), and Generation Z (born 1996-2010).  I mean Z – really?  Where does one go after being the last letter in an entire alphabet? (Generation Z is apparently also referred to as the New Silent Generation.  Again I repeat -- really?  Doesn’t seem fitting somehow.)  Who does this generation naming?  Anyway – back to my question of where does one go after the end of the alphabet?  It seems that you start with a different alphabet.  Those born 2011-2025 are now being called Generation Alpha.  Heavy….  So now you know.

I think it is interesting though that names also come to have meanings and associations of a personal nature. If your childhood and lifelong best friend’s name is Mary, I am thinking you will always associate good things with that name. Mine is and I do. The reverse is also true – in my experience.  For example, the name Stella has majorly negative connotations for me.  Stella was the name of my Great Grandfather’s second wife. Stella was the housekeeper and my great grandfather married her some years after the passing of his first wife. Stella was hateful toward and mean to my Mom, so I don’t like her. Never knew her. Doesn't matter. She died long before I was born.  Doesn’t make a difference.  I don’t like her.   I don't like the name Stella. It’s that simple. Perhaps a bit more info will clarify - my Mom was forced to leave her grandfather’s home at the age of 16, with just the clothes on her back, never to return again.  Why?   ... because she, in a moment of desperation, frustration, hurt and anger, etc., smashed a bowl of mashed potatoes into Stella’s face during Sunday dinner and then had the audacity to refuse to apologize.  It’s a long story really, but I always loved the spunk of it all. Stella deserved the mashed potatoes. Trust me on that. I should mention that my mom, prior to this, had lived her entire life with her grandfather.  Heartbreaking really when you think about it. I picture a sad young girl -- standing alone - outside the door.  No wonder my Mom was big on saying – pull yourself up by your boot straps and get on with it.   Yep, I will always think of the name Betty as spunky -- with all its positive connotations.   I so admire gumption. And speaking of the name Betty -- that wasn't my Mom's given name.  She found out when she left her grandfather's home that her real name was Clara... Her last name was different too... but... that is another story. Names are interesting -- on several levels.

 

 

Beware of Goblins...

 

Remember Chicken Little?  As I recall -- Chicken Little is strutting and pecking around the barnyard when an acorn falls and hits her on the head.  Quick to react, as chickens tend to be, she naturally assumes that the sky is falling and although she has no idea where to go, she runs off to find Lion, who, she is certain, will be able to save them all.  First, she runs into Henny Penny and then Ducky Lucky, and after frantic explanation on her part, they quickly join her in her quest – no questions asked. All three, trusting souls that they are, run blindly off together having no idea where they are going, and are, as such, most relieved to encounter Foxey Loxey along the way. Because he “knows” the way to Lion – or so he says – they trustingly follow him.  Now we all know that they come to a bad end.  The story concludes, “They all go in, but they never, never come out again.”  And so it goes – yet another terribly frightening children’s story -- like “Hansel and Gretel”, or “Little Red Riding Hood”. Then also -- there is the old James Whitcomb Riley poem “Little Orphant Annie”.  Ah… the ever-strong, repetitive line: “An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you ef you Don’t Watch Out! (And … Yes … that is the way that Riley spelled those words. Somehow annoying, isn’t it?)  Anyway – scary stories for children -- cautionary tales all. Anything we could we learn from them? Hmmm…

The thing is ... all of this makes me think of how nice, well-intentioned people are taken advantage of in our current world by much of the print media, visual media and politicians – on every side of an issue.  There is no escape. Like Foxey Loxey, these villains know exactly what they are doing when they focus on the negative and lure people into dens “… from which they never, never come out again.” Journalists and politicians use fear as the grand motivator … fear sells more articles, increases the ever-desirable ratings and gets more votes. Pause and think for a minute of the times you have observed this. Plus, there is the added bonus (especially for politicians) that fearful people are easily controlled and lured into a kind of group think situation. But beware…  and as you may have observed lately and throughout your entire life … groups tend to make more extreme decisions than an individual would ever make. The mob mentality that leads to vandalism and to cities burning is just one such example. Scapegoating the unvaccinated is another.  Group think in the extreme is not a good thing -- ever. It may be because of the safety in numbers “thing”, but group think decisions tend to be not only more extreme, but also more illogical and irrational than those made by independent thinking of individuals. In group think people get swept away – caught up in things. They sometimes regret it later. Their fear, stoked by the Foxey Loxeys of the world, gets the best of them.  They ignore the mutability of Science ...  We all need to beware of Goblins of all sorts ….

The optimist side of me hangs onto the thread that perhaps there is hope that people will learn -- even if it is from a children’s story.  I mean – think of it – isn’t teaching one of the goals of a children’s story like these -- cautionary tales that they are? No one wants to be Chicken Little. No one wants a goblin to get them.  Hopefully it is a small number who want to be Foxey Loxey.  Right?

Shime vs Shame...

 

Sometimes I walk in the early morning in the parking lot of a local church – it’s flat and easy with the added bonus that if I fall down and break something, someone will eventually find me.  It is also a little boring except for the bunnies there.   So … I listen on my phone to Podcasts to ease the sameness of walking continuously in a large rectangle.  There are a lot of good ones on Podcast Player, but for some reason I prefer the ones I have checked out on Spotify.  When I need a break from the creepy ones on the supernatural, unsolved mysteries, real crime, deathbed confessions, psychics, conspiracy theories, etc. I turn to self- improvement ones on topics such as developing critical thinking skills, etc.   My favorite of these is The Jordan Harbinger Show. If the "audio only" doesn’t do it for you, you can actually watch the interviews on YouTube. 

Jordan Harbinger does interviews with a huge variety of really smart and interesting people and covers all sorts of topics – too numerous to get into here ... except to say that the ones with real life spies are super good.  Recently I listened to an old interview with BJ Fogg, a research associate and author.  He and Jordan were talking about making changes and creating healthy habits and one thing sort of screamed at me. I want to share it with you -- just in case you, like me, tend to beat yourself up – sort of a self-trash-talking thing – when you are trying to make a change in how you do something or to break a habit of some sort.  His take on things is to switch the channel, so to speak, and to approach the whole change/habit one tiny step at a time – all the while concentrating on what makes you feel good about the situation rather than focusing on the bad and the failures.  Sounds simple, doesn’t it?

The thing is, if I understand correctly,  that feeling good about what you are doing – like in the change that you are making – is a better motivator than guilt inducing self-criticism (#belittling yourself).  Even trying counts. In other words –stop the self-trash-talk.  In fact – he has research results indicating that feeling good about and celebrating (feeling good about) each small step of the change is more effective in developing new habits than repetition (as many of us were taught)  … and ... it is certainly more effective than criticizing oneself.  He also gives helpful hints on how a person goes about making these changes -- what tiny steps to actually take. He gives examples. Well worth a listen… especially if you are, right now, trying to make important changes or to break bad habits… or habits you have labeled as bad.

He labels the emotional results of this positive approach a “shine”.  I like to think of it as a “shime” as in the opposite of a “shame”. My “shime” is not to be confused with the town in Japan (Shime) or with the acronym for the Simulator of Human Intestinal Microbial Ecosystem (SHIME).  We need to be careful about words these days ... especially when one makes them up -- or thinks she does.  Anyway -- the whole idea of making positive changes one tiny step at a time and celebrating (being mindful of and feeling good about) each step works for me.  I am using that approach as I move through cleaning out five closets.  Three down; two to go. Honest. It’s working beautifully and I am making positive changes and breaking some iffy habits as far as saving old stuff/sometimes junk goes. Drawers are next.  Goal in the drawer scenario? To get down to just one drawer for odds and ends that I may need someday.  I like it.  I am "shiming" through the change and maybe breaking some "bad" habits as well. Or at least I am having fun trying. I think smiling (if possible) is always better than the alternatives.

My Body. My choice.

 

Happened to catch multiply reports on the Women’s March(es) 2021 on various “news” channels over the past few days.  Although the slant of the “reporting” varied somewhat, the placards and chants did not.

Of particular interest to me were the placards that read “Keep Your Laws Off My Body” and the loud chanting of “My Body, My Choice!”  They both refer to women’s right of choice in the abortion issue. Hmmm…

Methinks that the same could be said about mask and vaccine mandates. Now – in anticipating the argument that abortion and pandemic concerns are two separate and different issues… that masks and vaccines protect the world.  I say – what about protecting the unborn?

Yet--- I also say in regards to masks and vaccines… My Body, My choice. I would add -- Your Body. Your choice. It seems that not everyone respects the choices of others these days. Beyond sad really. It's not what I would expect in the United States of America.

Life is complicated and contradictory – especially in these times. Conflicts of all sorts abound.  I keep struggling to figure it out. Once again …  I am thinking that I am not alone in this. I am watching and listening.

Don't judge. Just smile.

 

I have one son and I feel that I can write about him because, although some of you may remember him from his youth, he lives far away now and you won’t be running into him in Walmart.  He does tend to read my blog though so…  perhaps it is a good thing he lives far away… in this case.  Anyway ... I find him to be hysterically funny.  Actually, my daughter is mega funny as well.  It’s a blessing -- although family gatherings readily turn into laugh fests which can be hard on your stomach muscles after a while. You see they both married super funny people and my grandchildren are funny as well.  It can be exhausting… but so worth it... so much fun!

Anyway – my son has a propensity for group texting which I do find annoying when he starts goofing around near my bedtime.  It’s hard to resist following along and participating even though I sometimes tell him to GO TO BED or sometimes I just resort to sleep texting.  He does this group text thing in the mornings, as well, which works well for me and for his sister. His wife does not appreciate the early morning text fests though – she is like "normal" people and sleeps until a decent hour or at least when she can. (Sometimes I wish I could do that.) Good thing she also has a well-developed sense of humor and can put up with the rest of us. Good thing we can appreciate our differences.  We are who we are. Right? I am thinking that my son-in-law just ignores us all in this group texting phenomena especially when the occasional group text happens during the day. He is, perhaps, wise to do so. Plus -- he does a lot of his work on his phone during the day time and doesn't have any goof off time.  It's not a toy after all.  Anyway -- it’s all good.

So…  recently my son group texted this creepy looking meme that says, “At my funeral, take the bouquet off my coffin and throw it into the crowd to see who is next.”  Of course, sharing the same sick twist sense of humor, we thought this was very funny and found appropriate emojis with which to respond.  Now to catch you all up a bit and to get to the point…  when we were all together this summer – enjoying a walk in the back pasture of my small plot of land (a place I cherish because of the quiet beauty of it all) – I told my children that when I move on to the next "realm", I want to be burned up and sprinkled.  It’s simple really.  I think they should just take my ashes, load them somehow into something like a t-shirt cannon and then blast me into the air in that same back pasture and watch me float and scatter across one of my favorite places.  All they need to do is be careful not to look up with their mouths open.  Seriously -- I think it is perfect.  Unfortunately, I don’t think they believe me... or maybe are a bit horrified at the notion.  My son laughs (sort of), but finds my idea to be dark somehow – even darker that the meme he sent – the one I just told you about.  So – I am telling the world – just burn me up and sprinkle me somewhere I love to be. No fanfare – just let me rejoin the earth.  Don’t judge. Just smile. To be scattered is somehow fitting. Each one of us is, after all, just a small part of the whole.

 

Sometimes...

 

                                         “Sometimes.” said the horse.

                        “Sometimes What?” asked the boy.

                             “Sometimes just getting up 

                                      and carrying on is

                                  brave and magnificent.”

 

Recently a dear friend gave me a book entitled The Boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse.  Maybe you have read it.  If not, I think it is worth anyone’s time.  It was written and illustrated by Charlie Mackesy, who among a long list of accomplishments, also, at one time, was a cartoonist for The Spectator and a book illustrator Oxford University Press. It is a very short easy read, and some may think of it as a children’s book, but like so many “children’s” books, it speaks to adults as well.  The lines above this paragraph are from this book and I started off with them as they call to mind the silent heroes among my students of the past. I can remember standing among them in the moments before class started and thinking how amazing it was that some of them made it to school at all.  They were my silent heroes - sometimes overcoming indescribably hard situations to even get themselves to school… situations that they never talked about – ever.  But … their stories were in their eyes.

Anyway – once in a while I like to share good “reads”.  I know that I recently shared with you that I was reading a series by Louise Penny, a Canadian writer whose work has helped me survive this pandemic.  I think I am currently in book 15 of what is now a 17-book series.  I hope she keeps on writing them, as I am totally enthralled with all the characters of the little mysterious village of Three Pines and... her writing is thought -provoking.  I have also been spending time with Sue Monk Kidd, Tana French and Kate Morton.  Wonderful all – each in her own way.  I don’t know about you, but I am thankful that I can read and that someone can write.  It’s a lovely partnership. 

Reach out...

 

A few weeks ago now I had a very special week.  On Monday I had lunch with a childhood friend and the very next day four of my cousins came to my house for brunch.  There is something very special about the memories you share with a friend of almost 65 years and with family… yes, something very special. I have written before about how sharing part of your childhood creates a special bond between people and being a part of family has its own special and uniquely wonderful connections as well. 

Part of the fun for me in both situations is retelling favorite stories and listening to them being retold as well.  It is a bit of a liturgy really. These stories are a part of a customary “repertoire” of things of the past.  People are fortunate to have them… and even more fortunate to be able to tap into them once in a while. They are worth repeating.  They remind us to remember. 

Sitting across my kitchen table from my childhood friend (notice I did not say old friend?), I was transported back to early morning chats with her dad while sitting in the booth in their kitchen while I waited for her to get ready to go to school with me. She reminded me that he used to tease me about things. I remember everything.  I remember his voice and her mom moving around their kitchen in her “pumps”. We talked about her mom’s love of gadgets.  I remember them all. Such memories are a gift. We share many memories – years and years of them – not that that is the only thing we talk about. That is another whole gift – being able to share thoughts without any guard up whatsoever. Childhood friends know who you are at the core... and sometimes it is a case of -- they like you anyway. I am fortunate in that. 

There are special family times as well – worthy of repeating.  I wish more of my cousins lived closer and that we had even more childhood memories to recall and share. We shared a common growing-up and knew older relatives of several previous generations – we share our memories sometimes with differing perspectives.  It is a bond. It is friendship of it own special kind. It is also mega fun. Plus -- they are just plain wonderful people.

All of this calls to mind the most special of all though -- the liturgy of stories my sister and I used to share or the silly songs that we made up or remembered and that carried on into adulthood.  We would bring them out at the most inopportune, surprising and sometimes inappropriate times.  There would be a sudden burst of song and the other would join in.  My son told me one time that I was a different person when I was around Aunt Cindy.  (I still find that amusing. Guess he wasn’t used to me/us suddenly breaking out into the old Nestles’ Quik song as it was sung by the charming Farfel.) Sometimes you just had to be there…” Her birthday was September 11th. (So much more to remember on that day now since 2001.)

Anyway – the part about this that “hangs on” is that it is not the same with her gone now. Life is short and unexpected.  I guess I just want people to share with friends and family as much as you can while you can.  Haven’t we heard this kind of warning before? Perhaps many times?   There is a reason why we have. 

Was talking with another high school friend later on in that same special week. She was in town for a brief visit and a family reunion. What a lovely way to spend an afternoon.  We covered a lot but did focus, for one brief moment, on loss and how it touches everyone at some point in their lives. Now in our 70’s… loss is perhaps too familiar. Yet -- it is a part of it all.

Add me to the list of those who issue the warning to reach out to those you love.