Tag Archives: @TamerieShriver

YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE

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My choice for today’s book recommendation is YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE by        Louise L. Hay.  In 1976, Louise wrote her first book HEAL YOUR BODY, which began as a small pamphlet containing a list of different bodily ailments and their probable metaphysical causes.  This pamphlet was later enlarged and extended and became her book YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE in 1984.  And when no one was interested in her book and what she had to say, she founded her own publishing company, Hay House.   Thirty-one years later, the book has definitely stood the test of time.  A  movie version came out in 2007, and I was fortunate enough to see it at the Seaside Center for Spiritual Living in Encinitas, CA before it was released to the public.  81 years old at the time, Louise introduced the movie beforehand and was a delightful speaker.

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The copy of the book pictured above, the one that I have, was published in 1999.  I’m sure that part of the reason I bought it was how colorful it was.  The larger reason would have been the title.  I very much like the idea that I am/we are, with the thoughts we think, capable of healing ourselves.  “Louise’s key message in this powerful work is, ‘If we are willing to do the mental work, almost anything can be healed.’  She explains how limiting beliefs and ideas are often the cause of illness, and shows how you can change your thinking–and improve the quality of your life!”

YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE made the New York Times bestseller list and remained on it for 13 consecutive weeks. More than twenty years later, in 2008, due to her appearances on the Oprah Winfrey Show, You Can Heal Your Life was again on the New York Times BestsellerLlist. It was the first time in that publication’s history that that has happened!  More than 50 million copies of YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE have been sold throughout the world.

“The thoughts we think and the words we speak create our experiences.”  ~Louise  L. Hay

ADVENTURES IN HAMBURG

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As I said, it only took me a week to adjust to living in Hamburg.  That first week, though, was pretty tough for me.  I had always thought I would like to be on a desert island, alone.  Ha!  It felt like I was on a desert island that because I felt completely isolated.  Although most Germans spoke English, they didn’t go around speaking it automatically, and since I was frequently mistakenly identified as being German (tall and blonde), I couldn’t understand what was being said to me.  And, of course, all the signs and such were in German.  Luckily, I did retain enough German vocabulary that I was able to work out what most signs, etc. said/meant.  And all I had to say was, “I don’t speak German” for them to switch to English. Still, I felt really isolated.

Going on castings was a whole other challenge.  I had to learn the city and the train and bus schedule, something I had never done much of in the USA.  Well, that’s not quite true…living in Chicago, without a car, had taught me how to use public transportation.  Of course, it was all in English and I wasn’t a foreign visitor to the city.  I found, to my delight, that in Germany the trains and buses all run on time.  I mean exactly on time.  And they were exceptionally clean.  There was one particular connection that I literally had to run to catch because it was never even one second late.  I got used to it, though, and really came to love the freedom that public transportation gave me.  I know it sounds kind of odd, but it was so easy to use.  All you needed was a bus/train pass and you were all set.

Soon after I arrived, my booker asked for my passport.  I thought, oh crap, hopefully she won’t notice the year I was born.  I had, after all, lied to them about my age.  Here I was 27 and they thought I was 21.  Well, they did notice.  I was called into meet with the owner of the agency, the man who had come to Chicago and who had picked me to go to Hamburg in the first place.  Let’s just say he was not happy.  He wanted to send me home.  This pissed me off because, really, if you thought I was 21, then why should it matter that I am really 27.  He said it wasn’t so much that I was 27, as it was that I was 27 and just starting modeling.  He said that most 27 year olds, if they were even still in the business, had been modeling at least 10 years.  As far as he was concerned, I was completely inexperienced.  This wasn’t true as I had been working in Chicago for the last 9 months or so.  Again, I found it so ridiculous that a number could be such a big deal.  I somehow convinced him to allow me to stay, though now I can’t remember how I did it.

So, I continued to go to castings.  One in particular was a commercial for chocolate.  Those of you who actually know me know that I do NOT like chocolate.  I did not want to tell the casting director this because I thought I could do it anyway.  As it turned out, not only did I have to speak in German, I also had to eat the stupid chocolate at the end.  After the first take, she said to me, “Your German is excellent, but you look like you don’t like chocolate.”  I tried again, 2 more times, but I could never take a bite of the chocolate bar without making a face.  Needless to say, I didn’t get the job.

I did have various small jobs here and there, mostly catalog or commercials (where I didn’t have to eat chocolate.)  My booker called me one day to ask if I could do a split.  I said I used to be able to, but it had been years since I’d done one, that if I had time to practice, I probably could do it.  Turned out the casting was the next day.  So much for time to practice.  Luckily, when I did the casting, I had to do a split between 2 ottomans, so even though I really couldn’t do one, it looked like I could because of gravity.  The job was for a photographer who was known for thinking up concepts that no one could possibly do, and then finding models to do it.  I was one of those models.  This concept was about writing music on a computer.

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What you’ve got to remember here is, this was LONG before Photoshop even existed.   I am actually doing this, I am suspended between the two computers.  Getting me up there was quite tricky, though.  First they had to teach me how to hold the violin properly.  Luckily, I was allowed to keep my eyes closed for the picture.  I’m not sure I could have done it otherwise without grimacing.  Physically, I would say this was the hardest job I ever did.   Anyway, I would put my front leg up on the computer, get the violin situated properly, then my back leg would be put on the other computer with two people holding me up until the photographer was ready.  He would then say something to me like strength and I would tighten all my muscles, the holders would step out of the frame and the shot would be taken.  I would then throw the violin to the person whose job it was to catch it, and the holders would rush in to get me off the computers.  I would start to go ‘inside out’ because of gravity.  There was no way I could hold that position because of where my legs were on the computers.  Perhaps if they were a little closer together it would have been possible, but the distance was just too great to hold longer than about 2 seconds.  In all we did about 24 shots.  Afterwards, I had to take the train back to my apartment, with hair and makeup still on, but wearing regular clothes.  I wished it was closer to Halloween so I wouldn’t stand out so much.

To be continued…

HAPPY 2015

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I am a bit under the weather, and do not feel like writing.  So instead, I’ll just post these quotes that really resonate with me:

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YES!!!

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It’s that time again. Time to figure out what my word for the coming (tomorrow, for goodness sake) New Year should be.  I’ve had some difficulty deciding.  And really, it’s more of a phrase than just a word, though it can be either, I suppose.  The point is it’s an action more than simply a feeling; a reminder to: Just Do It, to Go For The Gusto, to Grab Life By The Horns, to stop waiting for whatever it is I’ve been waiting for, to say YES to everything. I said back in September on the 3rd anniversary of my attack that I had survived and was ready to thrive. It’s time to take it a bit further and stop being so guarded.  Do I have a good reason for continuing to hold myself back?  For my heart and mind still being the slightest bit closed?  Perhaps, but where does that get me?  Alone…not necessarily lonely…but definitely by myself a lot of the time.

So my word for 2015 is YES!  And my phrase is Say Yes To Everything!  Well, most everything.  I am all for dancing like no one is watching, loving like I’ve never been hurt (or, for that matter, sexually assaulted) but I draw the line at singing like no one is listening, because the truth is I simply cannot hold a tune.  Okay, not only cannot I not hold a tune, I can’t even get into tune.  So, no singing; any and everything else, though, I intend to say YES to.

I also intend to continue my twice a week posting.  Last week I was in Atlanta for Christmas and decided to skip it since it’s more challenging to do it on the phone.  Overall, though, I did pretty well throughout the year with my intention for 2014 and consistently posting.  I find I really do need a set schedule to make it happen.  Some weeks I didn’t post on Wednesday, but I discovered that Thursday is just as good in case I can’t get my act together for Wednesday.  As for my Sunday posts about books that I read that have made a difference in my life and in my healing process, I’ll continue with those for the foreseeable future.  I love books and love to read, so I don’t think I’ll run out of recommendations for a while.

Thank you to all who continue to read my story.  There is so much yet to be told.

And as the sun sets on 2014…HAPPY NEW YEAR to everyone.

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May 2015 be full of love, happiness, prosperity, peace and joy for us all!

WARRIOR POSE

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I just finished reading, (yes, I actually had to read it as it is not available on audio), this book, and it is amazing.  AMAZING!  It is Brad Willis AKA Brava Ram’s autobiography, the story of his life as a war correspondent, how a devastating injury changed his life and the unbelievable power of the mind to heal.

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“Warrior Pose is Indiana Jones merged with Gautama Buddha…a miraculous affirmation of the power of self-healing, a war story, a love story and a spiritual journey of epic proportion.  It is your story, my story, the human story.”  ~Dr. Emmett Miller, Pioneer of Mind-Body Medicine

Also from the book jacket:

“From covering the front lines of the Gulf War to investigating Colombian drug lords to living with freedom fighters in the mountains of Afghanistan, war correspondent Brad Willis was accustomed to risk.  But when mortal danger came, it was from an unexpected. direction.

At the pinnacle of his career, a broken back and failed surgery left Willis permanently disabled and condemned to a life in a body brace.  Then came a diagnosis of terminal, stage IV throat cancer.

At his 50th birthday party, friends gathered around Willis, who was crippled, almost mute, depressed, strung out on narcotic medications, and dying.  Halfway through the celebration Willis realized the party’s true purpose–his friends were there to say goodbye.

Everyone knew Willis was on his way out…everyone except his 2-year-old son, who urged, “Get up, Daddy!”

His son’s words ringing in his ears, Willis chose to abandon Western medicine and embrace the most esoteric practices of Yoga to heal his body, mind and soul–ridding himself of cancer and fully restoring his back.  As a symbol of his journey, he took the spiritual name Bhava Ram, which stands for “Living From The Heart.”

Warrior Pose is an adventure chronicling some of the most momentous events of our time through a journalist’s eyes, an unforgettable story about the power of love between a father and son, and a transformational journey of self-healing, inner peace and wholeness.”

Candace Pert, PhD, Chief Scientific Officer, RAPID Laboratories, Inc; author of Everything You Need to Know to Feel Go(o)d and Molecules of Emotion: The Scientific Basis Behind Mind-Body Medicine had this to say about the book:

“Remarkable recoveries and miraculous healing of incurable cancers and other terminal disease have been the topic of many recent books.  Bhava, born Brad Willis, has written the most exciting, original and vividly relevant book yet on this topic.  Its concise, hard-hitting prose makes a page turner about the shockingly grim world behind the nightly news as revealed to a top television reporter.  Ram ignores his progressive physical collapse, stuffing his feelings and internal life to focus entirely on his macho career.  Using his fierce will to survive and strong intellect to question medical authority, Bhava draws inspiration from the miracle of his son Morgan, halts his self-sabotaging habits, chooses ‘right living,’ and heals himself via a selfless emotional life dedicated to teaching and healing others.”

I have said before that yoga was instrumental in my healing process, that it definitely contributed to saving my life during my healing process from my sexual assault, and it was and it did.  I am in awe of just how dedicated and determined Brad Willis was to save his own life and transform himself into Bhava Ram.  I highly recommend this book.

 

TOO OLD…I DON’T THINK SO

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When I was twelve years old, I decided I wanted to be a fashion designer, an interior designer and a model.  Over the years I have actually done all three.  My road to becoming a model, though, was the most challenging.  First and foremost, which I did not realize at the time, was I had to ‘grow’ into my own face.  If you look at pictures of me as a teenager you can see clearly that I was not ‘fully cooked’ at that point.  When I was 19 I dated, if not THE, than at least one of the top male models in the world.  He told me then that I could be a model.  It took me 8 years to really believe him.  I tried when I was 23, which is even considered old for a model.  I was living in Atlanta at the time and Elite/John Casablancas had an agency there.  I met with John and he told me that they would be happy to represent me after I got my nose fixed.  (I had broken it at a swim meet when I was 14.) What you have to keep in mind here was that at that time in the modeling business, perfection, or at least what was considered ‘perfect’ was the driving force, and a crooked nose wasn’t it.  I refused to fix my nose because I thought it was silly.  It wasn’t like it was sideways on my face.  This, however, did make me question myself and why I ever thought I could be a model.

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What you also must understand is I grew up being told by my brothers that I was fat and ugly.  Even my mother used to call me a big, fat walrus.  Years later when I asked my mother about this, she told me that she thought I knew she was kidding, that I was a skinny little girl, so why would I believe what she was saying?  Ah, the power of words…good and bad.  Why would I believe anything else?  So, I had that going for me, too.  After I had shot with a photographer, a real fashion photographer, and had these beautiful (I thought, anyway) pictures, I showed my brother Michael, and he said, “You are still ugly.”  I did not really think I was ugly, because outside of my family I definitely had a more positive experience.  Still, when you are told something every day of your life, doesn’t matter if it is true or not, you believe it to be true.  And it took me years to stop believing it.

Fast forward 3 years and we are now living in Chicago.  I am doing a lot of television and film work and cannot let go of the idea of being a model.  So I gather the photos I had from  years earlier and make the rounds of the agencies in Chicago.  Keep in mind, I am now 26 years old.  At one particular agency, the booker is looking through my portfolio, flipping the pages and making noises like she approves.  She then asks me how old I am.  I say, “26.” She slams my book shut, hands it across the desk to me, and says, “You’re too old.”  I thought she was wrong, and an idiot, but I took my book and left the agency.  The next one on my list did not take walk-ins, so I mailed my headshot and waited to hear.  In about a week, I received a call.  (Remember I was married and we were living with my in-laws as we were saving to buy a house.)  My mother-in-law answered the phone and proceeds to tell the caller that she isn’t sure how old I am, but that I am married to her son, and he’s 27.  Oh, great, I think.  But this agent thought I was about 14 from my picture and wanted me to come in to meet her in person.  From that point on, I mostly lied about my age.  So ridiculous, but so necessary in a business that loves really young girls.

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I sign with this agency and start shooting with lots of different photographers to build my portfolio.  About six months later, with a completely new book, and now 27 years old, I go back to the agency that told me I was too old.  (I knew she’d never remember me, and I was right.)  I was not what was called exclusive with my agency, so this wasn’t against the rules.  This agency, though, specialized in runway more than anything else, and I thought I might like to do runway.  So, the agent is looking through my new book, and as before is making noises like she likes what she is seeing.  She then looks up at me and says, “How old are you?”  I say, “21.”  And she says, “Here, fill this out.”

In the summer of 1987, an agency from Milan comes to town, looking for girls to take to Italy.  I am one of those chosen.  A couple of weeks later, a German agent arrives and when he asks me how old I am, I tell him 21, which is what my agent told me to tell him.  He likes me and my look and I am again one of the girls chosen to go to Europe.  In the end, we decide Germany is a better market for me.  My ticket is made for September and a week later another girl from my agency will be joining me, and we will live together.  Everything is set up through the agencies, both in Chicago and in Hamburg.  Here I am, 27 years old, never having been out of the country other than to Baja when I was 20, going off to Europe to model!  It was a very exciting time, and I was scared to death.  Although I had taken German in high school, you couldn’t really say that I spoke the language.  The first week I was there, I was on the phone every day with my husband, crying that I wanted to come home.  Luckily, he understood that I was just scared.  It took me a week to adjust, and by the time Jan Marie arrived, I was fine, loving it, in fact.

To be continued…

PILLARS OF THE EARTH

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So far all the books I’ve written about and/or have recommended have been in the genre of spiritual or self-help.  Today’s book is “The Pillars of the Earth” by Ken Follett.  It was originally published in 1989, but I did not read it until around 2005, maybe 2006.  I had heard about it for years, and as a matter of fact, it is one of my cousin’s favorite books.  Still, in spite of high praise, from various people, the subject just didn’t interest me.  Or so I thought.  I literally read the book in 3 days, and it is 1000 pages long.  I was sick and in bed and had nothing else to do, so I read.  I loved it from the first sentence, which is, “In a broad valley, at the foot of a sloping hill, beside a clear bubbling stream, Tom was building a house.”  Why this sentence hooked me, I can’t say.  It did though, and I tore through the book.  I LOVED it!

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According to Amazon,  the dust jacket notes: “Ken Follett is known worldwide as the master of split-second suspense, but his most beloved and bestselling book tells the magnificent tale of a twelfth-century monk driven to do the seemingly impossible: build the greatest Gothic cathedral the world has ever known. Everything readers expect from Follett is here: intrigue, fast-paced action, and passionate romance. But what makes The Pillars of the Earth extraordinary is the time – the twelfth century; the place – feudal England; and the subject – the building of a glorious cathedral. The author has re-created the crude, flamboyant England of the Middle Ages in every detail. The forests, the walled towns, the castles, and the monasteries become a familiar landscape. Against this richly imagined and intricately interwoven backdrop, filled with the ravages of war and the rhythms of daily life, the master storyteller draws the reader irresistibly into the intertwined lives of his characters – into their dreams, their labors, and their loves: Tom, the master builder; Aliena, the ravishingly beautiful noblewoman; Philip, the prior of Kingsbridge; Jack, the artist in stone and Ellen, the woman of the forest who casts a terrifying curse. From humble stonemason to imperious monarch, each character is brought vividly to life. The building of the cathedral, with the almost eerie artistry of the unschooled stonemasons, is the center of the drama. Around the site of the construction, Follett weaves a story of betrayal, revenge, and love, which begins with the public hanging of an innocent man and ends with the humiliation of a king. At once a sensuous and endearing love story and an epic that shines with the fierce spirit of a passionate age, The Pillars of the Earth is without a doubt Ken Follett’s masterpiece.”

And as if this wonderful book was not enough, the follow-up book called “World Without End” came out in 2007.  Because I loved “The Pillars of the Earth” so much, I was a little afraid I would be disappointed by the new book.  I am happy to say that was not the case.  This time around, though, I chose to listen to it instead of reading it.

Again from Amazon – “In this “epic” (The Denver Post) sequel to “The Pillars of the Earth,” it is now two centuries after the townspeople of Kingsbridge have finished building its exquisite Gothic cathedral. And on a cold November day, four children slip into the forest and witness a killing—an event that will braid their lives together by ambition, love, greed, and revenge….”

I highly recommend these books.  Even if you think the subject matter is of no interest to you (as I did), Ken Follett writes in such a way that draws one in and doesn’t let go until the very last word.

A BETTER CHRISTMAS

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I hesitate to say that the Christmas of 1983 was my best Christmas ever, but it certainly was up there on the list, and, really, I can’t name one that was better.  So, I guess, by default, it must be my best.  If you read my last post, you know my experience of Christmas over the years wasn’t so great.  Before I get into the details of what happened in 1983, I need to give you a little background.

On 29 October 1983 I got married.  I was 23 and my new husband had just turned 24 a few weeks before.  We should never have gotten married, and as it turned out, when we were divorcing 4 years later, if came out that he didn’t want to get married either.  We just did not know how to not go through with it.  At the time, though, it seemed like the thing to do.  I was living in Athens, going to the University of Georgia and hating every minute of it.  After moving to California in 1980 to establish residency so that I could go to UC Santa Cruz, I had decided to move back to Georgia (I do wonder sometimes how my life might be different if I’d stayed and gone to school out here.)  I was living at home, which at the time was in Canton, a town north of Atlanta.  I had no friends there because I had never lived in this town, and everyone I knew from high school was away at college.  I was working and trying to figure out where/what I wanted to do.  I decided I wanted to go back to school in Boston and chose Boston University.  My mother said, “Too expensive.  Pick another school.”  I had it in my mind that I wanted to be in New England, though I had never been at that point.  Since BU was out, I settled on University of New Hampshire.  I applied and was accepted, but wouldn’t be starting until the next fall, which was about 10 months away.  One day my mother said to me, “Why don’t you go to Georgia?”  Me, with no doubt a horrified look on my face and incredulity in my voice asked, “WHY?”  She said, “So you can get out of my hair sooner.”  I thought, okay, not what I want to do, but obviously she doesn’t want me around, so I applied and got into UGA and started winter quarter, which was January 1982.

I hated it from the very first moment.  Let me make that more clear – I HATED IT.  I was older than a lot of the kids, it was a giant school, my classes were huge and worst of all, I was bored.  So I got a job at Macy’s, part-time.  I figured I may as well get paid while I’m miserable.  That’s where I met my future husband, a year later.  He was a sales manager in housewares, and since I was what was called a floater, working in whichever department needed me, I eventually worked for him.  This was in January 1983.  We started dating, got engaged in June and got married in October. I guess you could say it was a whirlwind courtship..  But as I already said, neither of us really wanted to go through with it and did it anyway.

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By the time we got married, my husband-to-be had been promoted to assistant buyer and we had moved to Atlanta, actually Clarkston.  I so clearly remember being walked down  the ‘aisle’ (we got married outside and it had rained the night before and the ground was still wet and my heels kept sinking in the grass with each step) and saying under my breath to my step-father, “I don’t want to do this; let’s go the other direction.”  I’m sure he thought I had cold feet, but nothing more.  He had no idea I was actually serious.  Even before we had gotten to this point, my mother had come into the room where I was finishing getting ready and said to me, “You don’t have to do this.”  All I could think was, ‘Really?  You’re going to go out there and tell all those people to leave, that I changed my mind?  I don’t think so.’  And so, I went through with it.

And now the good part – for Christmas that year, my brand new husband did the 12- Days of Christmas for me.  He knew I wasn’t fond of Christmas; okay, I pretty much hated it, but he was determined to change my mind and give me a Christmas that I might actually love.  Although now I do not remember the specific gifts he gave me, I still do remember that it was the first time I really enjoyed the holiday.  So beginning on the 14th, and ending on Christmas Day, he gave me a gift or gifts each day.  None was overly expensive or extravagant and he did his best to follow the song without literally giving me what the song said for that  particular day.  The only gift I remember was, I think, Day 8, when he gave me 8 crystal ornaments for the tree.  Or maybe it was Day 12, and there were 12 ornaments.  In any case, it was a fun and clever way for him to make my Christmas merry.

Today, Christmas is still not my favorite time of the year.  There always seems to be so much pressure.  I do my best to let it not get to me.  Don’t get me wrong, I do like aspects of it–the ornaments and twinkly lights (not that I actually decorate, though I do have lovely ornaments and such)–but the reality is just so much work, and because I am always working to get jobs finished before Christmas, and am super busy, I don’t feel like I have time to get into it fully.  And then it’s over.

Over the years, even though it wouldn’t be original, I have contemplated doing the 12- Days of Christmas gift giving for someone else, and, yet, it has never happened.  I do love the idea and maybe one of these years I’ll do it.

THE PATH TO LOVE

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I read “The Path to Love,”  by Deepak Chopra, the first time after a breakup.  It wasn’t just any breakup; no, it was a heart-squooshing, blindsided, out of nowhere, walk-90-miles-a-week just to try to get my equilibrium, if not back, at least, well, not so off-center type of breakup.   What made this even more difficult was the fact that I was truly and completely ready to be in a relationship, probably for the first time in my life.   I had gone through a bunch of really challenging stuff over the several years previously, and realizing that I needed to do some, okay, a lot, of work on myself, and that meant taking a step back from even the thought of dating, let alone a serious relationship.  It took 18 months, but I was ready.  Then I met M, and though my very first impression was, he’s too old for me, after spending approximately an hour or so with him, when we said goodbye, and I saw his eyes for the first time (just so you can understand why it took an hour to actually see his eyes, we met in the dark to walk and by the time we finished, the sun was up), I thought, uh, oh, I’m in trouble now.  I did not, at the time, realize just how prophetic that thought was.

I won’t go into much more detail here now because this post is about a book, and the reason it was so important for me to read when I did.  Suffice it to say that I had gone into this relationship with a completely (COMPLETELY) open heart, and that it truly did make all the difference.  So, after M lost his mind and got his head stuck up his ass, after my heart was thoroughly squooshed, it was all I could do not to slam my heart shut again.  I mean, if this was what happened when I/it was open, why in the world would I want to stay that way?  I did want to, though, and I knew that I had to do whatever it took to keep my heart open.  And that’s where this book came in quite handy.

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(Sorry the picture isn’t better.  Deepak’s name is in gold lettering and flash or no flash, it washed out in the photo.)

This book was originally published in 1997, and as with most of the books I’ve been posting about, I do not know how this book came to be in my possession.  I think I had it for many years before I ever read it.  I read it when I needed to hear its message.

As Deepak writes in the final paragraph of the book:  “The love you seek is seeking you at this moment.  Your longing, your deep fantasies about being loved are mere shadows of the melting sweetness that makes spirit want to love you.  Be honest about your seeking, and be alert to the moments when love is showing itself to you.  You are the only means that love has for conquering its opposition; therefore, you are infinitely precious in the eyes of spirit.  The messages of love may not be clear to anyone else around you, even those most intimate to you.  That doesn’t matter; they are meant for you and you alone.  Be assured of that.  And above all, keep looking for clues.”

MY WORST CHRISTMAS EVER

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When my brothers and I were teenagers, come Christmas time, my mother asked us to make a list of what we wanted.   Did she want us to feel like we had some kind of a say in what we ultimately received?  Was it just something for us to do?  I never understood why she had us do this, since she never got us what we asked for.  And it wasn’t like I/we would ask for outrageous gifts.  It wasn’t like we got the Neiman Marcus catalog and chose the most expensive, ridiculous items offered.  No, and I can only speak for myself here, I was always very careful about what I’d ask for, conscious of how much it cost and how easy it was to come by.  This did not seem to make a difference to my mother.  After several years of not getting anything I wanted, it finally dawned on me that we got what she thought we needed, so, really, there was no reason for us to be making a list.

I have never liked purses.  To this day, though they seem to be a necessary ‘evil,’ I still do not like them.   When I was in high school, and it became clear that something to carry the various things I needed was necessary, I used a backpack.  I was fine with this.  It never really got in my way since I could carry it on my back.  We are not talking about a real backpack here.  It was more a canvas sack with straps.  No matter, it suited me perfectly.

For Christmas of 1974, 40 years ago, I still had not figured out how things worked with my mother and so made the requested list.  I probably asked for a new pair of 501 jeans and something from Spencer Gifts, like a new black light and a poster to go with it.  What I did not ask for was a purse.  When I gave her my list, she made some kind of a comment about how I should ask for a purse.  That should’ve been a big, fat clue right there, but, as I already said, I had not yet realized what her M.O. was.  Since she mentioned it several times over the next few weeks, I specifically told her, “Mother, I do not want a purse.”

Come Christmas morning, I had a sinking feeling I was getting a stupid purse.  My feeling was not wrong.  Not only did I get the unwanted purse, but it was brown, which made it even worse.  I burst into tears and ran upstairs to my room, where I stayed for the rest of the day.  I was heart-broken, not only because I was given a stupid purse, but also because it was clear that my mother did not listen to me, that what I said just didn’t matter.  Once she decided I needed something, that was it, it simply did not matter if I wanted it or not.

While in my room, I hatched a plan for the following Christmas.  If my mother liked purses so much, then she could have mine.  I eventually went downstairs to the living room and retrieved that stupid purse and put it in my closet.  I cannot even remember what else I got that year because I was so upset about not being listened to.

I thought about that stupid purse all year-long, and by Christmas 1975 I was ready to get my ‘revenge.’  I got the purse out of my closet and wrapped it up all nice and pretty.  On Christmas morning, I had the camera all ready to take a picture of her expression when she opened her present.  It took her a minute to realize exactly what it was she was seeing, and when she did, she made a face.  I smiled sweetly and said, “I thought you needed a new purse.”  I am pretty sure she never used it, and she got better at listening to me.

 

Next week — one of my best Christmases.