Human beings bring things to themselves. “Things” being other people, events, good things, and not so good. I have experience.
The first manifestation I remember started my senior year in high school. I had a big role in the senior play. WooHoo! That summer I was in a local summer stock melodrama theatre with supporting roles in two very short plays. “Someday, I would like to have a part where my costume would be a gown – fancy with velvet and satin and maybe lace or gold trimming.” That first semester of college I auditioned for “The Unsinkable Molly Brown” and got the part of Mrs. McGlone, a older woman in high society in Denver, Colorado. My costume? Velvet and satin in rich dark pink and light pink with gold brain trim at the sleeves and neckline. “Hmmm,” I thought. “That was easy.” I’ve brought many things into my life by wanting them – law school, my husband, children. When my first child was still a baby, we planned to travel to my husband’s hometown to have our son baptized Catholic. I was not Catholic at the time, not even Christian. I remember looking to the heavens and saying, “God, you know I am not ready to give this child to you yet. Please get me out of this.” That was on the Tuesday before the planned weekend. Thursday night a storm blew through my parents-in-law’s town, and I was spared. The boy was baptized when he was three and I was very happy for him and for all of us.
People bring things to themselves by disbelieving other people’s stories. When I was eight or nine, I watched a documentary about polio. One image was rows and rows of iron lungs used to help children breathe until they recovered enough to breathe on their own. Maybe they were a lifelong treatment for some. The critical part for me was seeing children in recovery, in physical therapy, sitting on the side of a therapy table. They were to lift a leg vertically out from the side of the table. They couldn’t do it. I thought, "They’re not really trying. They could do it if they really put their minds to it.” At that time, I had Legg-Perthes which softens the head of the femur, flattens out, and makes the affected leg a couple of inches shorter than the other. A few years later in the summer that I was 14, I had surgery to shorten my longer leg. It was a new surgery at the time, and I was lucky to have it. One result was that the muscles on my newly shortened leg were two inches too long for the new femur. I sat on the edge of a therapy bed to start exercises to shorten those muscles. Can you guess? I was completely unable to straighten my leg away from the table. So, I was taught a lesson – the first of many – to believe the story of the person who has the experience.
— Marmar
The first manifestation I remember started my senior year in high school. I had a big role in the senior play. WooHoo! That summer I was in a local summer stock melodrama theatre with supporting roles in two very short plays. “Someday, I would like to have a part where my costume would be a gown – fancy with velvet and satin and maybe lace or gold trimming.” That first semester of college I auditioned for “The Unsinkable Molly Brown” and got the part of Mrs. McGlone, a older woman in high society in Denver, Colorado. My costume? Velvet and satin in rich dark pink and light pink with gold brain trim at the sleeves and neckline. “Hmmm,” I thought. “That was easy.” I’ve brought many things into my life by wanting them – law school, my husband, children. When my first child was still a baby, we planned to travel to my husband’s hometown to have our son baptized Catholic. I was not Catholic at the time, not even Christian. I remember looking to the heavens and saying, “God, you know I am not ready to give this child to you yet. Please get me out of this.” That was on the Tuesday before the planned weekend. Thursday night a storm blew through my parents-in-law’s town, and I was spared. The boy was baptized when he was three and I was very happy for him and for all of us.
People bring things to themselves by disbelieving other people’s stories. When I was eight or nine, I watched a documentary about polio. One image was rows and rows of iron lungs used to help children breathe until they recovered enough to breathe on their own. Maybe they were a lifelong treatment for some. The critical part for me was seeing children in recovery, in physical therapy, sitting on the side of a therapy table. They were to lift a leg vertically out from the side of the table. They couldn’t do it. I thought, "They’re not really trying. They could do it if they really put their minds to it.” At that time, I had Legg-Perthes which softens the head of the femur, flattens out, and makes the affected leg a couple of inches shorter than the other. A few years later in the summer that I was 14, I had surgery to shorten my longer leg. It was a new surgery at the time, and I was lucky to have it. One result was that the muscles on my newly shortened leg were two inches too long for the new femur. I sat on the edge of a therapy bed to start exercises to shorten those muscles. Can you guess? I was completely unable to straighten my leg away from the table. So, I was taught a lesson – the first of many – to believe the story of the person who has the experience.
— Marmar
We pay attention to things that seem to be related... and you've paid close attention!
ReplyDeleteWell, somethings connected fairly readily. Some had to repeat before that "ah-ha" moment. Thanks for your comment.
Delete"People bring things to themselves by disbelieving other people’s stories." A wonderful line!
ReplyDelete