Bibliotherapy Session: Emma, Emma, on the wall

Let the trumpets sound. I finished Emma.

It was delicious. My favorite Jane Austen book so far. I probably would have finished it earlier, except that it was so good. It was like the chocolate-zucchini cake of books. I wanted to savor it and just read a little at a time. [I am like that with a lot of things and it makes my Mr. Case crazy.]

Throughout my reading of Pride and Prejudice I was in a constant state of dissatisfaction with myself, wishing I could be just like Elizabeth Bennett. With Sense and Sensibility, Elinor and Marianne occupied two ends of a very wide spectrum. Sometimes I was here, sometimes there.

And then I opened Emma. And it was a little like Jane Austen had handed me a mirror.

I had to smile when Emma reminded Mr. Knightley:

"I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with any other..."

and when I relayed the similarity to Mr. Case, he laughed and agreed. Because I was right. As usual.

My eyebrows shot up when Emma, sulking after not being invited to an event whose invitation she was planning to reject anyway, concluded that:

She felt she should like to have had the power of refusal;

And I realized that my dear, sweet mother-in-law learned this about me even before I had learned it about myself. That must be why she kindly invites me to things even when she knows I will say no. Because it's always nice to be invited, right? [Bless you, Sue. Bless you.]

I made a face when Emma saucily called Frank Churchill out on not visiting sooner:

"Do we not rather surpass your expectations? I am sure we do. I am sure you did not much expect to like us.”

He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.

Moments after my knee-jerk "I can't believe she said that!" reaction, my mind took a sudden detour down memory lane, right past the haunted mansion where echoes of my own saucy comments still come out to give me the chills.

I bit my lip when Emma even showed signs of being a bit of, well, a control freak:

All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her ball, began to adopt as the next vexation…

and I quickly tried to hide away my mental checklist of things I plan to be stressed out about, when I am finished with the current item on the list, that is.

Imagine my greater surprise when this magic mirror
revealed the shape of my ego in some of Miss Austen's other infamous
[or infamously more ridiculous]
characters,

My eyes widened when Miss Bates' explanation sounded strangely familiar:

"I meant to…the first thing… but something or other hindered me all the morning; first one thing, then another, there is no saying what, you know."

Actually, she goes on for three pages of "saying what" you know. Because one must defend herself when it looks as though she totally flaked. And that always requires a good deal of explanation [mostly for her own benefit] [and in which she probably won't let you get a word in on the conversation.]

and then my jaw dropped when, after Miss Bates was briefly interrupted, she resumed her dialogue with,

“What was I talking of? … I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.”

If I had a nickel for every time I've ... never mind.

Where were we?

Oh yes, talking about how I never finish my conversations...

I frowned when Mr. Knightley admitted:

"My interference was quite as likely to do harm as good. … In such cases my interference was giving you two bad feelings instead of one.”

And I was reminded of my earlier days as a bossy older sister who felt her interference was sorely needed but was constantly resisted [not to mention resented]... [and of later days as a wife who still sometimes thinks her interference is sorely needed.]

I gulped hard when the antics of Mr. Woodhouse concerning things like eating too much cake and having a little gruel before bed made me feel fanatical beyond my years.

His own stomach could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe people to be different from himself. What was unwholesome to him, he regarded as unfit for any body;

Though I must say, it is not the eating of too much cake that bothers me as much as it is the eating of too much cake by others in the house so that there is not as much left for me. But by all means, have some gruel before bed. You'll sleep better. Really. Cheerios work, too.

I didn't know whether to cry or laugh when I stumbled upon what Jane Austen is said to have penned about Emma:

I am going to take a character whom no one but myself will much like.

So I think I must owe my family and friends as much adoration as I can possibly manage, along with a healthy amount of apologies and most likely some money, too. [Do you take nickels?]

I smiled again [and I hope they will too] when, after Emma is faced with "the overthrow of every thing," she finds that,

...the only source whence anything like consolation or composure could be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better conduct, and the hope that, however inferior in spirit and gaiety might be the following and every future winter of her life to the past, it would yet find her more rational, more acquainted with herself, and leave her less to regret when it were gone.

See? There's hope for me yet. I'm not finished. Let the trumpets sound.

Bibliotherapy Session: Thanks, Theodor

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.


I felt ready when I stepped on stage for my parenthood performance.
Until the steps I had learned weren't part of Janie's routine.
And I had to learn a whole new dance.
Wear a different pair of shoes.
Find the rhythm in our new music.
Dance on this stage where the steps are not marked.

Tonight [between tears] dear old Dr. Seuss helped me keep time
and even helped me with my footwork.


But on you will go...
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike.
And I know you'll hike far
And face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know....
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dextrous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)


And yes, this is one that YOU, too, need to read!


[I made up that last part myself.]

Bibliotherapy Session: The Last Lecture

You may remember, this year I am resolved to attack my bookshelves.

In honor of Janie's PT, Julie,
[who we are missing very dearly--she no longer comes now that Janie is 3],
my first selection was a book she told us about:

The Last Lecture
by Randy Pausch

Randy Pausch was a computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and fairly quickly it became terminal. He passed away in the summer of 2008. The book is somewhat of a collection of his dearest memories, dreams, final thoughts and conclusions about his life [and life in general]. Sound sad? It's not. At times you forget it is the words of a dying man, because he was living so incredibly.

In fact [and in paying homage to Julie] these pages proved to be a very productive
*therapy session*

The results of my *treatments* [get it?] are in:

Randy talks a lot about the various "brick walls" he has hit in his life.
"...Brick walls are there for a reason. They're not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something."

Viewing my weaknesses and setbacks as brick walls to climb over, around or through rather than "road closed" signs gives me hope and courage when they loom in my path.

At one point in the book, Randy shares a conversation he had with a friend upon learning that he has just months to live. His friend asks if his affairs are in order, namely life insurance. Then he advises Randy to pay the premiums on emotional insurance--ways for his family to remember his love, paid out in time.

As I pondered that concept I had to think of NieNie. Stephanie Nielsen was badly burned in a small plane crash almost a year and a half ago. She came dangerously close to death, but pulled through, though the road to recovery has been grueling. Her blog is inspiring, and was so even before the accident. I am struck with the thought that if she hadn't pulled through, her written words would have lived on as a way for her children to know and remember her. She had been paying those premiums Randy's friend talked about.
And that has become one of the main reasons I blog.

Fulfilling childhood dreams is also one of the themes woven throughout the book.

I looked back to try and remember what some of my childhood dreams were.
Being like my grandma Nora, being a wife and mother, an author, a teacher.
Becoming a singer and an actress were also high on my list for a while.
I had acted a little in sixth grade and loved it, only to find a few years later in my junior high speech/drama class that my stage fright continually won out over any semblance of acting abilities I thought I had.
When I would hear others talk about chasing your dreams I would sometimes remember those Hollywood hopes with a mix of amusement, exasperation and a little embarrassment.
I wasn't sure whether to feel like a failure or to be grateful for an early realization that I was a much better audience member than stage player.
Until one morning a few years ago,
standing in front of my kindergarteners,
hamming it up big time
while singing and dancing to "Goin' on a Bear Hunt."
Meanwhile, other classes and teachers walking by would look in on the commotion.
And I didn't even care if they did.
A sudden realization flashed before me. I had fulfulled those dreams of being a starlet after all. Not on a theater stage or in a recording studio, but in the smiling eyes of forty-something five-year-olds as I brought them to their feet with every performance.
[even at eight months pregnant, I might add.]

"It's not about how to achieve your dreams. It's about how to lead your life. If you lead your life the right way, the karma will take care of itself. The dreams will come to you."