reading

Do The Books From Our Childhood Carry A One-Two Punch?

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Its come to my attention lately that many of you are re-reading books from your childhood either with your kids or late at night with a flashlight under the covers, only to discover their deep, hidden meaning.

They may have marked us as children but they deliver a whole NEW meaning to us as adults.

Mary Poppins – Believing in Magic– Ditto Harry Potter

The Little Prince — So many people I know were marked as children by this book including my husband.

A Christmas Carol — which is the story behind one of my all time favorite movies, It’s A Wonderful Life

The Velveteen Rabbit — Great lessons in self acceptance.

All the Cat In The Hat books, really anything written by Dr. Seuss is genius and ripe with life lessons.

Just to name a few…

Kinda makes me wonder, was it always the intention behind these books to deliver a sort of one-two punch, by subtlety seeding our dreams with their hidden wisdom as we listened as children at bedtime, only to bestow an even greater, better understood message upon us as we read them to our kids?

Wouldn’t that be something?

Here is a great example of what I’m talking about in a short essay by Pam Grout. Harold And The Purple Crayon.
Take it away Pam!

“World’s best “how-to” book not found in the self-help section

“Your opinion of yourself becomes your reality. If you have all these doubts, no one will believe in you and everything will go wrong. If you think the opposite, the opposite will happen. It’s that simple.”
–50 Cent

“My favorite how-to book will never be found in the self-help section of the bookstore. It was written long before the term self-help was even coined.

It’s a children’s book called Harold and the Purple Crayon and it rivals Oprah when it comes to addressing the possibilities of the human condition.

Written by Crockett Johnson in 1955, this little 65-page masterpiece tells the story of a little boy named Harold who decides to go out for a walk one evening. When there isn’t any moonlight (and, of course, everyone knows a good walk requires moonlight), Harold just takes out his purple crayon and draws the moon.

He also needs a sidewalk (which he draws) that leads to a forest (he only draws one tree because he doesn’t want to get lost) that turns out to be an apple tree (or at least it is after Harold’s crayon gets ahold of it). Unfortunately, the apples aren’t ripe yet, so Harold draws a frightening dragon to guard the tree.

When he falls into the ocean, Harold is able to grab his wits and his purple crayon to draw a boat and set sail for a beach, where he draws a picnic lunch with nine kinds of pie.

The whole book is about Harold’s great adventures scaling a mountain, soaring in a hot-air balloon and touring a city, all created by his ever-faithful purple crayon.

It’s a powerful book because it demonstrates a great spiritual truth—we are the authors of our own lives. We draw every detail—even the dragons and the oceans we “accidentally” fall into.

Harold could have gone on his walk, noticed there was no moon and sat down and pouted. Isn’t that what most of us do? “Damn, no moon. Better call my therapist, hit some pillows.” Or he could have drawn his moon, compared it to El Greco, and said, “I’m a hopeless sham. What was I thinking? Me? An artist?”

Instead, he kept reaching for his purple crayon and drawing every event, every answer, every friend he needed. We all have that power.
Harold was only a kid. He hadn’t yet lost his imagination, his sense of wonder and awe. No one had explained yet that he couldn’t have whatever he wanted. As long as he had his purple crayon, he could ride the universe.

Remember that big box of Crayolas with the 64 awesome colors? With that one small gold and green box you could have absolutely anything-—navy blue carousels with peach prancing ponies, magenta castles with yellow-green drawbridges, puffy white clouds and purple grass although your teacher might have frowned on that kind of thing. “Grass is green, don’t you know.”

Each year of school, the Crayola stash gets smaller. By the time we graduate from high school, we’re wielding nothing but a blue Bic for figuring our checking account.

Let’s go out this week and get some crayons. Let’s create our world the way we want it. And if we happen to fall into an ocean or run into a dragon, we’ll just draw ourselves a lifeboat and head for the beach, where at least one kind of pie will be waiting.”

Pam Grout is the author of 17 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the recently released sequel, E-Cubed, 9 More Experiments that Prove Mirth, Magic and Merriment is your Full-time Gig.
Pamgrout.com

Outing Myself

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Sometimes, no, often, nope, daily, I get overwhelmed inside my wonderful life.
It’s wonderful on paper, and I juggle as fast as I can to keep up the charade.
It’s nothing that is overtly obvious, but I know that this house of cards could come crashing down at any minute. That, or my head will explode. I’m not certain which will come first, so I think I’ll just out myself, with the knowledge that I’m probably not alone.

Are you waiting for some epic admission? Too bad.
It’s nothing major, just SO MANY little things that add up. Like dripping water on my forehead.

I have many addictions. Thankfully, they will NOT be the death of me……unless I slip and fall on melted chocolate.
But some of them frustrate the hell out of me.

I have a coffee table book addiction. I have since before I owned a coffee table.
Between those and all the novels and best sellers, it looks like a freaking library in here. Here’s the thing. If I divide how many hours I’ve been alive by the hours it would take to read all these books….it’s never gonna happen. Most are partially read. I can see scraps of paper sticking out that I grabbed and used as a bookmark, half or three quarters of the way through.
I will need to reincarnate to get caught up.

I also confess to a magazine addiction and I have the good fortune to have numerous subscriptions. I’ve even culled the lot, trying to be realistic about what feels relevant enough to take the time to read. No more Allure or People for me. Alas, the stack still grows larger and more daunting by the day. It’s like they posses the ability to reproduce. One Elle Decor turns into three, and when I look again; there are five. Same with my O magazines. I have every unread issue back to January, which I briefly scanned and became aware of the fact that I hadn’t lost that “pesky ten pounds of holiday weight,” because I hadn’t yet read the article.

Why do I even continue to get the decorating or “shelter” magazines? My lifestyle store closed, and my house is decorated within an inch of its life. It is not realistic for me to lust after a house in Marrakech or to muse over a $4000 toilet. My favorite shelter mags were Domino and Better Homes And Gardens, and they went out of business. So now I’m left with House Beautiful and Elle Decor. House Beautiful still has too much chintz for my taste, and Elle Decor can be annoying. Like a super model telling me she can eat whatever she wants and never work out or diet. They make fabulous look too easy.

To further prove my inadequacy, there is a stack of unread books on my night stand.
It includes Fifty Shades of Grey. Sadly, I can’t even find time for the lady porn.
All I’m going to say is: I start out with the best of intentions. I want to stay current, and sound smart at parties. I can’t remember the last time I read the book BEFORE I saw the movie. Sometimes I lie.
There must be 25-30 partially read books on my iPad. If I start reading one of those before bed, the others, on the nightstand, stage a mutiny. There must be some kind of seniority or Union I’m not aware of. 

When I really want to rub salt in my wounds, I glance over at the pile of unopened mail. Nothing important, really; no checks or anything. I have a way of sniffing those out.
Nope, the pile consists mostly of health insurance notifications. If Anthem doesn’t have a check in its hot little hands on the first of every month, they send me a notification that I’ve entered a 30 day grace period. It’s my little game.
I have an automatic payment set to pay them on the third.
Fuck em. I like living in a state of perpetual grace.

The rest of the pile is just stuff that needs to get filed…….when I’m good and ready.

I realize these are “white people problems”. I’m too busy writing to read.
Oh, Boo Hoo.
It makes me laugh when I get plugged up about this stuff because I realize how fortunate I am to not have to worry about clean water or my immediate survival. That is, until the nightstand books, that unsavory bunch, figure out how to kill me while I sleep.

What are the things that pile up around you and drive you crazy? Do YOU have stacks of unread books ,magazines and mail? Any suggestions to quell my addiction? I’d LOVE some suggestions!

Xox

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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