Book Review: If I Found A Wistful Unicorn

I grew up in Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Atlanta. It sits directly across the street from the Georgia State Capital - the gold dome as it's known. Central has been there for over 150 years. Her history is rich as she survived the War Between the States. When Sherman marched on Atlanta, he used the Sunday School building as a slaughterhouse. 

Many of my fond memories from Central live in my heart. Finding my great aunt Bobbin after Sunday School and visiting with her friends - Florrie and Margret and Lillian to name a few. The it was upstairs for worship service where I usually sat with my grandparents until I "graduated" to the balcony with the other kids my age who wanted to socialize instead of pay attention. All the regulars sat in the same pews year after year. I can still show you who sat where. The Wilsons, the Schneiders, the Oglesbys, the Kohns. We always had (and they still do have) a fellowship lunch after service. Sometimes I got to choose who we sat with. Sometimes not.

One of my favorite people from Central didn't attend every Sunday. His name was Bill Drath. He was older and was always glad to see me. At least he acted like it. I still remember his hair and the lines in his face. 

He was special to me too because he was an illustrator. He and Ann Ashford (she also attended Central but not regularly) put a book together. I was on top of the world when I got my own autographed copy! I was somebody! 

Their book - truly a poem - If I Found A Wistful Unicorn - has been a special part of my life since.

 

Knowing what I know now about literature, I probably liked the book for the font and the pictures. What's really neat is there's a unicorn on every page - you just have to look. As good writing and imagery can do, this book transports you - for just awhile - to a magical place that is soothing and simple.

It takes a negative and asks for a pleasing outcome. 

"If I found a wistful unicorn and brought him to you, all forlorn... 

would you pet him?"

"If my soul were feeling all alone and wasn't near a telephone... 

would you write to it?"

"If my pet turnip turned on my and bit me fiercely on the knee... 

would you bandage it?"

I'm sure I had my grandfather read it to me hundreds of times. I've even given it as a gift and will again. Because even reading it now brings me peace. 

I appreciate the out-of-the-box thinking. I love they bring not so ordinary objects to mind. 

If someone told me much of my person were shaped by this book, I would agree. There's compassion and caring and companionship. There's strength in asking for what you want or need. There's a great simplicity that speaks to my soul.

What books have marked your soul as this one has mine? 

The NFL, Marine Corps, Coca-Cola and Biology

This may not come as a total surprise to everyone, but I wanted to be the first female to play in the NFL. Just because I could. I didn’t think it was fair it was all guys getting to play football. No one was going to stop me. I even got a football helmet for Christmas one year when I was about 10 or so. I was so excited I put it on and ran around in the back yard in my red velvet dress. 

I didn’t realize at the time there were female football teams. Even when I discovered that though, I didn’t change my goal. At that point. Now I’m mature enough to know about locker rooms and smells and how girls really don’t fit in an all-boys club. I also at some point understood what a challenge it would be and my chances of actually making it were slim to none. 

I also wanted to join the United State Marine Corps. Two people I looked up to who were part of this sharp, elite team. I didn’t care about the grueling boot camp or any of the rest of it. I heard horror stories about Parris Island. I just wanted to be a Marine. My mom told me she was on board with it, as long as I joined as an officer. I looked into Naval ROTC. I knew all the Corps ranks in order and could spout them off at a moment’s notice. I was ready – semper fi baby! Sign me up! As I’ve said over the years - I grew a brain and abandoned that dream. I don’t remember why. 

 

Then I decided I wanted to be a English-Spanish translator for Coca-Cola. Their headquarters were in Atlanta and I’d point out my office when we’d drive by the towering building. I saw myself at the Olympics and in Madrid and at press conferences. I’d travel all over but my base would be either Atlanta and / or Guatemala. I was on course for this having had 3 years of Spanish under my belt with 2 more to go and participating in the Spanish club. Then I took Anatomy & Physiology, Biology and Chemistry. Spanish who?!?

To say I loved those three classes is an understatement. We dissected a worm in Biology. I remember being somewhat disappointed there was so little to see in a worm. My A & P teacher told us about Gray’s Anatomy (the book) and we’d eventually maybe need to open it one day in the future. So I bought it. Fascinated. No I didn’t understand most of it, but it was still just amazing. I graduated high school and went into college as a Biology major. 

I loved dissecting whatever animal we did (I think it was a fetal pig). Wow. I worked in the Chem lab washing beakers and loved just feeling the atmosphere; the quiet, orderly energy of it all.

That dream died when I got a job and like so many before me, a paycheck was much more of a pull than going to class every day. Life on life terms as they say. Then I got married and moved. Se la vie. 

Would I change who I am or what I do today? Absolutely not. But in my next life… ;)

No Fake Flowers - Thank You

The question: Have you thought about your funeral? How do you want it to go? Happy or sad?

My answer: Of course!

I’ve lost most of my family so yes I’ve thought about this!

I want to be cremated. I’m cold natured and hate to be cold. I tell people it’s a good thing I don’t live any further north than I do. If I’m cremated, I’ll be warm for eternity. All I ask is don’t put me in a box – I’m claustrophobic. No fences for this chick!

I prefer my husband be cremated too and our ashes mixed together and the kids can do what they want with our ashes. No worries – I’ll leave a list of preferences. I certainly won’t care. If my husband were military, I’d be honored to lay with him wherever is appropriate. Just not in a box. Mix my ashes in the dirt where he lays.

As far as the tone – happy or sad – let it take it’s course. If people need to grieve, let them. If they’re happy I’m gone, let them be happy. No feeling is wrong.

I do want lots of color though. That’s how I lived – no fear of color. Just no white before Labor Day, please. If it’s near my birthday, wear purple. You're the best!

And no carnations please. For one, I grew up calling it the “funeral flower”. You know me – I don’t like stereotypes so let’s not perpetuate this one. Besides I really don’t like cut flowers – they just die. Perfect for the setting, but not for eternal life. Remember I like purple.

A church service feels right to me. God gave me to the world. He will greet me properly at the gates to welcome me back home.

I’d like everyone to gather for some sort of fellowship with food later. Talk about all the crazy stuff I did. Cry because you miss me. I don’t mind. I thank you for being there.

At one time, I wanted to be buried next to my mom if she saved me a seat. Just not in a box. Blend the ashes into the dirt where a casket goes. And if I do get to be next to Mom, NO FAKE FLOWERS! Mom hated them. If she could have found a cemetery that outlawed fake flowers, that’s where she’d be. That means no vase in my headstone. Thank you.

My most humiliating moment...

Most of my embarrassing moments revolve around my dear sweet mother. Bless her heart.

Mom loved the circus, especially the animals and trapeze artists.

When it came to Atlanta one year, she said she wanted my boyfriend - I'll call him Guy -  and me to take her to the circus as her present. Being the big sweet teddy bear he was, agreed and was somewhat enthusiastic about it. Little did either of us know...

The big day rolled around and we rode MARTA (public transportation system in Atlanta) to the venue since parking was a concern. 

I remember we sat left of where the performers - man and beast - came and went. I can still see the guy in stilts as he walked out of the tent. 

Sometime during the show, some clown came up the aisle selling glow necklaces and poppers and light up fiber optic flashlight things. I LOVED those glow necklaces. Guy bought me one of the necklaces and he got Mom the fiber optic thing. Please tell me you know what I'm talking about... 

I honestly can't remember Mom happier than she was with that stupid thing. She may not have even seen the rest of the show. I was pretty embarrassed by my 45+ year old mom making a huge deal over a toy meant for a two year old. 

Until I felt HUMILIATED by the same...

We got back on the MARTA train to get back to the car. It was late so the station and train were fairly empty. Thank you - there is a god! 

Guy and I sat together and Mom sat close by. The details are fuzzy now, but there were other people in the car. I know because Mom was attracting attention playing with her new toy. Ugh.

Kids, if you ever think your parents cannot be more embarrassing, think again!

Someone must have shown an ounce of interest or at least looked in her direction because she loudly said, "See my new light up wand my future son-in-law bought me at the circus?!?"

She waved it for them and even asked if they wanted to play with it. 

If I could have gotten all the way under the seat, I would have died there. I was mortified. Oh my gosh. I wanted off that train and away from her. Luckily Guy was a good sport about it all. Maybe he just couldn't move out of shock.

As the parent of a 14 year old, I recognize my duty to embarrass my child. It's in the handbook. And I do a pretty good job - just ask her. But I learned long ago there's a line to be drawn. Mom showed me right where it was that day. I'm careful not to cross it, though I do test it. I'm not nice. Like many parents, I enjoy embarrassing my daughter. It's fun. 

Guy, if you're reading this, I apologize as I laugh and shake my head at the memory. Thank you for making my mom so happy and then putting up with her. 

I'm proud my mom was who she was. I strive to be just like her. But I'm still hiding under that seat.

How I Lose All Track of Time

Getting in a “puppy pile” where the dogs clamber to closer to me. Be it trying to sit in my lap or lick my face or rub on me so I’ll rub them back. I smell like them and have mud on my clothes and slobber in my hair. It’s why they make soap, shampoo and laundry detergent. Sweet babies just want to love on their momma. The rest of the world can wait.

Reading a “I can’t put this down” book. A book that when your eyes want to close, every word makes them want to stay open. I enjoy reading anyway and when I do I don’t pay attention to the time. That’s why I read – to escape, to live in another world for a bit, to set the real world aside, to have some “me” time.

This may seem obvious but napping makes me lose track of time unless I have to set an alarm for some reason. My best naps are when I’ve worked hard, accomplished a lot and am at a point where I can relax. My mind and body willingly succumb to sleep. Sometimes it’s an hour an a half. Sometimes I’m down and out for 3 hours. Naps in the car rock! I know I have nothing else to do. The wind rushing by the care lulls me in to a solid sleep. Rarely do I care how long I nap.

Being alone in the quiet. Like at 4 AM when everyone is asleep. Or early Sunday morning before they get up. I breathe deeper here. I think more here. I totally forget the rest of the world exists. I feel peaceful. I recharge. I re-center myself. Even at work I tend to focus deeper and before I know it, the day is almost over.

Writing makes me forget about time. At least time isn’t important when I write. Writing is almost better than reading for me. Someone said “I think therefore I am”. I’ve tweaked that for me – “I think therefore I write therefore I am.” Writing clears my head.

Sometimes I get lost in my Sunday – my day to stay home; to be home. I do laundry and straighten up and nap and just do things around the house I neglected earlier in the week. The crazier the week before, the more I need my Sunday. It’s my way of re-ordering my chaotic world. 

What makes YOU lose track of time?

Poetry from the heart

Today I thought I’d share one of my all time favorite poems with you. The author was 14 or so when it was written. 

Without question, it came from the heart, from the soul and from the mind. My only claim is it written for me about 25 years ago.

I Love You

Three words is all they are

Thoughtless and carelessly made

I strode bravely into the darkness

Really hopeless and very afraid.

And then I saw the meaning

In a distant pair of eyes

A glimmer of hope and truth

I’d lost in the carnage of lies.

Three words is all they are

I said frightened and unsure

And then you taught me the truth

That no words could be more pure.

And now I look into those eyes

Not distant but loving and sharing

My love indeed I give to you

For no thing is truer than caring.

The Beauty of Loss

We have all lost someone or something we care about. It’s part of life.

Loss doesn’t have to mean death. A loss may be losing a job. Or the use of a car because of an accident. Or the loss of a dream. Loss can mean success too.

It’s often said when one door closes, another opens. 

 

Think of someone you know that passed away. Yes, that was a loss for you. They lost their life. Now think about the good. They are no longer in pain or suffering. They don’t have to worry about bills or what they’re going to eat next. You don’t have to worry about what you’ll get them for Christmas.

After they passed and you cried your eyes out, you were able to focus on the memories you had with them. The time you rode the motorcycle in the rain. On the interstate. With shorts on. The time he was 2 hours late picking you up at the airport. You almost got one the next plane home. Your luggage did. So you two went shopping for clothes for you for the next week. You hold on to the “Life’s a beach” tank top for 30 plus years.

Even though that person is gone, your life is somehow more enriched. You appreciate the brevity of life. You’re more aware of the shallowness of pieces of your life. You have more compassion for others. You drive with your headlights on for safety in their memory and because they did. You know now how strong you are. The things he said that made a difference in your life – you pass those on to your kids.

When you master a task at work, you move on to master another. Processing accounts payable became tedious and monotonous maybe. After all, you have done it for 7 years.

Then someone leaves the company and you are given the responsibility of all the billing. Now you have a new challenge – heck it’s all fresh and exciting. You create your own systems to make it all work. You become faster and more efficient every time you do it.

Let’s say you have a dream of playing baseball for the pros. You have worked and practiced since you were five years old to get there. You’ve played all the positions and did pretty well. All your coaches since Little League were well aware of your dream. You told them a million times if you told them once. In high school, you even try your hand at coaching so you know the other side. There’s no stopping you now. Until you fall out of the tree you’re building your little sister a tree house in and shatter your leg and break your pelvis in 3 places. You’ll walk again with no problem. But sliding into home base, no chance.

You’ve lost your dream. You accept it, grieve for it and go back to living your life. It hurts worse than the broken bones. But now what? Remember that secret dream you didn’t tell very many people about? The one about being a graphic designer? Guess what? Now you can work towards that dream. Taking the classes and tossing your ideas out to companies and seeing what comes of it. Wow. How exciting! Maybe you can even redesign the MLB’s website. Then maybe of the teams will hire you to re-do their look too. It’s almost like living two lives in one!

My point is yes it hurts to lose. I've lost enough to know. But when the pain has dulled and your life is a new normal you realize that loss brings an opportunity you may not have had otherwise. 

     To every thing there is a seaon and a time to every purpose under heaven...
     A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance...
     A time to get and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away...