The Purple Dress

Pullip in purple dress (Photo credit: Hegemony77 doll clothes)

I am nine years old the first time I defy my grandmother.

Everyone is always saying how much they love her, what a kind and generous soul she is, always doing things for other people with never a thought for herself.  It’s true, no one leaves our house without produce from the garden, preserves from our cellar, a well read book, some little knickknack, a few cut flowers or a potted plant. Grandma gives and gives.

This particular day grandma decides to do something nice for my younger cousin Audrey. She rifles through my closet,  pulls something out and holds it up.  Audrey will look lovely in purple, she declares.

I am aghast.  It is the purple dress I love to death and haven’t yet outgrown. I try to protest but grandma isn’t listening. She tells Audrey to try it on.  If she likes it she can take it home with her today. Won’t that be nice?

I think it will not be nice at all. My head is suddenly black with childish rage. I scream NO, rush between them, pluck the dress from their hands and turn and run away with it.

I am clutching my dress and sobbing in the kitchen to my mother at the unfairness of it all.  And to top it off, now I am no doubt in deep trouble for being so selfish and for disrespecting grandma.

But mom surprises me and says I’m right.  Grandma should not have tried to make one person happy at the expense of another. The dress is not going anywhere until I’m ready to give it away on my own.

It’s the first time I’ve ever known a kid to be right and an adult to be wrong.  I feel empowered as I tell grandma how her thoughtlessness made me feel.

Well why didn’t you say something, she asks with a shrug.  Then off she goes to find something else she can give away.  This time with a little less drama.

Trifecta Challenge Week 105:  Between 33 and 333 words using the 3rd definition of the word “pluck”

1: to pull or pick off or out
2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or
as if by plucking <pluck one’s eyebrows>
b : rob, fleece
3: to move,
remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly <plucked the child from the middle
of the street>
4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at
b : to play by
sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick

The Healing Gift

English: Spiritual Healing Church – Princes Square (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My sister has been told by more than one psychic that she has the gift of healing, and it’s true.  She does.

The people closest to her don’t need a clairvoyant to point this out to them.  Her specialty is not in the realm of physical health – as far as I know she can’t cure disease or mend a broken bone.  Her gift is her ability to listen to problems and sum up situations, to empathize and sympathize and soothe the hurt.

Something in her nature makes it easy for her to do this.  She thinks of the most considerate, kind and thoughtful things to do and then she does them, without a lot of contemplation and without the expectation of getting anything in return.  She heals moods, and spirits, and souls.  And she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

Sorry, you can’t have her, she belongs to our family. We’d be a sorry lot without her.

So imagine my consternation on reading my horoscope for today:

You may be asked to take on a teaching role in your spiritual circle today. People will be seeking out your wisdom, knowledge, and experience. You could discover that you have a healing gift, or benefit from the healing talents of another.

The confusion comes from a number of things.  Spiritual circle is one of them, since I didn’t know I had one.  People coming to me for wisdom?  Good luck with that.  I already benefit from the healing talents of another, just by talking to her.  But they’ve got the wrong sister for discovering another healing gift because I think I’m better at making things worse.

Our mom was the kind of person who did wonderful and selfless things for others, but she was also a worrier.  Her mind was always going a mile a minute and often her mouth couldn’t keep up.  She would start to say something and jumble it all up with three or four more seemingly unrelated ideas and before you could sort any of it out, go off on another tangent altogether.  The run-on sentences were a challenge, but the unfinished ones were even more puzzling.  I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse to think so much.  She took everything to heart and analyzed it to death and as a result said a lot of truly amazing things, and maybe my brain just couldn’t keep up.  But I was always able to see how badly she wanted to save the world, and I knew at a very young age that I just didn’t want to be bothered with any of it.

So I became not just selfish, but oblivious.  The world revolved around me, and everyone else could solve their own stupid problems.  This worked out really well for me until I had a husband and children.  “Me” got lost in the pandemonium for a lot of years.

Now that they’re grown up and on their own and coping as well as can be expected after having a mother like me, I’m back to my introspective ways.  I’m done with trying to be the glue that holds the rest of my family together.  Even if they don’t know it,  they really don’t need me, and it’s wonderful to be free.  Of course I’ll help in any way I can if they ask me to, but it’s nice to know they’re smart enough to ignore my advice when it’s completely out to lunch.

Other people aren’t that smart.  They’ll tell me about something that happened or try to explain some situation that’s giving them grief, and I’ll egg them on. Even if I don’t deep down care AT ALL, I’ll add fuel to the fire.  I have a knack for encouraging resentment and making angry people even more irate.  I get people fired up and then I back away to let them deal with it.  This talent for motivation in the wrong direction could never be misconstrued as a gift.  It’s a malediction that I should be fighting.  Not only am I still not saving the world – what’s even worse is that I am making it a more miserable place to be.

Well, recognizing there’s a problem is a huge part of the cure, right?  I would like to be that person who listens and absorbs and calms and helps, and not the one off whom you bounce your concerns, only to get them back looking ten times worse than they were before.  You do not want to talk to the riot inciting sister, you need the healing one.  I’m not there yet.

Will I ever be?  Who knows?  Maybe the stars know something I don’t.  Maybe I need to heal myself first.

Simply Silly-S Poem

Starving sister Sally snivels.

Share some seafood salad Simon!

Some scampi, shellfish, succulent shrimp; something!

Sigh. Stinky spoiled snot.

So selfish sometimes.

Somebody should scold

Stupid stingy siblings.