Remember Burl Ives? Burl Ives? Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? You have to know that one-Yukon Cornelius? The Island of Misfit Toys? I'm cuuuuuuuuuuute! Hermy, the first ever gay elf? That Burl Ives?

Yeah.

The reason I mention him is there's a new film out called Stranger Than Fiction, which I am dying to see but probably will have to wait until it's on cable. The premise of the movie is there's a guy who's life is being narrated, and he finds out his narrator is going to top him off at the end. It's very disconcerting.

Especially since I feel like my life is narrated by Burl Ives.

It could be worse-it could be Oscar the Grouch or even Ross Perot. Burl Ives has that calm, cool voice. He's everybody's grandpa they never had, the kind who sat on the porch watching fireflies and serving up pink lemonade. He played a character named Osh Popham-Osh Popham, does it get any kinder than that?-in a Disney film called Summer Magic, which I suspect I'm the only viewer who has ever seen it.

Burl Ives often narrates for me, and I just accept it.

**********************************

I am cooking dinner. Once or twice a week these days I cook a big, rather posh meal. It takes a while to do but I really love doing it, I get to check my brain at the door and just chill. This Saturday baked spinach bubbled in the oven and garlic-infused lamb shanks (for him) were awaiting a sizzling pan. I changed the TV channel in the kitchen and-as there's no satellite in there, so we're limited by what we can watch-I wound up on The 10 Best Choral Masterpieces. Some I knew, some I didn't. Most I played loud. Then came the Hallelujah chorus from Handel's Messiah. I cranked the volume up and stood there, listening. I wiped my hands on a towel. I smiled. Then I felt a knock on my spine.

Burl Ives: You see, Helen had once had a bad event associated with hearing the Messiah. Something once happened that shook her badly, something that still sneaks up on her and...well...it just plain makes her feel bad. For Helen had never truly worked out what had happened in her own heart and mind. It seemed that whenever she heard the music, she would both love it and want to turn it off at the same time.

**********************************

Four days ago I was on a train back from Upper Buttfuck. The day had been long and-I thought-reasonably interesting. I like my new managers (even though technically speaking I still work for the same manager I have been). I like the work we're to do. And though the meeting room was cramped, hot, and airless and the meeting itself unremarkable, I was glad I went-I even got another award, which included a pat on the back and my very own ambient light. I've been battling another group for control of my project-my management team say I'm in charge of the project, his management team say he is. Although all the various managers are said to be working this one out with each other, it doesn't mean it's not immeasurably frustrating. The worst part is how these other guys talk to me. Even though-regardless of how this all works out- I'm their customer, they talk to me as though I am one of those legions of pointless managers all organizations seem to have, despite the fact that I have-twice!-delivered a rocket riding gerbil.

I am bemoaning this to one of my new managers, a volatile Irish chap, and he says out of the blue to me: I have noticed that they speak to you like that, yeah. And I honestly have to say-I think they're doing it because you're a woman. I'm not excusing their behavior, but I am reasonably certain that's one of their issues.

My stomach sinks and I get so angry I hit the arms of my chair, forgetting that one of my hands still held one of my phones (which survives the impact with no problem).

Burl Ives: Helen felt that the entire situation was out of control. You see, she'd spent her whole life fighting to get her head above water, and this last argument threatened to drag her under into the inky blackness. The truth is, Helen was so worn out she wasn't even sure she could face it-she took this new job as a bit of a quiet break, but it was beginning to be clear to her that it would be anything but. And that, my friends, is what was beginning to hurt her heart.

**********************************

I've been both enthusiastically checking and dreading the post everyday. I never know what little carpet bombs are going to be in there. Although the Scary hasn't arrived, it doesn't mean other things don't wind me up. To the forefront of what winds me up is when we get Christmas cards addressed only to "Angus Crumpleton" on the outside (that's not really his last name. Actually, Angus isn't his first name either. I think some English last names are truly hilarious and Angus' real last name-which is quite rare and very strange-is one of them). Inside it may have my name, his kids names, and even Gorby's name. But on the envelope, it's all about Angus. This really fucks me off.

Me: I hate it how it's ok to just send the card to you when it's for both of us. They all know my name. The least they can do is address me, too.

Him: My dad has you in his contacts folder. He has you as "Helen Crumpleton".

Me: Get the fuck out!

Him: No, he really does. Is it ok to call you that?

Me: No. No it isn't. I have a last name, I'm keeping it.

Him: So if we got married you wouldn't be Mrs. Angus Crumpleton?

Me: I will never-EVER-allow anyone to address me as Mrs. Angus Crumpleton. I have a name. Getting married doesn't have to become my identitty.

Burl Ives: Helen had long been waging a war on her own independence. Her argument about being called Mrs. first showed up on her friend Ilyka's site, and even though it got her into hot water with other bloggers, Helen felt there was something deeply important in it for her. For as Helen and her therapist are understanding, Helen's background held a deep vein of women being inferior. A part of the struggle Helen faced in herself was accepting that this battle was in the past, that her heart would heal, and that she didn't need to spend her life being so afraid of being downtrodden. For what Helen failed to understand was this-knowing that you're being stepped on is part of the path to freedom.

**********************************

Currently the tension in the house is palpable due to an argument. I won't go into it, but we're not happy with recent events and, in our usual fashion, we'll avoid it until we're tired of avoiding it and living under a cloud, then we'll just go on with daily living. It seems to be a pattern in our house that both people have to hurt over the exact same thing before there can be an understanding. If part of the Scientology vow is to never go to bed without clearing the air I tell you-if we were practicing Scientologists we both agree our insomnia would be a lot worse (which will never happen. We don't do oganized religion and anyway the Scientology headquarters is in Angus' former home town. There's no way we're going down that path.) I'm sure that no one really likes to fight and I especially hate it when we fight. I just-

Burl Ives: Helen felt a bit blue and tentative. Both Helen and Angus love and live passionately, but before they could understand how one another hurts, they both needed to feel the exact pain, it was their way to create an Empathy Bridge-

Me: Dude, I was talking. You interrupted me, Burl.

Burl Ives: No speaking to the narrator.

Me: But I wasn't finished. And what the fuck? An Empathy Bridge?

Burl Ives: Helen resolved to let time heal all wounds, and decided sitting in the decorated living room would heal her heart and mind.

Me: Burl, you've mentioned my heart every time now. What's up with that? You need new material?

Burl Iver: NO SPEAKING TO THE NARRATOR!

Me: Easy. I was just pointing it out, you know. GOD.

Burl Ives: You want me to narrate here or what?

Me: I do. Seriously. Having Sam the Snowman narrate my life rules.

Burl Ives: I've done a lot of narrating, Helen. I even did The Ewok Adventure.

Me: I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that one.

Burl Ives: That's probably a good idea.

**********************************

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:14 AM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
Post contains 1495 words, total size 8 kb.

1 Hearing the voices isn't so bad. Talking to them just might be a problem... ;-)

Posted by: ~Easy at December 11, 2006 12:41 PM (FKBK3)

2 Now I want a narrator!

Posted by: geeky at December 11, 2006 03:06 PM (ziVl9)

3 arguing with the narrator? awesome. btw, i kept my last name. although some people occasionally address cards and birthday gifts to me in my married name, i don't mind too much. the main thing is that my husband has stated over & over that he doesn't care if i take his name, as he doesn't have to own me. and that attitude rocks.

Posted by: becky at December 11, 2006 03:18 PM (jv5jW)

4 Wow, what a unique way of setting up a post. It was great to read! Crumbleton?

Posted by: Hannah at December 11, 2006 04:18 PM (iJ42V)

5 I continue to love you and your posts, even though you're clearly a bit off.

Posted by: Donna at December 11, 2006 06:16 PM (Aanzg)

6 even though you're clearly a bit off. You, Donna darling, are a very wise woman.

Posted by: Helen at December 11, 2006 06:29 PM (9xfLs)

7 Can I have Burl on your vacation days? I'm sure he wouldn't mind.....

Posted by: caltechgirl at December 11, 2006 06:34 PM (/vgMZ)

8 I can just HEAR that so perfectly. You nailed his phrasing, the starting his second sentence with "You see," everything. And now I have a jones for old Christmas specials like you wouldn't believe.

Posted by: ilyka at December 11, 2006 06:47 PM (Sz1jV)

9 I had one very big reason for changing my last name when the boy and I got married. I wanted absolutely no association with my father or his family that abandoned me in my time of need. They all know he's an abusive son of a bitch, but they turn their heads and repeat over and over that blood is thicker than water. fuck it. I'm a "Deso" (family nickname) now I'm proud of it.

Posted by: girl at December 11, 2006 07:47 PM (z6Kyx)

10 Oh, and I too have seen Summer Magic. On Vault Disney during a fit of insomnia. It's good.

Posted by: caltechgirl at December 11, 2006 08:26 PM (/vgMZ)

11 I've always been adamant about not taking BabyDaddy's last name if we ever got married, but my own identity is only a small part of it. Let's put it this way, you put my first name with his last name would be the name of an American Beer.

Posted by: amber at December 11, 2006 09:30 PM (Gai3N)

12 When I was a kid, we had a Burl Ives album. It had songs like "Shoo, Fly, Don't Bother Me" and "The One Little Duck with a Feather on His Back."

Posted by: kalisah at December 11, 2006 10:19 PM (PKWws)

13 amber, that would be an f'in awesome name.

Posted by: becky at December 12, 2006 02:36 PM (jv5jW)

14 Perhaps a bit off, but certainly relatable. (And aren't we all off a tad...really??)

Posted by: Mia at December 13, 2006 01:32 AM (MxZ0R)

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