Pollyanna Grows Up

I was flipping through the channels the other day and there it was. A movie that my kids wouldn’t be caught dead watching, but which I am perfectly content, nay happy, to rewatch on an endless loop. It’s not Hitchcock, Scorsese, or Coppola. It’s pure, unadulterated, treacly sweet Disney: Pollyanna starring Hayley Mills.

While it was the American debut of Ms. Mills, the movie also starred old Hollywood favorites like Academy Award winners Jane Wyman and Karl Malden, and the ever-brilliant Agnes Moorhead.

Watching this movie is like eating a grilled cheese sandwich, followed by chocolate pudding served in an old, blue custard cup. It’s visual comfort food that takes me back to a quieter, gentler time – even if in my heart of hearts, I know that period in my life wasn’t ever quite as calm or as kind as I remember.

There’s a sweetness and simplicity to the Pollyanna story. A poor orphan girl comes to live with her rich, cold aunt, and with innocent goodness transforms a whole town. Pollyanna doesn’t need years of therapy having lost both her parents at an early age. She isn’t haunted by demons or bitter about being forced to live in an attic by an uncaring guardian. When she falls and is paralyzed, her hair is immaculate. When the doctor picks her up to take her to Baltimore for delicate spine surgery – there are no backboards to immobilize her body, just Doc Chilton tenderly carrying her in his arms to the train station. Little Jimmy Watson is adopted by old man Pendergast (bravo to the incomparable Adolphe Menjou), and there’s no home inspection by social workers. For that matter, Pollyanna at 12, still wears pigtails, has no body piercings, and her greatest joy is to win a doll in a carnival game. It’s not even an American Girl or Bratz doll.

There is, thankfully, no gritty realism in this movie. Maybe it’s a cop-out, but Pollyanna is the perfect antidote, at times, to my troubled world vision. It’s refreshing to believe that we should always look for the good in our fellow man. It’s comforting to think that sheer decency can make an enormous impact. It’s heartening to believe in the power of an individual to effect change.

Carolyn Hart has explained that she likes to write traditional mysteries because “the good guys always win.” Me too. I can’t control much in this world. But just like in Harrington, the “Glad Town,” in the universe I help create of Mac Sullivan, Rachel Brenner, and the Irish wolfhound Whiskey, the good guys always win.

Evelyn David

On a Wing and a Prayer

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“What can I do?”

How many of us have said these same things when we have heard that someone is walking a bumpy road or enduring a trial? The answer is simple. For number 1: pray. For number 2: say a prayer. For number 3: same as number 2. It’s that simple.

And you can always do the tuna casserole if you have to keep your hands busy. That works pretty well, too.

Life is alternately hard and easy. It is a series of ebbs and flows. Sometimes, you are riding a wave of good fortune and mild seas while at other times, you are adrift, navigating bumpy waters, hanging on for dear life. Sometimes it’s other people who are in the midst of bad times. But one thing is for sure, we will all experience some kind of hardship and we all need each other to see us through. Cherish the good times and reach out in the bad. Because by reaching out—by saying “I need you, I need your prayers”—you will be allowing others to do what they can to see you through the rough times. Accept it graciously because without the ability to receive, nobody will ever feel the joy of giving.

I had a couple of years of bumpy seas myself. The first thing that was done for me, en masse, was a prayer service at my church. Very simple, very plain—just a darkened church with some votive candles, my favorite songs, some prayers from the heart—but the room was filled to the brim with people I knew, some I didn’t, and some just acquaintances. The word had gone out: one of us needs help. And everyone responded. I didn’t need anything else.

The group was diverse in every way possible: by age, by faith, by economic status, by hometown. But it was one thing that they could all do, to say, as a group: “We’re here; we love you; we’ll help you get through this. We are doing something.”

And if you have ever felt the power of someone, or everyone, sharing your collective burden, you know that it is a comfort. Together, despite our many differences, we came together to pray.

Prayer is a funny thing: some people embrace it, while others eschew it. I feel that prayer is a way to put positive energy into the world and to me, there’s nothing negative about that. When we pray—and I don’t care to which God or higher power you pray or we’re talking about—we focus on a power or energy that is beyond us. And if it centers us and takes us out of ourselves and into a different space, it’s all good.

One of us needed help today. So five of us gathered at a critical hour in this person’s life, when she would submit to a test that would tell her if what the doctors thought they saw on another, more general test, was indeed cancer. As we held hands and offered prayers between the silent spaces, I felt a power pass between us, an energy. And as the tears flowed from her best friend onto the individual hands of each woman, we acknowledged that we are here. We are doing something. We are praying.

Maggie

Time to Celebrate (for a few short moments)

I typed The End on my latest Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery. Of course now I have to do the most important part and that is editing. I’ll wait a couple of days to get started with that.

One thing many readers don’t realize, it’ll be about two years before this one is in print.

The next offering in this series is called Kindred Spirits from Mundania Press. It will be out in September. The following September I expect the following Tempe book to make it’s debut, Dispel the Mist.

While writing, every author is busy planning how they will market each book. Like most everyone else, I have events going on all the time.

The places I’m going this month are listeed on the website. What that doesn’t tell you is for the park gig on the Fourth of July, it not only means hauling my books, but also an EZ-up (tent without sides, 2 tables and 2 chairs) probably half way through the park–and that depends upon how easily we find a parking spot near te park.

The West Coast Author Premier is a bit easier becauase all I have to haul is my books and handouts for my presentation. (Of course I must remember to print them out.) My presentation is at 10:30 a.m., which is good, then I’ll be all done.

The first night in Ventura we’re staying in a haunted room in a Bed and Breakfast at our request, the second night in my youngest daughter’s brand new home. Will blog about both.

For the writers’ group, of course I have handouts.

With a schedule like this, sometimes it difficult to find a time to breathe, much less write.

This is what I’m doing for the books I already have–and I’m also working on the schedule for the new book due in September.

Slight confession, I love it, just wish I were younger.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com