To me she will always be, at least on the screen, Bob Newhart’s receptionist, secretary, and Girl Friday.  Marica Wallace was one of the best reasons to turn on the original Bob Newhart Show, back in an era when sit-coms actually made you laugh.  But Marcia is much more than that; she is a breast cancer survivor and a woman who redefined herself after being widowed.  She also lives on the stronger side of a nervous breakdown, and knows all about being a “menopausal” mom.  She has conquered a weight problem and a hard childhood.  In short, Marcia Wallace is a survivor, and she is going to be online July 11th to talk about her life.

The Spirited Woman Circle is conducting a series of interviews with women that have brought the best, and worst, of their experiences to bear in creating their lives.  Along with Marcia, over a series of weeks, Rochelle Krich, Fannie Flagg, and The Saucy Sisters will be interviewed through a telephone interview that you can listen in on. 

Rochelle Krich is the author of 14 novels, including Where’s Mommy Now? which was adapted to a television movie, Perfect Alibi.  Fanny Flagg is an actress, author, broadway star… and generally famous redhead.  I especially love her creation, Fried Green Tomatoes - if you haven’t read it, do.  You will love it.  And get the movie too because it is marvelous.  The Saucy Sisters are known for their lectures and books on wine - including, and maybe especially, their newest idea, the wine diet. 

Each of these teleseminars are $15.00 each but if you buy all four, you pay only $55.00.  You can pay with a major credit card or through PayPal so it is accessible to all.  It is a great investment for the woman looking for motivation and hearing about success “against all odds.”  We can succeed if we have the motivation, proper tools, and role models to get us there.  The Spirited Woman has gone out of their way to bring us seminars that will bring much of that valuable information to you.

Spirited Woman Circle Teleseminars

The Spirited Woman

One technique that has become popular in journaling circles is rewriting past life experiences. I have heard that psychologists use this technique as well. The theory is that by rewriting the past, at least the parts we are not happy with, we can heal. I don’t think this is such a great idea. Perhaps like Captain Kirk said in one of the Star Trek movies, “I need my pain.” If we take away our pain, are we taking away part of what makes us who we are?

I understand the principle behind this practice. In the instances of abuse, physical violence, or a traumatic event, recreating the past and having it end better could have its therapeutic uses. I can see how it would be very helpful for people with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) deal with the unwanted and untimely recollection of events that were devastating.

But aren’t we a sum of all of our experiences? I have had some traumatic experiences - some I dearly wish could have ended differently. I think about what I might have given to have had those circumstances changed, and I shudder inside. The price may have been high but at the time, I would have paid it.

And as I look back, I see that those experiences have made me who I am today. Yes perhaps I have memories that are so painful I can’t look them full in the face yet. And yes, I am sure that there are things that had they not happened I would be happier, healthier, and more secure. But those things were part of the weavings of my life and to say they should not have happened, or should have ended differently, is a little bit like playing God. A little bit more than I am comfortable with, at any rate.

I believe that writing down our experiences and changing the outcome is only putting a facade on our lives. I think that doing so, changes us even more and it is not a positive change because it isn’t reality. Learning to cope and understand, as much as we are able to understand, what these sad or painful experiences have to teach is what being human is all about.

I think it took me reaching fifty to understand that. And it took a lot of painful, some exquistely so, experiences to teach me that although I cannot change the events around me, I can change my reaction to them. And isn’t that what maturity and growth are all about? Isn’t that life is all about?

I got an email today from John, our intrepid owner, about the blistering heat and thunderstorms in the U.K. recently. So I wandered on over to Weather.com and checked out the weather in London. It’s in the 70s. Blistering? John, you are a true lightweight where this whole weather thing is concerned.

I live on the edge of Tornado Alley. It’s hot. Really hot. I can say blistering and mean it.  It was over 100 degrees today!  And thunderstorms?  Now if they are having thunderstorms when it is 70 degrees out, they must be little teeny tiny thunderstorms.  We have real, honest-to-goodness thunderstorms! The kind that crack so loud above your head, the house bounces.

And that of course, reminds me of a story, which I will tell at the expense of my poor dear mother.  My mother is terrified of thunder and lightning. Genuinely scared to death of the stuff.  She hears one clap of thunder and she freaks out.  (Sorry Mom, but you do - you started to freak out over the one you heard on the phone when you were talking to me that time.)  She lives in Seattle, so she too is a lightweight about this weather thing, just like John.  At least they are in good company.

My mother has had two major run ins with thunder and lightning.  Probably more, but only two that I have been privy to.  The first one was when I was a kid, maybe about 13 or so?  She had a friend who was a very Charismatic Christian - he believed you could handle anything through prayer.  I believe that too, but I think he approached it differently than I do.  But that isn’t the point.  He suggested, while watching my mother panic over the thought of a forecasted storm, that she take the bull by the horns, and attack the fear where it lived.  In other words, in his eyes, the Devil was the problem, so therefore she didn’t need to deal with the weather, she needed to deal with the Devil.  The advice was noted and thought about for some time.  Eventually it was acted on.

A thunderstorm rolled on in and it really was quite a noisy one for the Seattle area.  She screwed up her courage and did as she had been advised by an old trusted friend.  (This is the part where I crawled under the bed and pretended to not know the woman.  “Nope, never met her,” while waiting for the third crowing of the rooster but it seemed a wise option under my adolescent circumstances.)

She went out on the front porch and defied the elements.  The wind was whipping through her hair, the rain pelting her face, and the blue bolts crashed about her.  (The story has grown somewhat significantly through the years, but hey, it was traumatic so cut her some slack.)  She then raised a fist to the sky, and shouted at the top of her little petite lungs, “Satan, I rebuke thee.”

Silence.  Not from the sky, but certainly from me and her while we waited to see what happened.  Actually, all things considered, it is amazing she lived through the experience.  My father was a bit crazy about my mother; okay, he was madly in love, and she had lots of jewelry.  Real jewelry.  Do you realize what a great conductor 14K gold is?  She was a human lightning rod! 

But it worked.  For awhile anyway.  She wasn’t afraid for probably ten years.

Then we moved to Michigan.  She was involved in helping with this move.  That probably was a really bad idea in the spring.  We were in the Upper Pennisula near the Mackinaw Bridge and there was a tornado watch.  Forget the watch though.  There was the most amazing lightning storm I have ever seen in my life.  It totally lit up the entire sky like it were noon.  The bolts were huge and they were impressive.

We got to the motel about 2am, deciding to not cross that horrible bridge in the middle of the night during that vicious of a storm.  The last I saw of her for a couple of hours was her back scrambling into the motel room in tears, with a bottle of scotch firmly grasped in her hand.

Two hours later I went over to see how she was doing.  She was fine.  Quite fine actually.  The bottle wasn’t full any more - actually it wasn’t even close to full.  She wasn’t drunk - not by a long shot - which shows what adrenaline can do when mixed with scotch, but she didn’t care about the storm anymore. 

I have asked her over the years if she had considered rebuking Satan again.  She always manages to change the subject.  She still is terrified of storms but doesn’t have to face them too often.  But I don’t know if I can ever hear a clap of thunder, see a bolt of lightning, or see a bottle of scotch without thinking of the woman on the front porch, wired as a lightning rod with thousands of dollars of jewelry, rebuking Satan.

Lightning at Night
Rife, Joseph B.
24 in. x 18 in.
Buy this Photographic Print at AllPosters.com

Adelle Tilton

I used to think that the words to “Precious and Few” (are the moments we two can share), a very popular song in the ’60’s had to do with birds.  Precious and few are the moments we toucans share.  Wrong on that one.  But that’s okay because my oldest once old me that for forever she thought Elton John was singing, “I guess that’s why they call that stuff glue.”  Probably an ad for a new super glue, huh?

I also used to believe that I could get the best of my dad when I was a teenager.  He started in with a lecture - it was a standard one - he had done it many a time.  (You’ll understand the significance of that in a minute.)  Anyway, he started.  “All your life you are going to have rules.  Some of them you aren’t going to like.  But you will always have to follow them…”  You get the idea.

I was about 14.  I thought I was immortal.  Nothing could touch me.  I would live forever and I KNEW in my heart of hearts, that I was far more clever than my father.

“Here it comes,” I said.  “Lecture Number 63.”

Pause.

I don’t remember much after that.  I would love to tell you what happened (well, maybe not) but I just flat out don’t remember. 

That goes in with the belief that I used to have that my father could always take me out, no matter how smart I was or how old I was, or how old he became.  I was right.  I never did get as smart as him.  Funny how those things work.

Anyway, I have digressed into a thoughtful bit that would be more interesting closer to Father’s Day.  But I am thinking it now and so I am sharing it now.  And I am also telling you about a funny site that I know you will enjoy and perhaps see yourself reflected in.  Take a look.  It brings back memories!

I Used To Believe - The Childhood Belief Site

Adelle Tilton