My Brother, his Novel, the Hidden Chair and the Security Unnecessary Guilt and False Accusations

My Brother, his Novel, the Hidden Chair and the Security

Unnecessary Guilt and False Accusations

My brother Robert lends me a book about a 14-year old girl that he thinks I would be interested in.  It is a novel interspersed with pictures, poems, and scrapbook items.  It has a cheap red cover and has fallen into two pieces, which are in danger of splitting further.  The threads of the binding are hanging out.  I am sitting at the dining-room table in someone else’s house reading and enjoying the book.  There are maybe eight other people in the house, and they are expecting their grandmother and when she arrives, they all parade into the dining room.  I consider moving, but do not.  Someone complains that there aren’t enough chairs.  Because there seems to be one chair too few, about half the contingent returns to the living room.  I stand up and point out another chair that was half-hidden behind mine.  But no one returns to the dining room.  I feel guilty, even though I don’t think it is my fault, and I leave the house with my brother. 

My brother has never been here, to this location before.  I tell him about the ancient graveyard behind the house and we walk up the stone walkway up the hill to the graveyard.   It is not like old American graveyards, but like old European graveyards.  I am excited about this and telling him about the ones we saw in Slovenia, Italy and Australia. 

At the back of the graveyard is an old low stone building, and we go inside.  We are immediately drawn to a large glassed-in cage full of hermit crabs.  There are robot arms with gripper jaws that can be used to pick up the food for the crabs and deliver it from the plastic bins, which can be filled from the cage, to the crabs.  We each have a turn doing this.  I get an old rotted-looking brown onion and try to deliver it to a certain crab, but it rolls away down the rocks and half in ad half out of the water.  I hope the crab will get it.

We leave the building and Rob is going off somewhere.  I tell him there are snow-clad mountains just beyond here, but he says I can show him later; he has to do something.  Because I’ve only been here maybe once before, and I am not sure I am remembering correctly. I decide to check to be sure I’m right about the mountains.  Also, I remember, there are other interesting ruins.  I walk past some appealing ruins and come around a bend in the trail and can see the mountains in the distance—they are tall, thin, and rocky with bulgy rocks rather than rock faces—very strange formations, with patches of snow like alpine glaciers near the top.

I want to walk closer, but there is a large school bus blocking the way.  I consider crawling under it to continue my walk on the other side and bend and look under the bus, but it is covered, under there, with thick black grease.

A security guard comes and is upset, thinking I want to vandalize the bus.  I explain that I am just trying to follow the trail to the mountains and the bus is blocking the trail.  I go around the bus, but the security guard follows me.  She is haranguing me.  I stop to defend myself from her accusations and a line of people walking toward the mountains comes by the narrow space behind the bus where we are standing.  Among them are Bruce and Debby.  They do not appear to see me.

I follow them.  The security guard follows me, making false accusations.  I just keep walking toward the mountains, ignoring her.  Sunday, December 4, 2011

What does this remind you of?

Ø  a way to write a novel

o   (Reminds me of a novel series that was popular maybe ten years ago)

o   (Might be a fun way to write a novel)

Ø  unnecessary guilt

o   that I was taking up a chair needed by someone else (someone who was welcomed and wanted whereas I was not welcomed.) but there was, in fact enough chairs.

Ø  false accusations

o   the missing chair: I was accused of making it so there were not enough chairs, when in fact there was

o   the security guard: I was accused of wanting to vandalize the bus when it had never even occurred to me.

o   I REALLY HATE being falsely accused.

Ø  various failures

o   The hidden chair

o   Feeding the crab

o   I am sad and upset when I feel that I have failed

Ø  successes:

o   Remembering the cemetery

o   Remembering the mountains

o   I am pleased to have remembered correctly

Ø  things that engage and interest me

o   the novel

o   the old cemetery

o   the robot arms and the crabs

o   the ruins

o   the mountains

Ø  ignoring the security guard

o   Ignoring my false inner voices

o   The security guard is like my inner voice that tells me I am “bad” when I am not. 

o   In one case, I gave into it (the inner blaming voice of guilt) and left the house where there were sufficient chairs because I felt bad

o   In the other case, I totally ignored the persistent accusations, knowing in my heart I was not guilty.  The haranguing of the guard was like a mosquito buzzing around my ear, an annoyance but not heartfelt.

o   The difference is, I think, that I was partly blocking the view of the last chair and therefore felt that I actually was PARTLY to blame for the anger of the woman who chastised me.  In the one case, I knew for sure I wasn’t at fault, and in the other case, I felt somewhat responsible and also unwanted and unloved.  But even in that case, I wasn’t really to blame.

o   I feel as if I am often falsely accused or blamed for things.

o   On the other hand, I do actually make mistakes and do things wrong sometimes.  L  I really HATE being wrong and/or stupid.  (I want to be perfect, but I am NOT!  Darn!)