Author Archives: Murphy

Let’s Have the Good Guy Win

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Long ago, when I was making friends with a fabulous intelligent interesting woman—a bit older than me—I was disappointed to learn that she preferred to read mystery books.  At that time, I felt that mystery books were inferior genre fiction. A reader knew exactly what to expect from a book like that. Where was the challenge and pleasure in it?

She must have seen my disappointment, because she quickly explained “I like to see the bad guys get caught and good triumph in the end.”

I didn’t understand it then, but I think I get it now.

Last year, I had a bad run of my usual literary fiction choices. Wonderful book, wonderful writing, but three in a row dealt with suicide. After the second book, I was asking myself and the universe, “Really?! Must writers be so dark? There is nothing wrong with happy and victorious, is there?”

Then the third book with a suicide attempt happened. At this point, it was fool me THREE times shame on me. I was not going to read another book without a guarantee that no one was going to kill themselves. Enough was enough, already! But what sort of book was for sure not going to be suicide free?

Romance novel? One couldn’t be sure.
Mystery? Definitely not.
Science Fiction? Please. The dystopia of sci-fi might not only have people killing themselves, I might want to kill myself at the end of their bleakness.

Then I knew:
FANTASY
I could be very sure that if anyone offed themselves in a fantasy story, that person would deserve it. Fantasy is all about adventurous brave heroes. Struggle? Danger? Heroes and evil villains? Check and CHECK.

The brave would prevail! The bad guy would be at the very least badly thwarted, if not outright overthrown.
Yes, that would do.

The internet and friends gave me some very good recommendations, and I dove head first into the life-affirming world of fantasy genre fiction.

I finally got what my friend meant. Sometimes, you just need that one thing from a story. That thing that tells you it’s going to be okay and the world is alright on the whole, even when your world is off-kilter.

My proffessors’ Guilt List will be there. When I’m ready to go back to the ‘good’ books, I can find them. But right now, when things just seem more and more depressing in the world, I’ll follow the hero and believe in whatever magic they are using up until the bedside lamp turns out. Sweet dreams for me.

weekly wonder Sep 06, 2010 07:59 pm

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September 6, 2010

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Hopping on Pop

We lost Veronica's trust this weekend. She had chewed a hole in her pacifier–we call it a sucker–and we had to replace it. But I was not an attentive mother, and I bought the wrong brand.

They are not interchangeable, and by the next day when I had presented her with an exact replica she batted it away and threw it across the room. Her message was clear: I AM NOT GOING TO BE SUCKERED AGAIN! I think we may have accidentally forced her to give up her sucker before she was ready.

This would have been humorous if we had not already suffered worry and sleeplessness and parental bickering all through the night before.
"I tried that already!"
"Give her to me."
"She will have to cry it out."
"It shouldn't matter to you, you're the one in bed sleeping."
"WOULD THAT WERE TRUE! I am in bed, but sleep and crying it out and not compatible."

It sent us back to the hell of the newborn days.

But, the fact is, despite the 1 AM bickering, Veronica has a very fine Daddy. She loves him tremendously, and I am very glad of it.

daddy's getting the eye

Now for the Hopping!
hop on pop!

She and Daddy get along great. And that makes me happy!
Innocent!

Fact is,  it's best to remember the happy times and let the rough patches slide away.

 
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weekly wonder Aug 23, 2010 04:29 pm

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August 23, 2010

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How Many Cigars Does It Take to Make a Forest?

The problem with our liberal friends is not that they are ignorant. It's that they know so much that isn't so
   -Ronald Reagan

 
Right here, right now, what is going on?  What do you hear? What do you see? Stop. Feel your bones and smell the air around you. I know you are reading words, probably at your computer or maybe on a handheld device.
 
Stop. I mean it. Peel your eyes away from the display and look at what else is going on. Notice the colors and the weather. Don’t read another word until you really know what your shoes look like. Okay. You have taken a moment to be in the present. That is a rare and rarer thing in this busy age of multi-tasking and interpretation.
 
Reagan up there accused the liberals of knowing things that are not so. Perhaps by leading with a quote from that republican president, you feel you already know what I am going to say. You may be ready to agree with me, or prepared to rebut me to the ground.
 
I don’t think his statement applies exclusively to liberals. It’s a problem of missing the trees for the forest. So many times people are ready to assume a whole trail of meaning by a small signifier.  One color, one preference can be a flag in the ground.
 
Red. Blue. Green. Rainbow. We all know what that means.
 
Choice of automobile, choice of shoes, sports team—these mean you are a certain type of person. So wise are the rest of us, so clever that we can interpret these obvious signs of each other’s character. All our many ‘isms’ have given us the decoder ring to the human race.
 
We are too clever for ourselves by half. Maybe a cigar is just a cigar.
 
So, Ronnie, I want to stop and listen to my fellow humans—even if they are liberals—and see what they know. We’ve already used up what we know. It is time for some new ideas, and stopping to listen to each other is the only way to get at them.

 
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weekly wonder Aug 12, 2010 11:59 am

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August 12, 2010

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Undying Ambition

Desire burns in me to do something. I cherish a burning ambition to stretch my abilities and talents. I yearn to make a mark on the world. What will suit to fulfill this dream?

…If I had the gift of being able to speak…

Perhaps I could stand before the multitudes, to inspire and motivate them. Crowds would be transformed by my words. What great things would come from this!

…If I understood all mysteries—knew everything about everything…

Maybe I could be a genius and make discoveries. I would connect separate information and ideas previously misunderstood. I could find the golden chain that connects and illuminates. I would discover something to change the world. That would be a worthy use for my talent. That would be proper fuel for my ambition.

..If …I could speak to a mountain and make it move…

So much needs to be accomplished! What if I could be the type of person to execute great deeds? Everywhere I turn some cause or problem is begging to be solved. “Poverty” “Hunger!” “Injustice!” What if I could throw all my strength into tackling and finally solving these horrible blights on humanity? Someone needs to. I could assure my legacy, my place in history, by accomplishing some great deed.

…If I gave everything I have to poor people…

Then again, there may be no way to get the cooperation it would take. Possibly I should exercise solo greatness. I could perform a grand gesture—be the example for all others to point to. Personal sacrifice!

…if I were burned alive…

Martyrdom is the ultimate sacrifice. The burning ambition in my breast flares up then quails in response to the thought. It is a final choice. There could be no taking it back. But there would also be no doubt. If I chose to be a martyr I would assure the story told about me. No one could deny the my unimpeachable greatness.

…I would still be worth nothing at all without love…

WHAT!? Inconceivable! Love? Love is nothing! Love is too easy. Children that can’t speak can give love. Puppies and kittens can give love. I am special. I am capable. I am full of talent and intelligence. I am better than love.

…only making a lot of noise…

But my special gifts deserve accolades and recognition! I will stand above the crowd. I want people to know me. I want to be appreciated for who I am and understood for my finest qualities. I want to achieve and be recognized. I want to attain immortality through the efforts only I can enact. The world should never forget me.

Love goes on forever…
 

(all italics come from I Corinthians 13, The Living Bible 1971 version)

 
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weekly wonder Aug 05, 2010 07:59 pm

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August 5, 2010

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Daley Bulletin 

 “I don’t think Bert gets enough credit. I mean, Ernie is always smiling and he seems like a fun guy, but Bert is actually kind of a nerd. He likes what he likes and he tolerates Ernie way better than I could. I would much rather take a road trip with Bert than Ernie.”
 
“A lot of the monsters are annoying,” my husband replied.
 
“Zoe! Oh my god, she’s annoying. She never wants to try anything new—she has no appealing characteristics. Even her laugh bugs me. She’s supposed to be a dancer, but she doesn’t even do that very well.”
 
“They guy I feel sorry for is the Blue Guy that Grover is always torturing. I think his name should be ‘Frank Futility’. He can never get what he wants out of Grover.”
 
“I think that’s his own fault. You’d think, as often as he encounters Grover, he’d know better and just leave when he runs into him.”
 
We frequently discuss the Sesame Street characters. That’s the only show both of us watch with frequency, and we are seeing far more nuance than we did when we were in our single digits.
 
“Veronica is getting more interested in the Wiggles,” Chris informed me. “I’ll have to Tivo it for you. You have to check out Captain Feathersword.”

 
 
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Perhaps I should introduce myself

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I should begin by introducing myself: You can call me Murphy Daley.

But that is not my name.

When I was born—my mother’s fourth child—she named me Elizabeth. As she later told me, she chose that name because then I could be called any number of nicknames. Wikipedia lists almost a hundred names that can be derived from Elizabeth; Beth, Liz, Elly just to name a few.

MY family called me Lisa.

So where did I get Murphy?

Names are special things. You have probably heard that Native Americans will go on a retreat to find a name. They look for a vision or a sign to indicate a name with special meaning, one that will guide a person’s destiny. They often use the name of an animal or some other part of nature that will impart its qualities to the name-bearer.

Little Lisa—me—grew up and didn’t like the child-person she was to her family. I didn’t want to be called Lisa. I didn’t want to be little sister and over-protected daughter. I wanted to be someone more powerful and significant.

I wanted a new name.

Names—proper names—are very difficult to remember. I know when I go to an event where I meet tons of new people, I am at sea.

This is Bill…Meet Jane…and Dave, and Jim and Dave again…and Sue…

I remember none of their names.

My linguistics professor explained why. Proper names are without context. They exist as empty boxes, filled with your impressions of that person. For some, it is the face. I never remember faces. It is stories about the person or a vibe I get that helps me place a new person. The name almost never sticks with me.

A name is an empty container of a word, filled only with the opinions and expectations of others.

On the other hand, the container itself holds a little meaning. When I chose my baby’s name, I had to think of who held the name before she did and what mark had been left on it.

For example, after World War 2, very few children were named Adolf. It used to be a common name.

My daughter Veronica will remind people of the beautiful actress Veronica Lake and the rich selfish teenager of Archie comics. I’m okay with that, because she will soon remind people of her own magnificent self.

My name Murphy was a silly nickname that a college boyfriend gave me. No one else called me that for several years after.

But then I moved. I came to California and got a job that required a name tag. They were ready to print “Elizabeth,” my legal name, on the tag. I stopped them, ready to tell them to call me Lisa as my family did.

Then I felt a surge of power. No one in that building knew me. I could tell them to call me anything. I was at the helm of my own ship.

“Put Murphy on the name tag,” I instructed the shift manager. She accepted this with no comment.

I was Murphy.

Walk tall. Act like it’s always been this way.

People really liked the name. No one forgot it. They played with it, calling me Murph and Murphster.  Maybe they even liked me!

This story I am sharing is meant for the purpose of letting you get to know me. However, time is too short for that purpose. I have cracked the door on the story of my name because I want you all to know yourselves.

I am not the person I was asked to be. I am myself, and I chose who that person would be. You all have to same power of self-determination. Grasp the wheel of your destiny and make your stand. Something as small and significant as one word can be a start.

[this was my icebreaker toastmaster’s speech]

I did notice even if I didn’t post

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This monday was the Summer solstice–an auspicious day for beginning and or endings.

What would you like to call an end to? What would you like to start?

Remember, the summer hasn’t really begun to sum yet. The 21st of June just means that it will start to ever-so-slightly get darker. Just a few little moments less day light every day until it is dark cold winter.

SO much change from just ever so slight changes. It’s inspiring.

Special

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I’ve been learning from my daughter not to be so shallow.

For years–my whole life?–I’ve been consumed with the desire to be special. I was fairly convinced that I was not special, and really wanted to be so. I could ask myself “Why should you think YOU are special?” and any answer could be easily rebutted and discarded.

i had to have a REASON. I had to KNOW.

Veronica will be 16 months old this weekend. SHe’s been in my life for a long time. I love her, and I think she’s special. But the question remained “what makes HER so special?” She is a beautiful amazing child.

But every mother thinks this of her baby. She’s no different.

And the pain I went through–that I still go through–brining her into this world and up through life was monumental, life-changing and DIFFICULT. Just like all the other mothers and their babies. No different.

So I was being pulled, trying to find a path to special in this land of ‘no different’ that I walked through.

I don’t know how, but watching Veronica as she got ready for bed the other day…I saw the special. She is special. She plays with her toes just like every baby, but she DOES do it different. She is wonderful, beautiful and amazing just like every other baby, but she does it HER way.

I finally got it. That special means unique. It means snowflake. Nobody else like you.

Nobody else in the history of the world ate Cheerios just exactly the way Veronica does. Millions of babies have eaten Cheerios–the category is no different. But no one does it exactly the way she does.

And I appreciate that. Appreciation should be the outcome of special. EVERYONE is special. But not every person will be appreciated for their special unique qualities by every single other person.

It’s the appreciation that allows special to be so special.

So, instead of feeling that I shouldn’t be silly in talking of all the small things about my daughter, I am now free to notice and appreciate every single little thing. How she breathes–she has these adorable little sighs of satisfaction or thoughtfulness–and how she loves the dog and the cat and every little thing.

I’m wondering if I can do that for myself, too.

MORE

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Sitting at home after a very exhausting day at work, and then an exhausting day at home while the husband recovers from sick.

I want to be doing something productive. But I’m too tired to move.

Can sleep be productive? Maybe…