More on Control (Jewish) and Giving it Over

So LAST night I got to do one of TherapyDoc's all-time favorite Saturday night things to do. I know, you can't wait, chill out, here comes the story.

Relatives had come in from out of town, stayed over, and you know, you just have to entertain. Ordinarily F.D. and I stay home and do dishes. You knew that. We're not real exciting people.

We went to BORDERS, browsed through books and had a cup of coffee.

They have DVD's there, you know, and there was a section with old Marilyn Monroe movies, and we reminisced about the old terribly sexist stuff we used to love, and the trite plots we used to love, and mainly the music we used to love.

We were drinking coffee and singing a song that I'm pretty sure came from Carousal, but it might have been Carnival. Apparently both musicals had the same plot. Errant young man falls in love with proper young woman, goes after her. My kind of stuff.

Somehow Michael, my brother-in-law starts to sing,

When you walk, through a storm, hold your head, up high, and don't be afraid of the . . .

Dark? Storm?

At the end of the . . .dark? storm? there's a golden . . .

Sky? Bird?

And the sweet silver song of a lark. Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, though your dreams be . . .Walk on, Walk on, with hope in your heart. . . Cause you'll NEVER WALK ALONE. . .You'll NEVER walk alone.

Well, I break up over stuff like this, okay? First of all, the music is incredible. Secondly, the lyrics inspire strength, hope, and make the most hopeless unromantics (unromantics?) get all warm and fuzzy and romantic.

The kids these days don't know these songs. But wow, you should.

So that's not the point of this post, but I had to throw it out there and it seemed as good a place as any.

Fact is, I browsed the psychology department and gave up, seriously. There's just about EVERYTHING and ANYTHING you could ever want to know in that section with very cool titles. Not all terribly well-written or intelligible, but in print. It was truly dizzying. Don't let me go there again.

Thank G-d I'm a blogger and can read what I want on the Internet.

Which brings us to CONTROL and a Jewish story.

Remember I wrote about the Alcoholics Anonymous intervention, Let Go, Let G-d? This is one way any good addict in recovery handles a problem (or anyone who isn't an addict, for that matter, but has a spiritual program playing in their brain). It's not the only one way, but it's a good way.

The idea is that you turn a problem over to a Higher Power. So if I had an enormous property tax bill and had no idea how I was going to pay for it, I'd tell my higher power,

"Uh, Higher Power, do me a favor here. Take this one off my shoulders, help me find some way to do this so I don't go crazy worrying about it. Okay?"

Then miraculously, I'd feel better. Problem may or may not be solved, but the worry piece would disappear and theoretically, I'd not need a drink.

You may laugh, think it's dumb, etc., but it IS sublime and it does work on several levels. It is one of the better A.A. coping strategies.

So.

My mother-in-law lost her keys. I told her to search her brain. You should always search your brain. Lost things are tucked away in your hippocampus and a few other places with big names. I'm not saying things are easy to find in there, in your hippocampus, but they're there, probably covered up with a newspaper.

My m-i-l said she searched her brain but that there were too many newspapers and she had run out of time and patience and could someone just help her find her d. . . keys. I don't think she said the d… word, actually, but maybe yes.

I said, "Isn't there some Jewish formula you're supposed to say?"

Of course, J. said. "Simcha al HaNais." Translated that means, Happy about Miracles. What else could it mean?

You say Simcha al HaNais three times and get looking.

So Michael went with her to her apartment and they said Simcha al HaNais, Simcha al HaNais, Simcha al HaNais and lo and behold, they found the keys, hidden under. . .a. . . piece of paper. In plain view if you're Superman, I guess.

Now the lesson of the story is either: 1) lost items are generally found under papers, 2) Michael is really good luck and we should keep him around, 3) it helps to know Hebrew, or 4) saying over a mantra, no matter in what language, somehow helps relax the brain, lowers anxiety, and makes looking for stuff less of a hopeless, painful endeavor.

Once we relax, everything's easier.

Have a great week, peops.

Oh. P.S. I found a book on vampires that tells me that another word for vampires is Peeps. Predator something. So let's spell it Peops, Chammie. I'm not into predators.

Some of the best books are still in the Children's Section, btw.

Copyright 2006, TherapyDoc