The thing about prayer.

Awhile ago, a friend introduced me to the Litany of Humility:

O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, Hear me.
From the desire of being esteemed,
Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being loved…
From the desire of being extolled …
From the desire of being honored …
From the desire of being praised …
From the desire of being preferred to others…
From the desire of being consulted …
From the desire of being approved …
From the fear of being humiliated …
From the fear of being despised…
From the fear of suffering rebukes …
From the fear of being calumniated …
From the fear of being forgotten …
From the fear of being ridiculed …
From the fear of being wronged …
From the fear of being suspected … 

That others may be loved more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be esteemed more than I …
That, in the opinion of the world,
others may increase and I may decrease …
That others may be chosen and I set aside …
That others may be praised and I unnoticed …
That others may be preferred to me in everything…
That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should…

I knew about this prayer for years before I ever prayed it. I was a little bit afraid to pray it, frankly.

Because the thing about prayer is you might get what you ask for.

And if your prayer is the litany of humility, and you get what you ask for, it is scary (especially if you’re an American). Because “deliver me from the desire of being loved” implies, for example, that someone won’t love you, and God’ll let it be, so you can learn to be ok with that. You’ll have the opportunity not to be approved, so you can learn to be ok with that, too. It implies, for another example, that you’ll be calumniated (people will lie about you, in other words), so you can learn not to be afraid of being calumniated. It implies you’ll be forgotten, ridiculed and wronged, so you can learn not to be afraid of those things, either.

And we already know that we know that we know that we don’t need to desire or fear those things in the ways the world says we do. We already know where to go to get all we need.

Photo of the day.

Today, my brother and I had lunch with my grandparents (all four of them). Afterward, my paternal grandpa, a retired chiropractor, showed me the following:

Yes, that is me. And no, I was not wearing a wig.

My first adjustment, courtesy of my grandpa. Precious. I cherish this picture.

Books in 2012: Bossypants

Dear Tina Fey,


Can we be friends? Check one:


_____ Yes.


_____ Probably not (but maybe).


_____ We already are.


Sincerely, 


Arleen Spenceley

is what Tina Fey would read if I were to send her a note in response to Bossypants, her bestselling book (which is the seventh book I’ve read in full in 2012). As a fan of the show 30 Rock, of the movie Baby Mama and of Fey’s ridiculous (in a good way) portrayal of Sarah Palin on Saturday Night Live in election season 2008, I dove into the book expecting to love it. Which I did. But if you are not already a fan of Fey’s work, fear not: When you read Bossypants, you will love it, too, assuming you a) can handle the occasional f-bomb and b) are a person who appreciates funny things.

It is because of Bossypants that I laughed with reckless abandon and possibly choked on a pretzel stick, both in public places. So, if you are eating pretzel sticks, I suggest you finish them now before scrolling down, where you’ll find five of my favorite excerpts:

I totally agree with this:

“When I was a kid, there was a TV interstitial during Saturday morning cartoons with a song that went like this: ‘The most important person in the whole wide world is you, and you hardly even know you. / You’re the most important person!’ Is this not the absolute worst thing you could instill in a child? They’re the most important person? In the world? That’s what they already think. You need to teach them the opposite. They need to be a little afraid of what will happen if they lose the top of their Grizzly Adams thermos.” -page 54

On sexism at the improv theater where Fey worked in Chicago:

“In 1995, each cast at the Second City was made up of four men and two women. When it was suggested that they switch one of the companies to three men and three women, the producers and directors had the same panicked reaction. ‘You can’t do that. There won’t be enough parts to go around. There won’t be enough for the girls.’ This made no sense to me, probably because I speak English and have never had a head injury. We weren’t doing Death of a Salesman. We were making up the show ourselves. How could there not be enough parts? Where was the ‘Yes, and’? If everyone had something to contribute, there would be enough. The insulting implication, of course, was that the women wouldn’t have any ideas.” -page 87

It surprises me that the following came from something that is not one of my textbooks. In any situation in any relationship, be it actor/director, husband/wife, parent/child, stranger/stranger, there is always a “core reason,” as Fey calls it, that somebody says or does something. I’ll add that a person’s “core reason” is sometimes not within his or her own awareness, and usually not within the awareness of the other person affected by it. Make it a goal to find your core reasons and express them. It reduces stress by at least appx. 43% for everyone.:

“And then sometimes Actors have what they call ‘ideas’. Usually it involves them talking more, or, in the case of more experienced actors, sitting more. When Actors have ideas, it’s very important to get to the core reason behind their idea. Is there something you’re asking them to do that’s making them uncomfortable? Are they being asked to bare their midriff or make out with a Dick Cheney look-alike? (For the record, I have asked actors to do both, and they were completely game.) Rather than say, ‘I’m uncomfortable breast-feeding a grown man who I just met today,’ the actor may speak in code and say something like ‘I don’t think my character would do something like that.’ OR ‘I’ve hurt my back and I’m not coming out of my dressing room.’ You have to remember that actors are human beings. Which is hard sometimes, because they look so much better than human beings. Is there someone in the room the actor is trying to impress? This is a big one, and should not be overlooked. If a male actor is giving you a hard time about something, you must immediately scan the area for pretty interns.” -page 122

On men who say women aren’t funny:

“Unless one of these men is my boss, which none of them is, it’s irrelevant. My hat goes off to them. It is an impressively arrogant move to conclude that just because you don’t like something, it is empirically not good. I don’t like Chinese food, but I don’t write articles trying to prove it doesn’t exist. So my unsolicited advice to women in the workplace is this. When faced with sexism or ageism or lookism or even really aggressive Buddhism, ask yourself the following question: ‘Is this person in between me and what I want to do?’ If the answer is no, ignore it and move on.” -page 144

Both Fey and her husband remind me of me:

“I turned to domestic violence only once. We were going to bed a 3 a.m., knowing we’d have to get back up at 5:30 a.m., and my husband kept talking and talking as a joke when I was trying to fall asleep. His exhaustion had given him the giggles, and he kept poking me and waking me up saying things like ‘Hey, I gotta ask you one more thing. Do you like pretzels?’ I flew off my pillow and shoved him so hard across the bed that I saw genuine fear flash across his face. It was one of the very few ‘deleted scenes from Star 80‘ in my life.” -page 189

– – – – –

Click here for more about Bossypants.

Click here to read about all the books I read in 2012.

How the world became a better place on US Highway 19.

Not 30 minutes after I wrote my last post, I sat in my car in the far-right turn lane of a set of three turn lanes, each lined with cars waiting for green arrows so we could make lefts into each of the three southbound lanes of US Highway 19.

Any set of left-turn lanes makes me anxious. This is because in any set of left-turn lanes, there is at least one self absorbed driver who — bereft of awareness of anything that isn’t inside his or her vehicle — does not know his or her turn lane is part of a set. So if this person is, say, a guy in a green Mustang in the middle turn lane of three, he may, for instance, turn from the middle turn lane into the highway’s right lane. If there are no cars in the far-right turn lane of the three, his lack of awareness is both no biggie and reinforced: he’ll have done something he shouldn’t have, and without consequence.

But what happens when he turns into the right lane from a middle turn lane when there are cars in the far-right turn lane whose drivers are turning into that lane, too?

Sometimes, a crash. Other times, like today, the world becomes a better place.

The red arrows turned green and all three lanes turned left. The guy in the green Mustang, bereft of awareness of my car next to his, turned from the middle turn lane into the right southbound lane — my lane. The young woman in his passenger’s seat, whose window was down, saw my car. While he ran me off the road, she screamed. He swerved back into the middle, quickly enough that I could merge back into traffic.

And as I did, the young woman and I made eye contact.

Which is when, with such clear compassion, she apologized.

Twice now in two days, I’ve encountered people who’ve behaved in ways that so exceed my generally extremely low expectations of the general public. My blood pressure and I have needed this.

How the world became a better place in the frozen foods section.

Pushing a cart and dodging other shoppers, I swiveled into the turn onto the ice cream aisle.

“Popsicles,” I said. “Popsicles, Popsicles, Popsicles.”

Found them. And simultaneously as I found them, so did a girl who I’d guess is 18 years my junior. This is how the world became a better place in the frozen foods section.

We reached for the freezer door together, and she held it open while I grabbed a box of Popsicles. She reached in and grabbed her own after that. I tossed my box into my cart, which is when I realized.

“Sugar free?” I said. “I don’t want sugar free.”

So — while the girl continued to hold the door open for me — I put that box back and reached for another.

“Also sugar free! Are they all sugar free?”

“Nope!” the girl said, which is when she all but climbed into the freezer to retrieve an out of sight box of Popsicles sweetened with real sugar. She handed it to me.

“Thank you so much!” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

She smiled.

Who knew shopping for a box of Popsicles would result in the restoration of some of my hope for and/or faith in humanity?