Pollyanna

 There are few movies in my life that have made more of an impact on me than Disney's 'Pollyanna.'  And if you know me at all, you know that's quite a statement.  But, the over-arching theme of that film is the very essence of this blog title, as I sit and think about it.  I'm the first to admit that, as grumpy as I can get at times, my nature is one of - what I used to think of as naive, but what I guess others see as - an optimist.  One who, rather than being unaware of what is negative around them, chooses to pluck what is positive about what they see, and just go with that.  Maybe it's a self-preservation mechanism, I don't know.  But, looking at the "downers" one is surrounded by (and, believe me, I can do that to a fault) is a very tiring and agitating pursuit that only makes the observer unhappy and, consequently, those around them. It doesn't really change anything for the better. It's that simple.  On the other hand, if I, as the observer of the positive, can keep focused on that, and perhaps, share that attitude with others who are in a similar agitated state, maybe we can both be lifted (or is it merely distracted - who cares?) together.

There are so many scenes in Pollyanna that amuse me and illustrate this exact principle.  Though Pollyanna is the 'new girl in town' and spends the first several days of her life in Harrington Town learning the sad truth that everyone there lives under a raincloud of pessimism, resentment, and the dismal status quo that life will always be oppressed by her Aunt Polly Harrington's wealthy and controlling presence, she quickly shares her view that none of that needs to be so.  Surely her Aunt Polly must be the happiest woman in town (despite what her stern scowl and impatient manner would indicate) because, after all - she's "so very rich!"  Sundays, rather than being dreaded because of the preacher's stomach-turning, fire-and-brimstone sermons each week, could be happily anticipated because "it will be a whole week before it's Sunday again!"  The most classic example of her ultimate positive mental attitude comes when she explains to a very negative hypochondriac who is constantly planning her own funeral, that when she had thought she was getting a doll in the missionary barrels sent to her father (who had been a minister before his death), she ended up with a pair of crutches, but it wasn't all bad - rather than be 'gloomy,' she decided that she could actually find a reason to be glad.  "There's nothing 'glad' about a pair of crutches."  Pollyanna's reply - "we were glad that we didn't have to use them!"  

I admit that each time I watch this movie, I can see the perspective of Pollyanna appearing to be a bit naive or a little 'clueless' - for lack of a better word - but, in the end, it is part of the reason why she can weather certain negativities, and keep pressing forward, and actually enjoy her life in the midst of those who seem as though they can't.  There is no burden on her to constantly be nurturing the negative because she doesn't really see the point and, as the preacher in the story - at the end of the tale - points out with passion to Pollyanna's aunt, her joy in living, her uplifting nature, her positive outlook is "very contagious!"  

That's the JOY of this movie, not just the message.  The infectiousness, that contagion called 'happiness' spreads like wildfire through the fictional town and right out of the screen into every viewer themself.  The smile that starts to spread across MY face gets wider and more permanent as each curmudgeon and pessimist and grump in Harrington Town gradually changes, softens, and starts to move those around them to do the same.  The head maid, the house cook, the sour housekeeper, the gardener, the town council members, the town doctor, everyone gradually becomes infected with (though they fight it at first) Pollyanna's positivity. The wealthy but lonely hermit whom she refuses to be rebuffed by, even through his rantings and threats.  A less secure child would have been frightened away.  But, she blinks her big eyes at him, sees right through him, calls his "bluff"on not wanting friends and visitors, and proceeds to fill his home with "rainbows" that are made from hanging the crystals from his lamps up in the windows and observing the "refracted light" "painting" colors all over his walls.  The hermit becomes the salesman of "rainbow makers" and the adoptive father of Pollyanna's best friend.

Mrs. Snow, the "dying" woman who has regular visits from her mortician to pick out the lining of her coffin and decides she prefers the "brass coffin handles" as opposed to the silver, and tells Pollyanna in her first meeting that she thinks Pollyanna has a "stubby little nose" and she doesn't "like her at all. " That only prompts Pollyanna to avidly agree that her nose was stubby, she wishes she were pretty like Mrs. Snow, and, after hearing her making such a fuss over funeral arrangements, sharply reprimands her attitude by saying that she wasn't going to die, she doesn't want her to die, and teaches her how to play the "Glad Game" (to the moans and protestations of the undertaker). The Glad Game - where, no matter what you are going through in life that brings you down, you can always find something "to be glad about!" She reminds her that she should "forget about dying and be glad [she's] living" and perhaps join a community project to help orphans instead.  That conversation  transforms Mrs. Snow from a self-pitying pessimist who has given up on life, to an advocate for charitable causes, a quilt maker, and a secret helper at a carnival where she makes sure there is a doll at the end of a fishing booth line Pollyanna is holding.  It's Mrs. Snow who eventually tries to help the community play the "Glad Game" at the end of the film when Pollyanna has been injured and everyone is so worried for her.   

Pollyanna's influence on the Christian preacher is perhaps the most pivotal moment in the film.  Her realization that his fiery and stomach-turning "death comes unexpectedly!" sermons are not really coming from the heart or inspiration but from her Aunt Polly's iron-fisted control of the church through monetary contributions prompts her to gently share her deceased father's sermonizing tact with the Reverend Ford.  Her revelation to this minister that her own preacher-father's finding of 100's of "glad" passages in the scriptures could only mean one thing - He must want us to be happy.  And without any other further comment she left him to ponder.  His sermons changed, his heart changed, his congregation changed, his effect on the community changed.  He is the one who saw the town transform and finally pointed out to a very frustrated and negative Aunt Polly who wished Pollyanna "had never come to this town" that in actuality "we should get down on our knees and thank God for sending her to us!"  

There's a need for each of us to find the "Pollyanna" inside ourselves.  Or look to the Pollyannas that are around you if you are not that way yourself, and start finding the good - in others, in life, in any circumstance.  I often think about some of the horrendous trials people have gone through, really since the world began, and wonder how it is that they could go on living after such horrors.  And they must had done it by clinging to what was good.  What was NOT horrendous.  By not bemoaning the unchangeable past but looking to a raw and yet-to-be-determined future and enjoying whatever is positive in the here and now. We can learn so much from Pollyanna.  And be shameless in doing so.  

I gladly sign up to be a citizen of "Glad" Town - the new name given to Harrington in honor of the little girl who made it so.  Cheesy and darling.  And perfect.

HOW IT ALL BEGAN

Years ago,  I was having a conversation with my mother about one of our latest dramas going on in our life.  It was a big one.  It was a hard one.  It had happened before but not quite to this degree.  Never for quite this long.  And, "it" was one of those challenges that affected our entire family, so reassuring children and close friends and trying to minimize the severity of what the visible evidence kept revealing proved difficult. Being the actress that I am, I felt I had most of the world fooled as to my daily strugglings (new word - I use these often...).  Keep things light! Don't alter routines.  Throw in an occasional burst of energy, embarrass yourself for a laugh or two from the kids, and life can seem almost normal, even through the biggest crisis.

But, moms still know.  And, my mom knows me - so, the conversation just had to happen.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I'm good.  Hanging in there."

"Well, I know this is hard."

I was honest with her.  I shared what I could and edited what I felt I should.  It was what it was.  My concerns were more about my kids.  I described their fears.  I told about my average day.  I answered questions about what the future held.  It wasn't exactly a rosy picture.  I was on the verge of getting emotional.

But, as my mouth spoke the rather dismal goings-on of my latest trial, my eyes traveled around the room I was in.  I stood in my kitchen, spacious and modern, with cupboards full of dishes and serving platters and food and Tupperware, the giant refrigerator displaying the latest artistic offerings of my grandchildren, the dishwasher humming, the Kitchenaid mixer waiting to be cleaned from the cookie dough residue it sported every weekend after a Sunday evening with all kinds of friends and family.  I saw the burgeoning mantelpiece in the adjacent family room almost overflowing with an assortment of picture frames housing images of each of our children and their spouses and babies.  Beyond the family room, the trees in the backyard were visible with their fluttering spring green leaves, the play set swings knocking slightly against the playhouse, the gazebo waiting for someone to sit on its benches, the waterfall in the pool providing a birdbath for numerous local sparrows and robins that came every morning to chirp and socialize. I kept scanning and began moving through our home as I chatted, picking up clutter, gathering laundry, straightening pillows and shifting piles of papers in our cozy library from one side of the desk to the other, making sure the bills stayed on top - reminding me that despite the burden they may be to pay, they were further evidence of being blessed with the comforts of life.

There were reminders, of course, of the challenge at hand, but through our abundance of windows at every turn, the sky was still visibly blue, the sun was still shining, my neighbors homes still standing quiet and caring sentinel.  My washing machine still turned on as I filled it with a portion of the never-ending mound of wet pool towels.  Toilets that needed flushing still flushed, lights that needed turning off still burned bright, beds that needed making were still dented from the bodies of people I loved so much who I was still lucky enough to have with me.  The walls everywhere held my favorite art pieces and keepsakes and photos of everything I like best in this world.  A tapestry here, a favorite rug there, a massive treasure from one place here, a tiny little carving from another adventure there, and everywhere - more than a few finger smudges, some large some small - the most precious (though temporary) momentos of all.

And now, back in the kitchen, as the conversation wound down, my eyes fell upon my most cherished earthly possession of all (mind you - I DID say 'earthly').  A plaster relief of the Savior's face, surrounded by an ornate gild frame, has watched over our family activities and calmed the tone of our home for more than 2 decades now.  The likeness is so real that when my youngest daughter first saw it, she cried when she found out it wasn't real.  It is beautiful.  Just as beautiful are the words carved beneath it - a paraphrase of the scripture from Matthew 11:29: "Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart...and ye shall find rest unto your souls."  And I realized that, because of Him, and the way in which He pulls my burden if I DO yoke myself to Him, I had rest, I had peace, I was doing fine, even through this current storm.

"Lisa, I am so sorry for what you have to go through right now.  I don't see how you do it.  Even when I call to cheer you up, you end up making me laugh.  Most people would think their glass is half empty right now, but you always manage to sound like yours is half full."

It was then that it dawned on me.  And I meant every word: "Mom, it is half full. And not only is the glass half full, it's a very pretty glass."

My mother has brought up our conversation many times in the years since then.  I and my family weathered that particular storm as we had those before it, only to replace it with several others.  But, I truly feel that way each time.  Despite what happens to us and around us, despite what fills or doesn't quite fill our glass, the glass can still be beautiful.  It doesn't have to be ornate, it can be ordinary.  It doesn't have to be carved, it can be clean.  It doesn't have to be huge, it can be humble.  We can still enjoy the part that's filled and cherish the fact that there is something to hold what's there.  And, as we see the glasses that others may carry with their various chips and smudges and wear and tear, or perhaps on occasion, what seems to be the absence of any glass at all, we often realize that our 'glass' may not be so ugly or empty as it had once seemed to be.

Hence, my musings about life in MY glass - the bitter with the sweet, the silly with the sober, the insignificant with the inspiring.  Hopefully, you'll feel free to share your musings as well.

Here's to Life in a Pretty Glass!!