Me and Dr. Robbins

In writing this post, I am either showing a.) great courage b.) great stupidity or c.) nothing that great at all. So here goes.

My family is mildly obsessed with Tom Robbins. He is a really great writer. Empirically. I admit that there are some people who might not LIKE his stories, might not LIKE what he has to say, might not LIKE his writing style, and probably even more who just don't get it. But when I say he is a great writer, it is not a matter of opinion.

I have read five of his novels, which admittedly does not really cover his whole catalogue, but I do feel that I have a pretty good understanding of what he believes in and what he wants to say, and and even better understanding of how he likes to say it.

Recently (after my quest to get through Anna Karenina), I gave myself a literary break by reading Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. And then I decided to continue on my kick with Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. (yeah, this is my idea of a break).

My sister, Bridget, gave me a copy of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues as a gift, because it is her favorite one of Tom Robbins' novels. If you haven't read the story, there is not a really good way to describe what it is about, although I will venture to say that if you have the desire to understand life in a simple, beautiful, and humorous way, you might want to read it.

The rereading of Cowgirls this year was a very cathartic experience for me, because even though you may not realize it when you pick up a great book, sometimes there is a rhythm to life that just makes it the perfect thing to be reading right at that moment.

And when I started to read Cowgirls again for the second (definitely not last) time, I had caught a heavy sneeze, and had a lot of birds of sadness nesting in my hair. So as the story of Sissy Hankshaw and Bonanza Jellybean and the whooping cranes (don't forget the Chink!) unfolded before my very eyes again, it was like a very good friend was holding my hand and saying, "hey, Podner, it's alright. You gotta Live the Beauty of Your Own Reality." Which incidentally is pretty much what the book says.

But whenever I get caught in a storm of depression, it's nice to have a good slap in the face that wakes you up like a rifle shot echoing across the Great Wide Open Plains and reminds you that there is magic in the world if you have the bravado to believe in it.

"Ladies, Gentlemen. Shhh. This is the way truth is. You've got to let those strange hands touch you."

And sometimes the truth is really painful. After all "success can eliminate as many options as failture," and in order to really squeeze the puddin' out of life, sometimes it is necessary to really create an art out of failing. You have to fail in the most unimaginable ways. Perhaps in ways that haven't even been invented yet. You may have to be the best failure to ever walk the earth and still not have found what you came here for. Failure and I have been spending a lot of time together lately, and I've come to recognize that some people can spend a lot of time on earth in a state of real contentment. I mean, some people are just really satisfied.

The thought of it actually exhausts me.

Even more than spending weeks on end punching my pillow and crying my eyes out and wandering around in circles in my mind for so long that I've created tracks in my head's living room.

Of course there are moments when I wish that I could stop fighting so hard against all the failures in my life (real and perceived). There are certainly times when I just wish that for ONCE I could succeed at something I really cared about. And of course there are times when I wish that I could care about my successes as much as I care about my failures.

But what's the fun in that?

These are the sorts of internal dialogues you're forced to have if you decide to read Tom Robbins. Or if you are lucky enough to be incarnated as someone who has been termed "the insatiable child." Maybe the two go hand in hand.

So...

For the Gift of a beautiful story that will never leave your side, not for a second, in the deepest moments of despair, a million times and to the end of the world, thank you to my beautiful and intelligent sister, Bridget. She's the girl who had enough bravado to get Bonanza Jellybean tatooed on her belly. Gotta admire that kind of dedication.

I do.