Marianne's madder than a hatter!

If my older brothers are reading today, this post will make their day. Fortunate for me, I've got caller ID and they're hundreds of miles away. I'm gonna go to the middle school this afternoon and read a segment in the opening story from my first book Pocket Girdles. I'm also gonna read Dr. Seuss's "Oh, the Places You Will Go!"

It's the Doc's birthday, and reading/English teachers the world round will grab virtually anyone off the street to come to their class, maybe even put the Cat's hat on and rattle off a little rhyme. I didn't run or hide well enough to escape the telephone call from Julie Smith, the middle school librarian who nabbed me this past weekend. It's hard to turn down a nice lady like Julie, so I said yes.

I've been thinking about this appearance all week and getting nervous. The one way, however, that I get over my jitters when addressing any group is to get them involved. So, when I start the presentation today, I'll ask those eighth graders to join in on the chorus. It goes something like this short segment from "Bless Me, Father, for I Have Sinned or the Mail Doesn't Always Go Through":

"Never satisfied with such simple harassment, they [brothers] prolonged my misery with snatches from literary classics of their learned backgrounds, which in addition to Goldilocks and the Three Bears included Alice in Wonderland, from which their favorite line came. 'Marianne's madder than a hatter,' the muted chorus began.

"My preliminary reaction was always the same. 'Pretend you don't hear it,' I coached myself, maintaining an expressionless demeanor and seemingly ignoring their presence while scrawling pictures in the dirt. The first ten soft repetitions hardly ruffled me. But my tormenters came nearer, methodically increasing the volume like a troupe of cheerleaders.

"'Marianne's madder than A HATTER . . . Marianne's madder THAN A HATTER . . . Marianne's MADDER THAN A HATTER . . . MARIANNE'S MADDER THAN A HATTER . . . MARIANNE'S . . . '"

"I could stand no more! Launching myself from the porch, I tried to escape to the back yard, seeking relief from the interminable chants of the fiends. My exit served as a sign that success was imminent. Following a safe six feet behind, my brothers continued their chorus.

"'MARIANNE'S MADDER THAN A HATTER . . .'

"Primitive instincts set in. I had to retaliate. Instead of my usual gutteral grunts (characteristic of all Brown children), I squawked out a loud, piercing 'EEEEAHHHHHH!' I cannot effectively trace the origin of this utterance. My only clue is that it must be vocal residue from one of my past lives----possibly during the Paleozoic Era.

"Meanwhile, inside the house, my mother might be writing letters and listening to her favorite radio soap opera, Ma Perkins. Her peace and quiet came to an abrupt end. 'MARIANNE'S MADDER THAN A HATTER . . . EEEAHHHH . . . MARIANNE'S MADDER THAN A HATTER . . . EEEAHHH . . . MARIANNE'S MADDER THAN A HATTER . . . EEEAHHHH . . . MARIANNE'S MADDER THAN A HATTER . . . EEEAHHHH . . . MARIANNE'S MADDER THAN A HATTER . . . EEEAHHHH!'

"And she could stand no more!

"The back door flew open. Standing on the porch with hands planted on her hips, she shouted, 'Marianne, that's enough of that God-awful noise! Get in this house and go to your room!'

"Such harassment drove me to a life of crime at the tender age of five. One criminal option could have been to murder the malevolent brothers, but . . . ."


I think you can figure out the chorus. Anyway, I was told to bring something else to read besides Dr. Seuss, so I chose that selection not only to steady my nerves but also to let those 13-year-olds know that there's hope for everyone---even 5-year-old criminals with damaged psyches. I figure I'm a prime example of the dysfunctional figuring out how to function in this world.

Oh, the places I have gone since those days of brotherly harassment, and oh, the thrill of always coming home to Sandpoint. It doesn't get any better than that, but I still experience those moments when Marianne's Madder Than a Hatter. I've even had a few of those lately, but the Doc says that will happen.

Wherever you fly, you'll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest

Except when you don't
Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
and Hang-up
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a lurch.

You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.

And, when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

But, the Doc offers hope that the mad hat will come off and the sun will shine:

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
thought the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds [like brothers] as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
[Don't scream EEEAHHHH!]
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dextrous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed).

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So . . .
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting
So . . . get on your way!

Pretty good therapy from the Doc, I'd say.
Move a mountain and have a most wonderful day!