From "The Pink Carpet": Memoirs and Ministry

I never know where inspiration will come from.  I love watching things like The Waltons or Little Women or anything with Anne Shirley (the Anne of Green Gables film series; Anne with an E), because of the insight I derive from seeing where writers, mostly of memoir, as it happens, get their ideas.  John Walton, Jr. (aka, John Boy) is the characterization of Earl Hamner, Jr., who wrote the stories that became The Waltons (and who, by the way, is the narrator for the show).  Jo March is Louisa May Alcott herself on paper, also writing the stories that became Alcott's most famous work, about herself and her sisters.  Anne Shirley, though fictional herself, is really a depiction of writers in general--avid readers, lost in imagination, writing what they know.  

I'm also drawn to read memoirs.  Not autobiography, which is a more factual account, but memoir, which may or may not be chronological, but is more concerned with themes than a timeline.  For example, if I write an autobiography of my day, I would say I went to Dollar General because they opened first, and got toothpaste, Cheerios, and a box to organize my cross-stitch supplies; then I went to JoAnn to get some floss and have a finished project framed; then I went to another Dollar General to get name-brand peanut butter; then I went to Aldi to get groceries and toilet paper; and next was SmartArt and Craft to get picture frames and highlighters; then to another Dollar General for notebooks and pens; to McKay to sell some books and buy a journal; to McDonald's for a light lunch; and finally to Publix to get jicama.  Pretty boring.  But if I go into great detail about how I had to hit three different Dollar General stores to get all the things I need that I should have been able to get at one location; two different grocery stores to make the salad I wanted for dinner that needed at least six hours to marinate before serving; and three other locations to get my craft needs filled; peppered with stories of hilarious traffic jams, colorful customers and cashiers, my Filet o' Fish sandwich with extra tartar sauce (on which the tartar sauce entirely eclipsed the fish itself), and the frustration of buying used journals that cost more than new ones--there's my memoir of the day.  If I want to go the way of Tolkien, I'd include a map with dots on The Nations in Nashville, Providence in Mount Juliet, Charlotte in Nashville, the Opryland area, Bellevue, and back to Charlotte; and indicators of heavy traffic, detours, and panhandlers.

Over the last several years, I've read memoirs by Dolly Parton, Julie Andrews, Brooke Shields, Mary Tyler Moore, Gilda Radner, Barry Manilow, and Carol Burnett, among others.  I may end up writing about some of these at some point, but for now all I'll say is that I chose these books for a connection I feel with their authors--Dolly and Julie for their music and their loveliness, Gilda and Carol for the comedy and tragedy in their lives, Brooke because someone told me once that I look like her (see my profile pic and then watch her film The Hot Flashes if you don't believe me).  All of them are beautiful in their own way, and I feel myself drawn to the beauty of the person and their story.  This morning, I finished the late Leslie Jordan's My Trip Down the Pink Carpet, and feel enveloped in the beauty of his sweet, loving soul and his story of acceptance, redemption, and spirituality.  

One of my cherished memories is seeing Leslie as a grand marshal for Nashville's Pride Parade last year.  I didn't get very good pictures, but having him back in his home state as a person of prominence among people for whom that really mattered was such a meaningful moment that it brought me to tears.  His book ends with two chapters that are overtly religious.  The first of the two he titled "My Ministry."  Leslie Jordan never went to seminary, but had a very definite ministry bringing light and love to those who needed it most.  In the early days of the AIDS crisis, he sat with people who were dying and had no one to sit with them in their final days and hours, caring for them, loving them unconditionally, touching them as Jesus touched lepers and a bleeding woman.  Breathing their air when others were afraid of catching the disease.  That is ministry.  That is loving your neighbor.  Maybe that's even loving your enemy (although, to me, the enemy here is AIDS, and the fear, hatred, and ignorance that surrounded it).  

Leslie's final chapter in the book is entitled "The Soul has no Gender."  This one hit me like a ton of bricks, maybe because I wasn't expecting to learn something in the memoir of a comic actor and internet personality, even one I loved and respected as much as him.  Leslie was sitting at the bedside of a friend from childhood who was dying of AIDS.  He had developed dementia from the disease, and was seldom lucid, but three days before he died, he told Leslie that he'd had a dream, and heard the voice of God.  And what God had said to him was, " . . . the soul has no gender.  So when it is all said and done, it is not about whom one loved that is important.  What is important is the quality of that love.  We are on this earth for one reason and one reason only.  And that is to give quality love on a daily basis."  I'd never thought about that before.  We talk all the time of "soul mates" and how one person's soul speaks to that of another.  Anne Shirley, whom I mentioned above, seeks "bosom friends," which I think is another word for soul mate.  If the soul has no gender, and our souls can "mate" with other souls, isn't that irrespective of the gender of the people those souls are inhabiting?  Whom we love is immaterial.  We're supposed to love everyone.  The important thing is THAT we love, and love generously, and love selflessly, and love fully.  

Upon reflection, I guess what really attracts me to memoir is that it ministers to me.  It takes me out of my own head for a short time to focus on the important points in another person's life.  Usually there's something I identify with, a joy or pain I've experienced, and knowing that even that famous person has experienced it, too, gives me a feeling of community.  I'm not alone in this world.  My life isn't perfect, and neither is theirs.  They've been in the dark and have come out into the light, so maybe I can, too.