Island of Misfit Toys, by Whitney Farmer – Un Pop Culture

November 30, 2011 Whitney Farmer 0 Comments

Whitney runs a rock music venue on the beach in L.A.. She has an M.B.A, and is looking forward to Hanukkah and Christmas.

The last of the turkey was made into a soup by Keeley and brought over for the family to enjoy.  Snacks from Trader Joe’s filled up the rest of the buffet as we gathered around the modern tribal fire to be told the story of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” by the glowing storyteller box.

Neither Mom nor Dad remembered the finer points of the plot –  not because they have any brain problems – but because during the previous 20+ times we watched it as a family, they were busy cleaning up after kids, getting caught up on restaurant business, or surreptitiously wrapping presents that would appear like magic on Christmas morning. Painless, except for the severe price of sleep deprivation that was required.

The parents were horrified sometimes about what Rudolph went through, some of the ridicule and harassment coming even from fuzzy puppet authority figures. The coach in charge of young buck training – Comet – spoke with the mobster intonation of Edward G. Robinson “…no more playing in any reindeer games, see…” Favorite sidekick Hermie, the “I want to be a dentist” Elf, suffered under the Lawrence Welk-ish elf foreman who began directing the elf chorus with, “A one-a and a two-a…”.

We encouraged the parents that it ends well as Rudolph and his friends sailed an ice flow to the Island of Misfit Toys.  Heart wrenching still, despite knowing that it ends well. The spotted elephant was a crowd favorite. Keeley commented on the misfit gun that shoots grape jelly instead of real bullets. What?!? The flaws of the homeless toys were clear with each, except for A Dolly for Susie. She seemed perfect, with a sweet smile, red hair, and soft limbs that looked eligible for cuddling. She seemed perfect for the task for which she was made. I didn’t get it. Thus began my research.

According to Producer Arthur Rankin, Jr. of Rankin-Bass, Dolly’s problem was in her soul. [“Wait Wait…Don’t Tell Me”, NPR, December 8, 2007]

Dolly had a broken heart, caused from being abandoned and suffering depression from feeling unloved. The clue came in the only time her sweet smile vanished, when she sat by the cold winter fire with the spotted elephant and Charlie-in-the-Box. They believed that they had been left behind on Christmas Eve once again. Charlie said it was time to go to bed and dream about next year. Icy tears fell from her button eyes as Dolly confessed, “I don’t have any more dreams left to dream.”

Dolly was wrong. Within an instant, the glow of Rudolph’s nose was seen through the stormy night.  Soon, Dolly was tossed out of a sleigh at 30,000 feet with an umbrella to brake her fall as she plummeted into her destiny and subsequent bliss.

Within the last few years, Broken Heart Syndrome has been identified by the euro-centric medical community. It wasn’t news to more holistic professionals in other cultures.  The condition known as takotsubo cardiomyopathy or apical ballooning syndrome is most commonly found in women. Enough had to die before the risks were finally taken seriously and came under scientific scrutiny.  It appears that – with no underlying risk factors such as blood clotting disorders, arrhythmias or atherosclerosis – the heart stops working correctly.  This is caused by a loss of a healthy rhythm that cascades into an imbalance between the various chambers. One chamber balloons out and works too much. The others work too slow or too forcefully. There is no equilibrium, and tissue damage soon begins as it does with a regular heart attack.  Usually, the afflicted heart repairs itself within two weeks, if death initially is averted. What precipitates this crisis isn’t clearly known, but it appears to be linked to stress hormones that flood the brain during severe loss which as a result send a flood of instructions to various systems in a failed attempt to stop the pain.

There is no solution in this except to give and receive comfort when loss reigns. (Note to sociopaths: Read a different blog.)  To ignore agony probably isn’t the best choice and can be dangerous.  Like Dolly, we may risk ending up going to bed for a dreamless sleep and missing the adventure. Grieving the right way perhaps keeps it from spilling over into the wrong season.  Eventually, it will be Christmas Eve again. Saving just one more dream to dream will end up getting you a space on the sleigh ride through the storm.

It is the leftover turkey(ies), the remnants, the misfits that end up creating the party and saving the opportunity to celebrate.  Most everyone has got a comparable glowing nose or broken heart.  The perfect ones end up learning the moral of the story from these.  The perfect bits are the first to be eaten and forgotten.

Immediately following “Rudolph…”, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was broadcast. God help me, but God bless us everyone anyway!

Quote of the Blog, by Gustave Flaubert: “Language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity,”