Just Whistling Past

Had our monthly book club meeting this morning at the coffee shop and bakery right next to my kickboxing place. How convenient after class to walk around the corner for a cinnamon roll and latte!

Our book this month was Whistling Past the Graveyard by Susan Crandall. Another good read!

The plot is basically this: The summer of 1963 begins like any other for nine-year-old Starla Claudelle. Born to teenage parents in Mississippi, Starla is being raised by a strict paternal grandmother, Mamie, whose worst fear is that Starla will turn out like her mother. Starla hasn’t seen her momma since she was three, but is convinced that her mother will keep her promise to take Starla and her daddy to Nashville, where her mother hopes to become a famous singer—and that one day her family will be whole and perfect. She ends up running away and, once out in the country, Starla is offered a ride by a black woman, Eula, who is traveling with a white baby. She happily accepts a ride, with the ultimate goal of reaching her mother in Nashville. As the two unlikely companions make their long and sometimes dangerous journey, Starla’s eyes are opened to the harsh realities of 1963 southern segregation.

Pretty interesting. We got to talking about the meaning of "whistling past the graveyard," too.

According to legend (or myth), whistling in the dark – or any other time – is considered an ancient way of summoning spirits to help you in your time of need. Presumably one doesn't whistle near a graveyard in case one summons the spirits of the dead! In modern times, I would say it means a situation in which a person does something (whistling, maybe singing or talking to oneself) to make a show – to others, or even more commonly, to oneself — of bravery, or at least nonchalance, in the face of danger or difficulties.

Have you ever done this? What was the situation?

I can't whistle worth crap – unless I use two fingers in my mouth – so I either distract my "fear" with singing or talking to myself. I remember when I first had my anxiety attacks a few years ago I would carry on a 50-minute, one-sided conversation with God on my commute to work. I had to keep my mind distracted. Plus, we all know God's a good listener.

Back in the old days (aka my childhood) I was scared to death the Bogey Man was going to get me when I had to go to the outhouse in the dark. I would just say in a sing-song voice something like, "OK, I don't care if you're out here but I really have to pee so just let me be..." and keep the one-sided (again) conversation going until I did my business and was back safely in the house.

These days, I usually am conjuring up some courage only when I have situations like dealing with my fear of heights.  For one thing, I sternly tell myself not to look down. Good thing I am a good listener. It has gotten me through some scary moments.

Today, my overwhelming task was going to be cleaning up my office. Scary business. I didn't whistle, but I sure distracted myself. I road tripped up to Marshfield with hubby to visit his aunt and uncle. They weren't home so it was a somewhat wasted trip. Tonight we had to work at a fundraiser for the junior class (to help with prom expenses). Now I have to update my broken bracket.

I guess my office will still be here tomorrow. I still won't be able to whistle, but I sure am good at coming up with alternatives...