If You Only Knew

When Larry King had a show on CNN, Monty and I watched it every night. We were disappointed when the show ended. A few months ago, though, we discovered a show on Hulu called “Larry King Now.”  The show is very much like King’s old show. My favorite part of it is at the end when King does a segment called “If You Only Knew.” He asks his guests a series of questions so that the viewing audience can get to know them better. I’m always so interested in what people have to say that I thought you might be, too. So here are some of King’s questions, with my answers:

“If you could invite three people, living or dead, to a dinner party, who would you invite?” I wouldn’t have a dinner party—I’m an introvert. But if I had to, I’d invite Dr. Phil, Lucille Ball, and my favorite poet, Louis MacNeice. Dr. Phil could give Lucille Ball marriage counseling and save her marriage to Desi, which would result in more episodes of “I Love Lucy” and the happy ending I always wanted for them. Dr. Phil could also offer rehab to Louis MacNeice for his alcoholism, saving his life and giving him many more years in which to write the kind of poems that turn words into music. Once Lucy and Louis left, Dr. Phil could spend some time solving . . . well, me.

“What film could you watch over and over again?”  I’ve watched “The Long, Long Trailer,” starring Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, dozens of times. I love the road trip element, the comedy and romance, the ladylike dresses, and the interior of the trailer they’re hauling. I also have many happy memories of watching it with Monty.

“Tell me something people don’t know about you.”  I always admired Hugh Hefner for having had the courage to live his life in pajamas.

“What’s one of your favorite quotes?” Jack Kerouac once said, “It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.” I wish I’d written that; it captures the essence of who I am in one short sentence. My heart beats on the outside of my skin–I feel the world so deeply that it physically hurts me at times.

“What makes you happy?” Monty, our boys, books, writing, and my family.

“What’s the best piece of advice you ever got?”  This isn’t so much a piece of advice as it is something I’ve observed my Mom doing my whole life—she prays. She gets up early every single morning and spends hours in prayer. If Monty texts her in the middle of the night that he’s taking me to the ER again for asthma, she immediately texts back, “I’ll pray right now.” If I call her when I’m in pain, sometimes almost unable to speak, she prays for me over the phone. Prayer is her instant, instinctive reaction to joy, to sadness, to uncertainty, and to hardship. In Monty’s vernacular, it’s her default setting.

“What’s the worst piece of advice you ever got?”  My dad gave me this advice when I was a little girl, and he still gives it to me today:  Mind your own business. I remember when I was a kid and he’d ask Mom to come talk to him. I’d try to sneak into the room, too, to find out what they were talking about.  Dad would see me and say, “Did I ask you to come in here? No? Then mind your own business.” He’d catch me looking through the mail and say, “Does that have your name on it? No? Then mind your own business.” Even now:
“Why are you reading your mom’s grocery list?”
“Why are you so interested in what’s happening across the street?”
“A person should mind their own business and not worry about what other people are doing.”
That is terrible advice, on all fronts. If I’m minding my own business, I won’t hear the important and fascinating details of someone else’s business. Besides, I’m a writer, and writers have to be curious—knowing other people’s business is essentially a job requirement. It’s food for thought, and my brain thrives on it. At this moment, my brain is chewing on this: my beloved Louis MacNeice was a writer who was endlessly curious about other people. I wonder if his dad ever told HIM to mind his own business.