Curious George

As I was taking Blue back to the barn after a glorious trail ride, I decided to enter through the front door. This is not my typical point of entry, but today Blue lead me down a different path, as though he wanted to show me something. I dismounted and as I was running my stirrups up my saddle and loosening his girth, I could see the lawn jockey statue my son Phoenix and I found at a vintage store the week I purchased the farm. My gaze remained locked on the statue and in that instant my mind was transported back to the front of my grandparent’s house over thirty-five years ago.

You may be wondering how I made the leap from a veterinary neurosurgeon to life storyteller. Allow me to introduce you to George and tell you the story of how he made me curious.

I have not always had the best ideas around men. My father left my mother when I was five years old for another woman. This instilled a level of fear, distrust and quite frankly created a huge abandonment wound in me that took decades to heal. Before my father left my mother, I would see her trying to be perfect for him in all ways. Whether it be fixing her hair and meticulously applying her makeup, to making sure his dinner was on the table on time (and warm), to ensuring his clothes were ironed and crisp. My mother would NEVER question anything my father did or said, because simply being curious would lead to an argument and the potential that he would walk out. She took care of his every need and made life easy for him so that he would stay. He left anyway.

I can remember asking my grandmother Connie on her 50th wedding anniversary:

“Hey Gram, what is the key to being married for so long?”

“Oh Bella, this will be VERY hard for you! The key to staying married to a man for as long as this is to never ask questions! You keep your mouth shut!”

So there you have it, two women I looked up to during very impressionable years of my life were afraid to be curious and subconsciously imprinted that story onto me. The imaginative, curious, and playful child that I yearned to be never saw the light of day. She was kept bottled up inside my closed heart. I may never have subscribed to the makeup and beauty mask like my mom and grandmother, but the mask I decided to put on was one of high achievement in sports, academics, and all aspects of life. Yet no matter how high achieving I appeared to be on the outside, I felt incomplete and suppressed on the inside. It wasn’t until that moment on my divine animal guide Blue staring at the law jockey statue did it all finally click. George and I had again crossed paths. And this time he was going to help me stay curious.

I was born with the storyteller gene passed down from my grandfather, Edmund Valitutto (aka: Poppy). However, as a little girl watching her mother struggle with my father, my heart was forced to close. As a result, many of the stories I told myself were Ego driven and contrived by my mind rather than my heart. The story I created around men (father figures and romantic partners) was that the best chance I had to prevent man from leaving was to make their life easy and to never let them see the real me…the quirky, creative, head in the clouds, hopeless romantic side of me. And so, I shut that part of me down and hid the key.

The one person I could truly be a child around was my Poppy. He had a prominent career in the Army. To most, Edmund Valitutto was gruff and tough and not someone who would be creating childhood stories for his granddaughter after a fairytale walk in the woods. But with me, Poppy was always soft and nurturing and that created a sense of security and safety inside of me. Whenever my brother and I would spend time with Pop, he was totally present and focused on us. There were no distractions and that created the freedom and liberation for me to be who I truly always was: a whimsical, quirky girl that loves asking questions and using her imagination. On many levels, Poppy saw how much pressure I put on myself from such a young age as I strived for perfectionism. Somehow, he saw it as his duty to soften my edges a bit and encouraged me to relax, be playful and use the other side of my brain and to get creative. Even when I would spend time with Poppy as a young adult, he somehow always took me back to our fairy princess walks in the woods and I was a child again. He had a real talent for helping me tap into a part of my mind that I rarely used, the creative side.

Picture the eight-year-old version of me sitting on the brick front step of my grandparent’s home in Union, New Jersey. It was a modest cape cod style house that overlooked a busy street and a bank parking lot. Behind the house was a majestic park with green grass as far as my eyes could see and a stream along the perimeter. While Nanny was in the kitchen putting the final touches on her home cooked dinner that she had worked to prepare all day, Poppy would take my brother and I for a walk to the park. The pre-walk ritual was habitual and would begin with a story.

Next to the front step stood a cast iron antique lawn jockey statue. The paint was chipping off and the cement underneath revealed, however you could tell at one point the breeches were white, boots black and his jersey navy blue. I was always attracted to this statue and would fight my brother to sit to the right of Poppy for story time so that I could be next to it. This statue sparked a wonder and a curiosity inside of me that I had never felt before.

Was this statue made to represent Prince Charming?

Was he here to rescue me and take me away to a beautiful castle?

Was he owned by a princess 100 years ago and stationed outside her horse barn on a large plantation?

Did he arrive on a boat from a far away land?

Did a unicorn get tethered to this statue while the Princess took a walk in the forest?

When we would return from our walk, I would touch the top of the statue’s head and wished that he would take me away to a beautiful farm where I could live with my three children (I was specific in asking for two girls and a boy), several horses, a golden retriever and not a care in the world. I did not know it at the time, but this statue was somewhat of a “genie in a bottle.” And eventually, my wish did come true…

One evening after our walk, I raced to the top of the steps to pat the statue on the head and make the same wish as every night before. Only this evening Poppy was slower to chase me into the house.

“Well Lauren, you really love this statue don’t you! Why don’t you give him a name?”

My satellite dish sized brown eyes opened even wider to the point where my eyebrows disappeared under my poker straight bangs. I felt like it was Christmas morning!

Without hesitation I shouted “George! His name is George!”

And just like that, our evening story time group expanded to include our new friend, George. Poppy would often pretend that George was a character in the story or ask him questions and change his voice to sound like George was actually answering them. Before bed every night we would pat George on the head and wish him good dreams. Many nights when no one was looking, I would thank George for allowing me to turn off my brain and take an imagination break. It was refreshing for a child who spent most of her time living in her head. My time with Poppy and George was a time for me to dream…about the life I have today.

Lauren Rae at 9 years old

Gabrielle Gloria (my first daughter) at 9 years old

The biggest lesson George taught me over 30 years ago was how to become and stay curious. As Poppy, my little brother and I walked hand in hand down to the street one damp evening, we saw a black lump in the stream with water rushing down both sides creating mini water caps.

“Ok Lauren and Frankie, do you see that big black ball in the water there? That is a snapping turtle. They are fierce and vicious and if you put your finger near their mouth, they will take it right off!”

My brother and I were intrigued. Frankie immediately picked up a few stone pebbles and threw them at the “snapping turtle” to see if he could get it to move. I got excited and joined in. The moment we would bend down to pick up another pebble and shift our focus off of the black lump, Poppy would exclaim “Look! He just moved his head!” Or “I saw him walk up a few steps! You missed it!”

This saga went on for years. Fifteen years to be exact and extended down the line of grandchildren. During those fifteen years the turtle has never moved a muscle, and he is still there today. Poppy did not tell this story to create a sense of fear or doubt, rather he was helping me to expand my mind and explore my creativity and imagination. He was trying to teach me that things may not always be exactly what they appear to be, and if we take the time to look closer, we can see how our mind can create a story about what something is that is completely opposite of reality. In a way, Poppy was way ahead of his time…because his storytelling abilities mimicked the affects of some of the plant medicine journeys I engaged in as an adult!

Over twenty years after he first told me this story we were at my white coat ceremony at veterinary school. Our family sprawled out over a large table at the Boatyard Grill and Poppy decided to tell me the truth…

“Ok listen up everyone. I have something I want to tell Lauren and it is very important.”

The table went silent and we all gazed at Poppy.

“The snapping turtle was a rock! I had you fooled all along!”

We burst out into laughter and pure joy radiated the room.

Even though this may seem obvious, part of me never wanted to believe it even if I knew the truth. Staring at this black rock in the water with Poppy was the one place in my life where I could look at something and let my mind wander free. I could see things for what they truly were not, but I was able to explore the possibility of what they could be. For a closed hearted child that grew up way to quickly, this was a profound life lesson.

The curiosity and wonder instilled in me from my grandfather, the master storyteller, has led me down the path as a writer. I have always been connected to animals, and now I am getting curious what it could look like if I just listen to the animal’s wisdom and share it with the world. I think Poppy would be so proud that I found a way to marry my connection with animals and my creativity as a writer.

Poppy was the first man in my life to shift my mind and helped me feel safe enough to be my whimsical, romantic, quirky self. Because of him, and George, I am living my life from a place of an open heart surrounded by curiosity and wonder. In turn, parts of my mind are now open to receive and serve as a channel for divine wisdom from animals.

To this day when you enter my sacred space, Blue Fox Farm, you are greeted by a replica of George. My daughter Gigi, who reminds me so much of myself as a child, has repainted him to resemble the original George. All of the stories I share with you from this point forward have been channeled during my time on this special land in the presence of my animals. The stories I will share are vulnerable, gentle, sacred and from the heart.

I invite you to follow along on my storytelling journey through the human experience.

xx,

Lauren Rae