Speaking of a generous, eager-to-help Universe, must take a moment to say THANKS for the wish I never made, never even entertained any thoughts of, that the Universe fulfilled in a truly spectacular fashion.
In all my years, from childhood through early middle age, I never envisioned anyone falling in love with me, let alone wanting to be married to me. Instead, I was the perfect cad magnet - if a rake & a rogue was within five miles, I'd find him. Or I fell for people it was a veritable lock would never be interested back.
All that being said & perfectly true, was also raised from my earliest days to be a good, nurturing & devoted partner. Mom & Dad were great role models for how to approach marriage. They loved & respected each other. My guess is that there were a lot of times when the respect helped them get through rocky patches, although we kids were never aware of conflicts between them. Perhaps their key was always being able to talk to the other person, to be open & honest, always from a loving place.
It was in my twenties that it first hit me - as abysmal as they were as parents, they totally rocked being partners. And perhaps that was more important.
Never, not in all my years, did I see John coming. Never expected to be married. Ever. But I did know that if I did ever marry, it would be to my own true love. Anything less was not an option. Long before seeing Mary Engelbreit's artwork for "It takes a mighty good husband to be better than none," Mom was drilling into me, "Be careful who you marry - he'll be responsible for 90% of your happiness & 90% of your unhappiness." And sharing with me the wisdom of how you know when you've fallen in love wih the right guy - you can't imagine life without him.
So, although I never dreamed of getting married, was always & forever trained in how to be a caring wife, supportive partner. Not a good parent. In that, I was totally unversed. Am forever grateful that my Creator realized that parenting was not a wise place to go for me. But a good wife? Absolutely!
There was never an option to loving John. We were as close to "he is mine, she is mine" as you're going to get. Never saw it coming, but when he did, there was no going back, only forward.
Last night, Thane & Jori's wedding was the opening celebration of our 25th anniversary. Twenty-five years. Seems beyond belief. Guess that it is, in many ways. Looking forward to all the wonderful moments between last night's honoring of so many types of love & what we expect to be our final, capping celebration, listening to Prairie Home Companion with Dave & Candy in their Sioux Falls living room.
Thanking Mom for helping me be a good wife, to both Mom & Dad for modeling loving partnership, to the Universe for the glory that is John & for all the blessings that have graced my life. Would say I am brimming with blessings, but know there is so much room waiting for new surprises & joys.
Turned out that I grabbed the gold ring of ever-expanding life fulfillment - never saw it coming, so thankful that it did!
Monday, June 30, 2014
fulfilled
For over 24 hours, a Facebook picture has been steeping in my heart. It's of a young family that I love, gathered with friends at the seashore in celebration of the birthday of one of the two daughters. About a dozen or more adults & children, all grinning like crazy, basking in friendship & the special moment. It got me thinking AGAIN about the power & importance of friendship. This morning - it's around 6:15 a.m. - it got me remembering something that I would tell myself back in my friendship-starved teens & twenties, a wish that, in my 60s, has been thoroughly & spectacularly fulfilled.
Being the relationship-craving person that I am & seeing precious little of it in my life, my comfort was that I'd rather have a life filled with fulfilling friendships when I was considerably older than when I was young. Now, it interests me that I never seemed to entertain the idea that it was possible to regret not having developed relationships at both times, because the Universe seemed to take my request as stated. Decades without substantial friendship, then a wondrous bounty in upper middle age. Just as I asked for.
It took me until the late part of last year to fully realize & accept how graced my life is with significant friendships. Was so used to having pleasant acquaintances, I still saw myself as I'd bereft of the real deal. It took writing about it on Facebook - dear Facebook! - and people commenting, "Whaaaaaa??" that reality finally sank in.
Was it over thirty years ago that it first dawned on me that the Universe is an eager partner, waiting to jump in & act on clear instructions? This certainly seems to support that belief. Yet, still I can forget that it benefits all when I ask for the moon, rather than be stingy with my wishes. Am bemused at how things turned out, somewhat rueful that my clearly expressed wish was that if I couldn't have friendship in both my youth & older age, older age was my preference. If only I'd added, "But I'd REALLY like substantial & sustained friendships right now, too - thank you!!"
Hmmm... Has me wondering what wish instructions I could be sending right now that I hold back on, in spite of having seen time & time & time again what an eager partner I have in the Universe, just waiting to hear the next item to set about fulfilling!
Universe - looking around me, holding that picture of Celia's birthday & all the grinning friends in my heart because I relate to it, not long for it, I thank you for all of the everything that fills my heart, feeds my psyche & nourishes my soul. I promise to realize more often that your own dearest wish is to be told about ours, so that you can do what you love to do, are here to do - help make them happen, because you are the ultimate fulfillment center. I thank you for it all & promise to keep appreciating all your bounty that graces my life, all that waits to arrive. Blessing back at ya!
Being the relationship-craving person that I am & seeing precious little of it in my life, my comfort was that I'd rather have a life filled with fulfilling friendships when I was considerably older than when I was young. Now, it interests me that I never seemed to entertain the idea that it was possible to regret not having developed relationships at both times, because the Universe seemed to take my request as stated. Decades without substantial friendship, then a wondrous bounty in upper middle age. Just as I asked for.
It took me until the late part of last year to fully realize & accept how graced my life is with significant friendships. Was so used to having pleasant acquaintances, I still saw myself as I'd bereft of the real deal. It took writing about it on Facebook - dear Facebook! - and people commenting, "Whaaaaaa??" that reality finally sank in.
Was it over thirty years ago that it first dawned on me that the Universe is an eager partner, waiting to jump in & act on clear instructions? This certainly seems to support that belief. Yet, still I can forget that it benefits all when I ask for the moon, rather than be stingy with my wishes. Am bemused at how things turned out, somewhat rueful that my clearly expressed wish was that if I couldn't have friendship in both my youth & older age, older age was my preference. If only I'd added, "But I'd REALLY like substantial & sustained friendships right now, too - thank you!!"
Hmmm... Has me wondering what wish instructions I could be sending right now that I hold back on, in spite of having seen time & time & time again what an eager partner I have in the Universe, just waiting to hear the next item to set about fulfilling!
Universe - looking around me, holding that picture of Celia's birthday & all the grinning friends in my heart because I relate to it, not long for it, I thank you for all of the everything that fills my heart, feeds my psyche & nourishes my soul. I promise to realize more often that your own dearest wish is to be told about ours, so that you can do what you love to do, are here to do - help make them happen, because you are the ultimate fulfillment center. I thank you for it all & promise to keep appreciating all your bounty that graces my life, all that waits to arrive. Blessing back at ya!
Sunday, June 29, 2014
unexpected potterer
Of all the things I've intentionally crafted over all my life, none has been as challenging & fulfilling as making myself a vessel. Over the years, the materials of my vessel has changed & life events carved their image on my surface. Year after year, I've kept throwing it back on the wheel, feeling the carved images blend back into the supple clay, then refashion the piece into something increasingly open & even beautiful.
Will it ever go into the kiln? I don't know. My birth religion says it will, but I am not at all sure. Maybe all that will happen is I'll get a different beginning slab of clay & start the process all over again, albeit from a different perspective.
It's fun, looking back over the years at my efforts. Wedging the clay to evenly distribute the moisture, aligning particles for greater suppleness. The YEARS of setting the clay down on perfect center. Coning the clay upward, then back down, increasing even more the particles are in the right place for working it into a new vessel, taking the care to ensure the clay always stays on perfect center, or see it go whipping off into a mangled mess. It takes a committed heart, two steady hands & at least one guiding finger to open up the clay. And a lot of water, or the piece will self-destruct.
A real vessel has to be kiln dried. My vessel isn't but receives all the same. The more open it is to receiving, the more can flow in.
It's beyond my understanding to explain - even to myself - how I knew from my earliest days that my most important project was to craft a vessel capable of receiving what flowed in. And knowing that it would require a lot of emptying out of what was already received in order to be available for the next influx.
I can't take any bows for my relationship with John. Maybe a little one for not rejecting that something remarkable was entering my life, for realizing that what was flowing in was the very essence of everything I'd honored respected valued. But I can & happily do take happy credit for keeping working away at the vessel that received his love.
We are all creative, all created in the image of the Divine, the greatest creative force of all. We are all called to craft ourself into a vessel that can receive incredible things, things impossibly outside our time- & space-bound imaginations.
The best things in my life flowed in through infinitely larger forces utterly outside my will or doing, finding welcome in my prepared & waiting space. Every day, I am grateful for all that my vessels have received over all my years, even when they were very small with mega shallow indentations, not the HUGE bowl of my most recent incarnation.
A description of throwing clay could just as readily be read as a description for fashioning ourselves as vessels - "Be prepared for a fine adventure, for clay is as deep and as broad as the earth it comes from."
Will it ever go into the kiln? I don't know. My birth religion says it will, but I am not at all sure. Maybe all that will happen is I'll get a different beginning slab of clay & start the process all over again, albeit from a different perspective.
It's fun, looking back over the years at my efforts. Wedging the clay to evenly distribute the moisture, aligning particles for greater suppleness. The YEARS of setting the clay down on perfect center. Coning the clay upward, then back down, increasing even more the particles are in the right place for working it into a new vessel, taking the care to ensure the clay always stays on perfect center, or see it go whipping off into a mangled mess. It takes a committed heart, two steady hands & at least one guiding finger to open up the clay. And a lot of water, or the piece will self-destruct.
A real vessel has to be kiln dried. My vessel isn't but receives all the same. The more open it is to receiving, the more can flow in.
It's beyond my understanding to explain - even to myself - how I knew from my earliest days that my most important project was to craft a vessel capable of receiving what flowed in. And knowing that it would require a lot of emptying out of what was already received in order to be available for the next influx.
I can't take any bows for my relationship with John. Maybe a little one for not rejecting that something remarkable was entering my life, for realizing that what was flowing in was the very essence of everything I'd honored respected valued. But I can & happily do take happy credit for keeping working away at the vessel that received his love.
We are all creative, all created in the image of the Divine, the greatest creative force of all. We are all called to craft ourself into a vessel that can receive incredible things, things impossibly outside our time- & space-bound imaginations.
The best things in my life flowed in through infinitely larger forces utterly outside my will or doing, finding welcome in my prepared & waiting space. Every day, I am grateful for all that my vessels have received over all my years, even when they were very small with mega shallow indentations, not the HUGE bowl of my most recent incarnation.
A description of throwing clay could just as readily be read as a description for fashioning ourselves as vessels - "Be prepared for a fine adventure, for clay is as deep and as broad as the earth it comes from."
without loving it less
In The Strange Triumph of The Little Prince, an 04/14/14 article for The New Yorker, Adam Gopnik writes about the relationship between the child & his beloved rose - - "To be responsible for his rose, the Prince learns, is to see it as it
really is, in all its fragility & vanity—indeed, in all its utter
commonness!—without loving it less for being so fragile."
Smacked me between the eyes, set me back on my heels. He expressed my always & forever feelings about my family. If you can understand that sentence, you can understand everything about my relationship with my mother & siblings. Not theirs with me, but mine with them.
Smacked me between the eyes, set me back on my heels. He expressed my always & forever feelings about my family. If you can understand that sentence, you can understand everything about my relationship with my mother & siblings. Not theirs with me, but mine with them.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
essential & irreplaceable.
"No one is more special than another, but each unique expression is essential & irreplaceable."
Sure sign of advancing maturity - seeing a statement i recognize have having resounded in & reverberated through me since FOREVER and it doesn't break my heart that none of my sibs seems to accept either that it's how I feel ~or~ maybe the very premise of the sentence (by Gail Larsen). 'Cause it's still true & always will be.
Sure sign of advancing maturity - seeing a statement i recognize have having resounded in & reverberated through me since FOREVER and it doesn't break my heart that none of my sibs seems to accept either that it's how I feel ~or~ maybe the very premise of the sentence (by Gail Larsen). 'Cause it's still true & always will be.
Friday, June 27, 2014
A fortunate life
Australia is famous for being home to a variety of unique flora & fauna. Posting Mom's 06/27/00 e-mail onto my Velveteen Grammie blog this a.m., thought about how it was also home to a unique version of my mother, one that I would dearly love to have experienced.
But I would have to have been a fly on the wall, unseen but soaking it all in. If I'd been there, Mom couldn't have been her full Aussie self, which I think was more relaxed & open & downright confident than anything I had the pleasure of seeing.
And I think she was more that way with her grandchildren & her Australian friends than she was with even Mike & Kerry. When Mom was in Aussie format, she was free in ways I doubt she fully grasped. And - I believe - happier than she'd been since Dad died. Way happier than she could be back here, in Bryn Athyn.
There are so many reasons for this impression. In Australia, there were no memories of Dad waiting around every corner. The people she met only knew her as she was at 65 & older; no memories of any previous Kay. Just the one in front of them. It was Australia, with it's sense of possibility. She was, on each of her seven priceless trips, a unique, fabulous version of Katharine Reynolds Lockhart.
It seems a pity that Mom never felt the call to move permanently to Australia. There was really nothing holding her back her, everything beckoning down. Her USA-based children were all middle aged, she would have been one door down from the Hurstville church, she would have been living with children who appreciated the infinite levels of support she gave them & grandchildren she adored.
For years, it was a mystery - and a sadness - why Mom wouldn't consider making what felt like such a logical move. It would have simplified my own life & would have been good for my oldest brother & sister, too. But she would not go. Oh, she TALKED about it. Every time I'd get frustrated with something about our living arrangement, she'd sigh & say, "Well, I can always go live with Mike & Kerry. THEY would love to have me."
So, I was surprised when Mom seemed totally blindsided by my announcement, "I think it's time you moved to Australia." She hadn't seen it coming because she never thought that I'd take her seriously. Alas, I'd come to the end of my rope with how she interacted with my sister & oldest brother, never expecting them to give any form of support to the family, while always offering an open invitation to stay with us at any time they needed, for however long. I was fed up with life being centered around meeting their needs without them giving any apparent thought to the needs of the greater whole. I was done with it.
Not so fast.
Contrary to what she'd always said, Mom had no intention of leaving a life that worked perfectly - for her. She went to Australia on a regular basis, came home to the town that had been an on & off home since her teens.
How differently life would have been had Mom moved down to Mike & Kerry's welcoming arms. Couldn't be better than what I have right now, so it all worked out.
Years & years later, in the last weeks of her life, I finally learned the perfectly understandable, "Why didn't she tell me?" reason for why she wouldn't make the move when it would have benefited me, Peter, Mim, Mike & Kerry, Scott & Karen, and even Mom.
Turns out, there was a fly in the ointment on Mom's trips Down Under. Kerry could be brutally critical of Dad, the great love of Mom's life. It's ironic that Kerry - who seemed to blame ME for Mom not moving, when it was something I dearly wanted for my own health - was the reason Mom stayed put, to the detriment of all.
To this day, can remember Kerry's remarks at the celebration following Mom's memorial service, how she marveled at how Mom seemed to hold her brash Australian daughter-in-law in her heart, in spite of her blunt frankness.
Hearing those words in October 2001, had a totally different response to them than I would have in July. Mom & I had a lot of time to talk when she was at INOVA/Alexandria Hospital and she was more open with me than at any other time in her life. For the first time, she shared with me how she felt when Kerry would let loose with a verbal barrage against Dad (the two were like oil & water - he rubbed her the wrong way & vice versa).
Mom described shrinking inside, wanting to get away from the hurtful words, but there being no place to go. She didn't have to tell me the rest; knowing her, I knew how she responded - all apparent calm & probably smiles, cauterizing & sealing off the pain. She could manage it for the months she was visiting - but experience it to the end of her days? No, nay, never.
Understanding the torment she'd feel being assaulted with cruel words about her O! Best Beloved, it was obvious why Mom couldn't make the move. But why never share with me the actual reason? "I didn't want you to think less of Kerry." She'd rather I resent her than simply know the truth. That was sad. And very Mom.
Praise be, none of that gunk stuck to her when she was Down Under. She breathed in the air of a continent where new beginnings were the norm, yet also offered the deep spiritual roots of its aboriginal times. It was the perfect environment for Mom to sink in her own deep roots, to fully be Katharine Reynolds Lockhart 2.0.
How I would have loved to have seen her in the heart of her beloved 2nd society, in the embrace of friends who cherished her & family who adored her - her unique self, shining.
Thank you, Australia, for giving Mom so much of what I longed to offer & couldn't. Without her experiences on your sunny shores, she would have enjoyed a good life. With them, her days shifted, gracing her with - to quote one of her beloved books - a fortunate life. G'd on ya!
But I would have to have been a fly on the wall, unseen but soaking it all in. If I'd been there, Mom couldn't have been her full Aussie self, which I think was more relaxed & open & downright confident than anything I had the pleasure of seeing.
And I think she was more that way with her grandchildren & her Australian friends than she was with even Mike & Kerry. When Mom was in Aussie format, she was free in ways I doubt she fully grasped. And - I believe - happier than she'd been since Dad died. Way happier than she could be back here, in Bryn Athyn.
There are so many reasons for this impression. In Australia, there were no memories of Dad waiting around every corner. The people she met only knew her as she was at 65 & older; no memories of any previous Kay. Just the one in front of them. It was Australia, with it's sense of possibility. She was, on each of her seven priceless trips, a unique, fabulous version of Katharine Reynolds Lockhart.
It seems a pity that Mom never felt the call to move permanently to Australia. There was really nothing holding her back her, everything beckoning down. Her USA-based children were all middle aged, she would have been one door down from the Hurstville church, she would have been living with children who appreciated the infinite levels of support she gave them & grandchildren she adored.
For years, it was a mystery - and a sadness - why Mom wouldn't consider making what felt like such a logical move. It would have simplified my own life & would have been good for my oldest brother & sister, too. But she would not go. Oh, she TALKED about it. Every time I'd get frustrated with something about our living arrangement, she'd sigh & say, "Well, I can always go live with Mike & Kerry. THEY would love to have me."
So, I was surprised when Mom seemed totally blindsided by my announcement, "I think it's time you moved to Australia." She hadn't seen it coming because she never thought that I'd take her seriously. Alas, I'd come to the end of my rope with how she interacted with my sister & oldest brother, never expecting them to give any form of support to the family, while always offering an open invitation to stay with us at any time they needed, for however long. I was fed up with life being centered around meeting their needs without them giving any apparent thought to the needs of the greater whole. I was done with it.
Not so fast.
Contrary to what she'd always said, Mom had no intention of leaving a life that worked perfectly - for her. She went to Australia on a regular basis, came home to the town that had been an on & off home since her teens.
How differently life would have been had Mom moved down to Mike & Kerry's welcoming arms. Couldn't be better than what I have right now, so it all worked out.
Years & years later, in the last weeks of her life, I finally learned the perfectly understandable, "Why didn't she tell me?" reason for why she wouldn't make the move when it would have benefited me, Peter, Mim, Mike & Kerry, Scott & Karen, and even Mom.
Turns out, there was a fly in the ointment on Mom's trips Down Under. Kerry could be brutally critical of Dad, the great love of Mom's life. It's ironic that Kerry - who seemed to blame ME for Mom not moving, when it was something I dearly wanted for my own health - was the reason Mom stayed put, to the detriment of all.
To this day, can remember Kerry's remarks at the celebration following Mom's memorial service, how she marveled at how Mom seemed to hold her brash Australian daughter-in-law in her heart, in spite of her blunt frankness.
Hearing those words in October 2001, had a totally different response to them than I would have in July. Mom & I had a lot of time to talk when she was at INOVA/Alexandria Hospital and she was more open with me than at any other time in her life. For the first time, she shared with me how she felt when Kerry would let loose with a verbal barrage against Dad (the two were like oil & water - he rubbed her the wrong way & vice versa).
Mom described shrinking inside, wanting to get away from the hurtful words, but there being no place to go. She didn't have to tell me the rest; knowing her, I knew how she responded - all apparent calm & probably smiles, cauterizing & sealing off the pain. She could manage it for the months she was visiting - but experience it to the end of her days? No, nay, never.
Understanding the torment she'd feel being assaulted with cruel words about her O! Best Beloved, it was obvious why Mom couldn't make the move. But why never share with me the actual reason? "I didn't want you to think less of Kerry." She'd rather I resent her than simply know the truth. That was sad. And very Mom.
Praise be, none of that gunk stuck to her when she was Down Under. She breathed in the air of a continent where new beginnings were the norm, yet also offered the deep spiritual roots of its aboriginal times. It was the perfect environment for Mom to sink in her own deep roots, to fully be Katharine Reynolds Lockhart 2.0.
How I would have loved to have seen her in the heart of her beloved 2nd society, in the embrace of friends who cherished her & family who adored her - her unique self, shining.
Thank you, Australia, for giving Mom so much of what I longed to offer & couldn't. Without her experiences on your sunny shores, she would have enjoyed a good life. With them, her days shifted, gracing her with - to quote one of her beloved books - a fortunate life. G'd on ya!
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Regrets, I've had a few...
Until I met John, I never really longed for the success of being a wife. Never saw myself as anyone that someone would fall in love with, let alone want to marry. My great hope longing yearning was not for marriage, but to be a good daughter sister aunt. Not mother - never saw myself having children. Didn't mope for a circle of friends to whom I could confide & have jolly fun. But to be a good daughter sister aunt - from my earliest memories, that was my everything.
Was reminded of it just now, looking at a niece's new Facebook profile shot. Can see the picture, but not post a comment - she unfriended me years ago. Her brother has never friended me. And with good cause. I was a very poor aunt to both of them. I wasn't as protective & understanding as I should have been because I'd never experienced the sort of protectiveness & compassion the two of them deserved. While I take comfort that she was my maid of honor & he was one of John's ushers, am filled with sadness that when Mom left us, so did they.
Scott has been blessedly outspoken about how uncomfortable I can make him feel. Good lad, speaking your truth! Karen & I have a lovely light-touch relationship spun out of Facebook postings & now gifties down to Riley. But if she was visiting for any amount of time, am quite certain I'd rub her the wrong way, too.
For most of my life, I was aware of being persona non grata with my sibs. They were utterly upfront about their feelings toward me, for which I have always been grateful. It was only in my fifties that I realized the correct term would be persona non exista. So many things have brought home to me how I simply don't exist to them, as someone they might like let alone as a sister. People rail against that - "Oh, no! You're all wrong!" - because it seems improbable. But, to quote Aristotle via Peter Wimsey, it is better to believe the improbable possible than the impossible probable.
Seeing that photo of Whitney & not being able to post a comment was a dagger to my heart. Didn't realize how much I still care, how much I miss experiencing Campbell & Piper & Finlay (Finley?) growing up. I get my updates via Mim.
My saving grace is that part of me knew since what feels like forever that it would be so. Years before she died, Mom told me that my sibs would get along better with me when she was gone. I disagreed, noting that when she was gone, so was any reason for any connection. Part of me knew what was going to happen. From my single digits, have had a freakish sense of what was really afoot. Hasn't saved me from the sadness, but from a lot of confusion.
When it comes to Whitney & Reynolds, I have a tremendous amount of remorse. Looking back, can see so many places where I could have been such a better aunt. Am pleased for the chance to know Scott as well as I have, although it hasn't seemed to have done a heap of good in creating any sort of actual bond - as far as I know, he still shares his mother's view that I am a deeply angry person who flies off the handle & manically lashes out at people. Feeling totally blessed to have a Facebook friendship with Karen.
The bottom line is that my way of living is VERY different from my siblings. I utterly completely totally rub them the wrong way. Guess it was inevitable our sorry relationship would be passed down to the next generation.
Praise be, I treasure each of them - always have, always will. Okay, not Kerry, because she made Mom sad. I have my regrets over what isn't, will always feel an occasional pang of remorse when I see a great profile pic & can't post a "WOW!" comment. But I did my best, with what inner resources I had at the time. I was a failure as an aunt to Whitney & Reynolds, but I was a failure to myself back then, too. My best, as lacking as it might have been, was my best.
From the day I was born, my longing to be the best daughter sister aunt was doomed. Too many differences in life expectations, communication patterns, definitions of roles. I took my best shot. Do I have the faintest idea why things were & are the way they are? Not a clue. Nor does it matter. A life tied to regret will sink, every time.
Old Blue Eyes says it best...
Was reminded of it just now, looking at a niece's new Facebook profile shot. Can see the picture, but not post a comment - she unfriended me years ago. Her brother has never friended me. And with good cause. I was a very poor aunt to both of them. I wasn't as protective & understanding as I should have been because I'd never experienced the sort of protectiveness & compassion the two of them deserved. While I take comfort that she was my maid of honor & he was one of John's ushers, am filled with sadness that when Mom left us, so did they.
Scott has been blessedly outspoken about how uncomfortable I can make him feel. Good lad, speaking your truth! Karen & I have a lovely light-touch relationship spun out of Facebook postings & now gifties down to Riley. But if she was visiting for any amount of time, am quite certain I'd rub her the wrong way, too.
For most of my life, I was aware of being persona non grata with my sibs. They were utterly upfront about their feelings toward me, for which I have always been grateful. It was only in my fifties that I realized the correct term would be persona non exista. So many things have brought home to me how I simply don't exist to them, as someone they might like let alone as a sister. People rail against that - "Oh, no! You're all wrong!" - because it seems improbable. But, to quote Aristotle via Peter Wimsey, it is better to believe the improbable possible than the impossible probable.
Seeing that photo of Whitney & not being able to post a comment was a dagger to my heart. Didn't realize how much I still care, how much I miss experiencing Campbell & Piper & Finlay (Finley?) growing up. I get my updates via Mim.
My saving grace is that part of me knew since what feels like forever that it would be so. Years before she died, Mom told me that my sibs would get along better with me when she was gone. I disagreed, noting that when she was gone, so was any reason for any connection. Part of me knew what was going to happen. From my single digits, have had a freakish sense of what was really afoot. Hasn't saved me from the sadness, but from a lot of confusion.
When it comes to Whitney & Reynolds, I have a tremendous amount of remorse. Looking back, can see so many places where I could have been such a better aunt. Am pleased for the chance to know Scott as well as I have, although it hasn't seemed to have done a heap of good in creating any sort of actual bond - as far as I know, he still shares his mother's view that I am a deeply angry person who flies off the handle & manically lashes out at people. Feeling totally blessed to have a Facebook friendship with Karen.
The bottom line is that my way of living is VERY different from my siblings. I utterly completely totally rub them the wrong way. Guess it was inevitable our sorry relationship would be passed down to the next generation.
Praise be, I treasure each of them - always have, always will. Okay, not Kerry, because she made Mom sad. I have my regrets over what isn't, will always feel an occasional pang of remorse when I see a great profile pic & can't post a "WOW!" comment. But I did my best, with what inner resources I had at the time. I was a failure as an aunt to Whitney & Reynolds, but I was a failure to myself back then, too. My best, as lacking as it might have been, was my best.
From the day I was born, my longing to be the best daughter sister aunt was doomed. Too many differences in life expectations, communication patterns, definitions of roles. I took my best shot. Do I have the faintest idea why things were & are the way they are? Not a clue. Nor does it matter. A life tied to regret will sink, every time.
Old Blue Eyes says it best...
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
A time to every purpose
Mulling over how my current quest to absorb effective processing techniques is complicated by having acquired warped ones that inevitably lead to doomed efforts. Have to dig out long-time, rotten-at-the-roots traits AND welcome ones that consistently yield an intended constructive outcome.
Far from being discouraged being finally settling down to this endeavor at the ripe age of 62, am energized by the awareness that NOW seems to be the earliest I could have started winnowing out unproductive patterns, replacing them with ones that nurture.
Puts me in mind of the parable of the wheat & the chaff
Jesus told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.
Far from being discouraged being finally settling down to this endeavor at the ripe age of 62, am energized by the awareness that NOW seems to be the earliest I could have started winnowing out unproductive patterns, replacing them with ones that nurture.
Puts me in mind of the parable of the wheat & the chaff
Jesus told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.
“The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’
“ ‘An enemy did this,’ he replied.
“The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’
‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. Let
both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the
harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be
burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.’ ”
This parable hits home in both my personal & professional lives. In my personal life, it keeps me from having a sense of despair over being such an age before setting out to learn embrace use my unique productive process. Professionally, it brings home that we frequently can't address major glitches in our lives until we are old enough to have a clearer perspective - practically impossible in earlier years.
We have to wait for the wheat & the chaff to mature before we can see what is wholesome & what will choke the life out of what it stands near. Try to attend to it before the difference is apparent & we'll root out the nurturing as well as the weed.
Without enough knowledge & awareness, we can end up doing what I did when Mom was off on her first trip to visit Mike & Kerry in Australia. As a "welcome home" surprise, I weeded out the front garden. Lovely intention, but I was not a gardener. On her return, she was greeted with a thriving patch of wildly blooming weeds & every one of the things she'd planted carefully, lovingly rooted out.
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
process server
In Writing from the Heart, Nancy Slonim Aronte writes, "I grew up in a house without process. I never saw anyone get better
at anything. I didn't even know you could get better at anything. I
never saw anyone practice anything. I didn't even know what practice
was. If you weren't good at something right away, there was no point in
doing it."
Wow! Instead of feeling isolated & deprived, I suddenly realized that other people had similar stories to mine. I was part of a sisterhood, not some isolated aberration.
That felt comforting. And empowering. Like Nancy, I am taking a closer look at my lack of connection with process. Like her, this isn't the first time I decided to gird myself to the task & face down my lack. Like her,this time I'm sticking to it.
Ability to process seems to be one of the primary qualities of people I admire - Dave & Candy and Emily Jane stand out in my mind. They seem to know when to work, when to kick back & let loose. Maybe their knack is in living fully in the moment, in doing each thing in its time rather than trying to tote a lazy man's load of wishes & dreams.
It is a daunting challenge to become friends with process in your 60s. I could give dozens of reasons why I never learned the value of process, the steps & dynamics. Waste of time & energy! I don't want to reinforce & underscore what hasn't worked in my life. No use served in examining the messages sent & received, the dynamics of unconstructed living, the upsy downess of day to day life.
Process is how we get done what needs to be done. Now, however long it takes, however often I have to commit & recommit, it is time to make mine what hasn't been. I don't care about the ancient roots of my problem as long as I can work on producing fresh growth & blossoms. Stay tuned!
Wow! Instead of feeling isolated & deprived, I suddenly realized that other people had similar stories to mine. I was part of a sisterhood, not some isolated aberration.
That felt comforting. And empowering. Like Nancy, I am taking a closer look at my lack of connection with process. Like her, this isn't the first time I decided to gird myself to the task & face down my lack. Like her,this time I'm sticking to it.
Ability to process seems to be one of the primary qualities of people I admire - Dave & Candy and Emily Jane stand out in my mind. They seem to know when to work, when to kick back & let loose. Maybe their knack is in living fully in the moment, in doing each thing in its time rather than trying to tote a lazy man's load of wishes & dreams.
It is a daunting challenge to become friends with process in your 60s. I could give dozens of reasons why I never learned the value of process, the steps & dynamics. Waste of time & energy! I don't want to reinforce & underscore what hasn't worked in my life. No use served in examining the messages sent & received, the dynamics of unconstructed living, the upsy downess of day to day life.
Process is how we get done what needs to be done. Now, however long it takes, however often I have to commit & recommit, it is time to make mine what hasn't been. I don't care about the ancient roots of my problem as long as I can work on producing fresh growth & blossoms. Stay tuned!
message received, not necessarily sent
Over the years, we've received countess messages, many of which touched us deeply, affecting us scores of years later. Most of the time, we've long ago forgotten the actual wording, the context, the timing, often even who said it. But those deeply-rooted can still be affecting us, how we see thing, how werespond. The most stunning thing about such life-altering messages are how many were never actually sent.
One of the best things we can do in our lives, one that's vital in our older years, is to step back & look at things we believe, that continue to guide our life path, and ask ourself one simple question - Does this make sense? Really?
There's no need to remember who "sent" it, because we may be wrong. That's not to say we didn't receive & process it & make it our own, all the while pinning the responsibility elsewhere. But we might have totally misunderstood what the person was talking about or it might have been the most casual of comments that we misconstrued or it might have been something that originated in a mish-mash of unrelated gunk.
There's no need to remember the sender, but there's every use in seeing if it works in the here & now.
It's been thirteen years & it still shocks me that I learned in the last weeks of her life that Mom absolutely believed it's what we intend that matters, that what we do is totally secondary. Even at 91, she held onto that belief with all her might - not only was it something she'd learned, she'd processed it as a foundational truth of her faith. Maybe no one else's, but definitely hers. If she was to look at it & see that it didn't hold water... well, what about all the years she'd spent believing?
It's not easy giving up an outdated or just-never-true belief. We're invested. But it is essential.
For a truly sobering thought, take a few moments to realize that there are people in your world who think you sent out a message, one you never intended. So take what you believe with a grain of salt. Occasionally step back & ask yourself, "Does this make sense?" And if you're tempted to slam another person for a message they sent, pause & remember - it ain't necessarily so!
One of the best things we can do in our lives, one that's vital in our older years, is to step back & look at things we believe, that continue to guide our life path, and ask ourself one simple question - Does this make sense? Really?
There's no need to remember who "sent" it, because we may be wrong. That's not to say we didn't receive & process it & make it our own, all the while pinning the responsibility elsewhere. But we might have totally misunderstood what the person was talking about or it might have been the most casual of comments that we misconstrued or it might have been something that originated in a mish-mash of unrelated gunk.
There's no need to remember the sender, but there's every use in seeing if it works in the here & now.
It's been thirteen years & it still shocks me that I learned in the last weeks of her life that Mom absolutely believed it's what we intend that matters, that what we do is totally secondary. Even at 91, she held onto that belief with all her might - not only was it something she'd learned, she'd processed it as a foundational truth of her faith. Maybe no one else's, but definitely hers. If she was to look at it & see that it didn't hold water... well, what about all the years she'd spent believing?
It's not easy giving up an outdated or just-never-true belief. We're invested. But it is essential.
For a truly sobering thought, take a few moments to realize that there are people in your world who think you sent out a message, one you never intended. So take what you believe with a grain of salt. Occasionally step back & ask yourself, "Does this make sense?" And if you're tempted to slam another person for a message they sent, pause & remember - it ain't necessarily so!
Monday, June 23, 2014
oh, what a beautiful mourning!
Throughout my childhood & adulthood, a primary message received from Mom was that sadness was a negative feeling, an emotion to be ignored dodged denied, at all costs. I remember Dad crying after Ian died - not Mom. She was in a semi-catatonic state after Dad died, sitting for days in the brown reclining chair in the living room that she'd given him a few years earlier, but she didn't break down in tears, at least not around me.
Twenty-five years after his passing, I finally asked Mom about her apparent lack of visible grief over the loss of the love of her life, her heart partner. Can still see her, sitting on the edge of her bed, in her bedroom at 2501 Woodland Road, as she answered, "I didn't want you girls to know how torn apart I was. If you had known the depth of my grief, you might never have wanted to fall in love, might never have wanted to leave yourself that vulnerable."
Being me, I pressed her - "Did YOU regret leaving yourself vulnerable? Isn't that part of what we sign on for whenever we love someone?" She looked at me like I was from another planet.
Years later, she wrote about the power of grief. I guess we'd continued the conversation about her response to Dad & Ian's deaths over the years, culminating in the world's response to Diana's. Perhaps Mom's most amazing trait was her willingness to see things in a new light, even things contrary to long-held beliefs & attitudes. This quality was always there, waiting to be nurtured. Got plenty of nurturing after I married John & Mom could see that it could be safe to talk about dicey issues & "red flag" topics that she once waved off as inherently dangerous.
There is beauty to mourning. Several years ago, I called a very good acquaintance in whom I had utter trust & asked if I could come over for a good cry. (Elsa, the Always Practical) Had come to a heart-ripping realization about Mom's unstated but conveyed relationship with me & knew it was essential to express grief over the inescapable AH HA! insight, knew that my close friends might not understand the use of grieving, knew instinctively who would - beyond my expectation - grasp.
There are things - like that beyond-sad awareness - that need to be mourned. Ignored or denied, they lodge, festering, in our heart. Once acknowledged respected honored for a period, we can give thanks for any fresh insights they brought & then reverently set them aside.
Twenty-five years after his passing, I finally asked Mom about her apparent lack of visible grief over the loss of the love of her life, her heart partner. Can still see her, sitting on the edge of her bed, in her bedroom at 2501 Woodland Road, as she answered, "I didn't want you girls to know how torn apart I was. If you had known the depth of my grief, you might never have wanted to fall in love, might never have wanted to leave yourself that vulnerable."
Being me, I pressed her - "Did YOU regret leaving yourself vulnerable? Isn't that part of what we sign on for whenever we love someone?" She looked at me like I was from another planet.
Years later, she wrote about the power of grief. I guess we'd continued the conversation about her response to Dad & Ian's deaths over the years, culminating in the world's response to Diana's. Perhaps Mom's most amazing trait was her willingness to see things in a new light, even things contrary to long-held beliefs & attitudes. This quality was always there, waiting to be nurtured. Got plenty of nurturing after I married John & Mom could see that it could be safe to talk about dicey issues & "red flag" topics that she once waved off as inherently dangerous.
There is beauty to mourning. Several years ago, I called a very good acquaintance in whom I had utter trust & asked if I could come over for a good cry. (Elsa, the Always Practical) Had come to a heart-ripping realization about Mom's unstated but conveyed relationship with me & knew it was essential to express grief over the inescapable AH HA! insight, knew that my close friends might not understand the use of grieving, knew instinctively who would - beyond my expectation - grasp.
There are things - like that beyond-sad awareness - that need to be mourned. Ignored or denied, they lodge, festering, in our heart. Once acknowledged respected honored for a period, we can give thanks for any fresh insights they brought & then reverently set them aside.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Geneology & awareness
Still stuns me that I incorporated a lesson on my very own family dynamics into teaching a high school health class. Who ever would have figured such a opportunity would ever come my way? Everyone should be so blessed.
Awesome, taking my lineage back to my grandparents to show how circumstance & the characteristics of surviving parents profoundly affected my mother & father, then how the two of them affected my own generation, and ultimately the various ways we (alas, including me) touched the next generation. Fascinating to think that Gar's & Gran's idiosyncracies might affect Piper & Riley.
Am always taken aback when my oldest brother rips into Dad for his failings as a father. Hey, we all do the best we can with what we've got. Put failings in context. To his dying day, my father believed his own father's philandering utterly broke his mother's heart & lead to her death soon after giving birth to a baby that died before her. I explained this to my class, drawing the first part of the geneology to show Gar & Lillian (deceased when Dad was in his early teens; a year later, Gar married his mistress) and Benjamin (deceased when Mom was 19) & Rena. We talked about how my surviving grandmother seemed to lack the slightest connection between what served her best interests & what was outrageously bad behavior. About how coming from the upbringing they'd had, both Mom & Dad were primed to give the each other the love & support neither had experienced in their earlier years - and neither was in the least way prepared to be a parent. Loving? Absolutely. But without a clue about how to nurture & guide their children into independence, let alone interdependence.
Next, we discussed my generation. My sibs gave me plenty of material. And just because I didn't have children of my own didn't mean I didn't get my own time at bat for hitting a home run with the next generation or (more often than not) striking out.
Through the years, the classes - at-risk students, kids you warned, "I'll call your parole officer" instead of "your parents" - ate it up. Being honest about my own traits & their negative impact intrigued them. Real life.
We looked at communication patterns, at how Mom & my sibs triangulate while I am to the point. What especially grabbed their attention were the times I'd present our opposite ways of dealing with things, then ask, "Which is correct?" Answer - they both are. Different doesn't mean that one or the other is wrong. That just boggled their minds.
Can see their faces as I describe my apparent impact on my nieces & nephews. Sadly, not good. Which helps me feel compassion for all the messed up ancestors that came before me. Bet they did their best, too. Sometimes - often - your best just doesn't cut it. Could be because it sort of stinks or because you don't understand the actual situation or because how you process stuff is different from how others handle it.
That last one can be devastating. Doesn't matter how clearly you express yourself or commit yourself to hearing the other person, if you use the same words but in different contexts, nothing is going to get across or be understood.
My hope was that my students would see the humanity of each of my family members & realize that we can't blame those who came before or each other for our problems, because they probably had their own challenged circumstances.
Always ended up the lesson talking about how our families provide our first laboratory for better understanding human nature, that we are meant to learn from them, replicating in our own way what works, doing our best to heal what seems broken, and taking responsibility for what could affect others & other generations.
How many people get to look at their families dispassionately, a lesson unit on geneology? For me, it was some kind of wonderful!
Awesome, taking my lineage back to my grandparents to show how circumstance & the characteristics of surviving parents profoundly affected my mother & father, then how the two of them affected my own generation, and ultimately the various ways we (alas, including me) touched the next generation. Fascinating to think that Gar's & Gran's idiosyncracies might affect Piper & Riley.
Am always taken aback when my oldest brother rips into Dad for his failings as a father. Hey, we all do the best we can with what we've got. Put failings in context. To his dying day, my father believed his own father's philandering utterly broke his mother's heart & lead to her death soon after giving birth to a baby that died before her. I explained this to my class, drawing the first part of the geneology to show Gar & Lillian (deceased when Dad was in his early teens; a year later, Gar married his mistress) and Benjamin (deceased when Mom was 19) & Rena. We talked about how my surviving grandmother seemed to lack the slightest connection between what served her best interests & what was outrageously bad behavior. About how coming from the upbringing they'd had, both Mom & Dad were primed to give the each other the love & support neither had experienced in their earlier years - and neither was in the least way prepared to be a parent. Loving? Absolutely. But without a clue about how to nurture & guide their children into independence, let alone interdependence.
Next, we discussed my generation. My sibs gave me plenty of material. And just because I didn't have children of my own didn't mean I didn't get my own time at bat for hitting a home run with the next generation or (more often than not) striking out.
Through the years, the classes - at-risk students, kids you warned, "I'll call your parole officer" instead of "your parents" - ate it up. Being honest about my own traits & their negative impact intrigued them. Real life.
We looked at communication patterns, at how Mom & my sibs triangulate while I am to the point. What especially grabbed their attention were the times I'd present our opposite ways of dealing with things, then ask, "Which is correct?" Answer - they both are. Different doesn't mean that one or the other is wrong. That just boggled their minds.
Can see their faces as I describe my apparent impact on my nieces & nephews. Sadly, not good. Which helps me feel compassion for all the messed up ancestors that came before me. Bet they did their best, too. Sometimes - often - your best just doesn't cut it. Could be because it sort of stinks or because you don't understand the actual situation or because how you process stuff is different from how others handle it.
That last one can be devastating. Doesn't matter how clearly you express yourself or commit yourself to hearing the other person, if you use the same words but in different contexts, nothing is going to get across or be understood.
My hope was that my students would see the humanity of each of my family members & realize that we can't blame those who came before or each other for our problems, because they probably had their own challenged circumstances.
Always ended up the lesson talking about how our families provide our first laboratory for better understanding human nature, that we are meant to learn from them, replicating in our own way what works, doing our best to heal what seems broken, and taking responsibility for what could affect others & other generations.
How many people get to look at their families dispassionately, a lesson unit on geneology? For me, it was some kind of wonderful!
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Stoic
Am blessed to have an older friend tutoring me in philosophy. Mega win-win! She loves philosophy & I never gave it a try in college, let alone later in life, firmly convinced in my earlier years that I was too dense, too much a dullard to be able to comprehend it. (Oh, the stupid stories we tell ourselves!)
From today's intro "class", am thinking that Mim is a classic Stoic. Throughout my years with her, a recurring message I got was that pain is innately noble; that if doing a good thing gives you a sense of pleasure, it's value is seriously diminished - to have true value, an action must include some aspect of pain, serious discomfort or at least significant inconvenience.
It was only this past Saturday - completely independent of today's AH HA! realization after learning about the Stoics - that it hit me WHY Mim was able to tackle & complete her undergrad degree at NYU, when all early attempts were short lived. Have always said that she wasn't able to finish until she found a program funky enough to catch & keep her attention. A casual comment by someone standing next to me at the Marriott Marquis, talking about something totally unrelated, lit a giant beaming light bulb over my head. What set the NYU program apart from all the others was its high degree of inconvenience, difficult logistics & time burden. It involved some aspect of pain.
Then came today & there was Beth talking about the Stoics. And all I could see was Mim.
It seems that Stoics believe people must be virtuous solely for the sake of duty, that experiencing pleasure as the result of doing something worthy compromises & negates its virtue. Mim to a T. How many times did she tell me that what I did for others, for the family, had zip nada zilch value because the doing made me happy? That all the favors I did for her were hopelessly compromised by the fact they had no value since doing them - whatever that might be - made me happy.
Can still remember my reaction when she first clearly enunciated that to me - looked her square in the eyes & declared, "Well, then I'm doomed to a lifetime of doing worthless things, because I'll always take pleasure in lending a hand to others, even when it's not convenient." Brazen bluster on my part, since her statement thoroughly threw me.
Okay, can see that Mim definitely seems to be a Stoic. Leaves me wondering - what am I?
From today's intro "class", am thinking that Mim is a classic Stoic. Throughout my years with her, a recurring message I got was that pain is innately noble; that if doing a good thing gives you a sense of pleasure, it's value is seriously diminished - to have true value, an action must include some aspect of pain, serious discomfort or at least significant inconvenience.
It was only this past Saturday - completely independent of today's AH HA! realization after learning about the Stoics - that it hit me WHY Mim was able to tackle & complete her undergrad degree at NYU, when all early attempts were short lived. Have always said that she wasn't able to finish until she found a program funky enough to catch & keep her attention. A casual comment by someone standing next to me at the Marriott Marquis, talking about something totally unrelated, lit a giant beaming light bulb over my head. What set the NYU program apart from all the others was its high degree of inconvenience, difficult logistics & time burden. It involved some aspect of pain.
Then came today & there was Beth talking about the Stoics. And all I could see was Mim.
It seems that Stoics believe people must be virtuous solely for the sake of duty, that experiencing pleasure as the result of doing something worthy compromises & negates its virtue. Mim to a T. How many times did she tell me that what I did for others, for the family, had zip nada zilch value because the doing made me happy? That all the favors I did for her were hopelessly compromised by the fact they had no value since doing them - whatever that might be - made me happy.
Can still remember my reaction when she first clearly enunciated that to me - looked her square in the eyes & declared, "Well, then I'm doomed to a lifetime of doing worthless things, because I'll always take pleasure in lending a hand to others, even when it's not convenient." Brazen bluster on my part, since her statement thoroughly threw me.
Okay, can see that Mim definitely seems to be a Stoic. Leaves me wondering - what am I?
insideness
“They drew a line that shut me out,
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout!
But love and I had the wit to win
We drew a circle and brought them in.” Edwin Markham
Yep, that pretty well sums up my experience with my birth family. They might only be brought in within my heart, but perhaps that's the only place that matters.
This past week, got an unexpected assist in that area by Reed Asplundh, who posted a youtube video of Mim & Mike up at Lach Pitcairn's summer house at Tonche, outside Woodstock, NY. Wonderful opportunity to touch base with Karen & Scott, Whitney & Reynolds, Kerry (Mike & Mim aren't on facebook, to the best of my knowledge). Heard back from Karen & Scott & even more than just a few words of acknowledgement from Whitney! They are good kids & it makes me sad that we have so many unhappy barriers between us. Joyful when there's connection!
Fascinating that the Markham poem begins in the first person, but ends in the third - "shut me out" and "we drew a circle." Makes sense - the Divine was part of his action bringing them in. The Divine always always always seeks conjunction, a sense of everyone being inside, enclosed within loving arms. Is that cool, or what?!!
Sunday, June 8, 2014
outsideness
Recently, I wrote about a healthier response to a once devastating funky family dynamic - Instead of beating myself up for over
half a lifetime of trying to heal a relationship that couldn't because
it wasn't, felt a detached interest in the sting, in the fact that
having my outsideness brought home still stung.
Outsideness. Yes, that was how I felt & feel in my family. What makes it interesting rather than devastating is acknowledging that a sense of outsideness always & forever seemed to permeate my family.
How far back did it start? At least to Mom's teen years. Tucked into a Mindwalker1910 e-mail about her 1928 high school graduation was the memory of the dance dress her Mom sent from Baltimore. My grandmother was in Baltimore, while Mom lived in the "settlement," a temporary townie, not a dorm gal. AKM, not DEKA. But she actual home was over 100 miles away. From Mom's teens, she was used to being part of Bryn Athyn, not fully. In my experience, that sense stayed with her for all of her life, then passed down to me, intensified by Mim's influence.
In my early twenties, something Bishop Pendleton said in Dad's memorial address stood out, like it was written in neon lights ~ "Pete & Kay made their home amongst us," meaning they settled down in Bryn Athyn. "Amongst us" just seemed & seems strange phrasing - with yet somehow separate. At least, that's how it hit me.
Then, there's Peter & Mim. My oldest brother & my sister have always struck me as feeling outside our family, albeit in very different ways. Then, too, they strike me as feeling outside their very selves.
Being someone who wildly advocates connection & relationship, outsideness is about the worst sensation I can imagine. It must be exhausting. At least, it would be for me. Am glad my outside days are past, that I recognize that while I'm not an outside person. Am not an inside person, either.
Inside people - ones who only relate to people within their millieu, be it family and/or faith, college or country club. That's even less my style than outsideness!
Guess I'm an everyone everywhere type.
Remembering a long ago Christmas workshop with Amy Grubb Childs. She asked us to bring one thing we were willing to give up. I said, "Wanting to connect with everyone." Amy nodded in self recognition, noting how we want to connect with family over the holidays. Oh, I hadn't meant just family - I literally meant EVERYONE. One of many reasons I love preparing refreshments for after-service gatherings at church, for Cairnwood Village's Monday Minister teas, for the college & for cast parties. Feeds that "everyone" longing.
Face it - have always & forever LOVED people & always harbored at least a teensy smidgen of personal self worth. Maybe, given the challenges some of my family face, that makes me the ultimate outsider in the Lockhart-Reynolds clan!
Outsideness. Yes, that was how I felt & feel in my family. What makes it interesting rather than devastating is acknowledging that a sense of outsideness always & forever seemed to permeate my family.
How far back did it start? At least to Mom's teen years. Tucked into a Mindwalker1910 e-mail about her 1928 high school graduation was the memory of the dance dress her Mom sent from Baltimore. My grandmother was in Baltimore, while Mom lived in the "settlement," a temporary townie, not a dorm gal. AKM, not DEKA. But she actual home was over 100 miles away. From Mom's teens, she was used to being part of Bryn Athyn, not fully. In my experience, that sense stayed with her for all of her life, then passed down to me, intensified by Mim's influence.
In my early twenties, something Bishop Pendleton said in Dad's memorial address stood out, like it was written in neon lights ~ "Pete & Kay made their home amongst us," meaning they settled down in Bryn Athyn. "Amongst us" just seemed & seems strange phrasing - with yet somehow separate. At least, that's how it hit me.
Then, there's Peter & Mim. My oldest brother & my sister have always struck me as feeling outside our family, albeit in very different ways. Then, too, they strike me as feeling outside their very selves.
Being someone who wildly advocates connection & relationship, outsideness is about the worst sensation I can imagine. It must be exhausting. At least, it would be for me. Am glad my outside days are past, that I recognize that while I'm not an outside person. Am not an inside person, either.
Inside people - ones who only relate to people within their millieu, be it family and/or faith, college or country club. That's even less my style than outsideness!
Guess I'm an everyone everywhere type.
Remembering a long ago Christmas workshop with Amy Grubb Childs. She asked us to bring one thing we were willing to give up. I said, "Wanting to connect with everyone." Amy nodded in self recognition, noting how we want to connect with family over the holidays. Oh, I hadn't meant just family - I literally meant EVERYONE. One of many reasons I love preparing refreshments for after-service gatherings at church, for Cairnwood Village's Monday Minister teas, for the college & for cast parties. Feeds that "everyone" longing.
Face it - have always & forever LOVED people & always harbored at least a teensy smidgen of personal self worth. Maybe, given the challenges some of my family face, that makes me the ultimate outsider in the Lockhart-Reynolds clan!
Saturday, June 7, 2014
stung
Thought my days of feeling the sting of regret were long past. Apparently not.
At Bounty this a.m., was delighted to nab a gab with a classmate who's a longtime friend. Didn't tag up in high school, but years later, after she became a friend of Mim's. Not sure what drew them together, possibly Laurel Summer Camp. In any case, Barb stayed with us a couple times, including over Christmas. (Remember how we'd include sun block in her stocking presents, since she came down from frozen Canada.) As I recall, Mom was down in Australia during those stays.
Barb was the first person I ever heard take Mim to task, although she did it with a laugh. It must have been over a Christmas stay, at least 30 years ago. She wondered aloud to Mim why my older sis never helped with the dishes & snorted with disbelieving laughter when Mim explained she didn't know where the dishes went.
I'd never heard anyone say anything remotely critical to Mim, so it was quite the moment for me. And it made sense - to NOT know where the dishes belonged would seem to require an incredible concentration of will. But someone noticing it, finding it ludicrous & commenting on it - without damaging their core relationship - was downright wonderful. Bravo, Barb!
For me, Barb has always been a truth teller. No drama, just the facts m'am. When she asked today about Mim, was able to fill her in on the little bit I know (way more than this time last year, but basically nada). Barb mentioned that Mim hadn't touched base with her in about two years. She talked about getting a letter from her, a group letter, but nothing after that. She reckoned the last time she got a photo was back in 2009.
After all these years, after putting things in perspective, using ancient emotional ouches as precious lessons learned rather than painful memories, took me by surprise to feel the sharp sting of regret. Mim sent group letters - but not to me. The last pic Barb has is from 2009; the last one I've seen is from 2000, at Whitney & Chad's wedding.
Reminded myself that it's a sorry use of energy, feeling woeful over the lack of any there there. It's not like this is where our once apparently close relationship has degenerated - this is where it actually was all those years. It stung because I care about & for Mim, as I have all my life. And, in the ways I long hoped for, I don't seem to register on her personal radar, not even getting a copy of a group letter. Except that makes sense, since I've never really been part of her group, including her family group.
Bravo, me! Not long ago, the fresh reminder would have been devastating, leaving me wiped out by heartbreak & personal recrimination for days, grieving for something that never even existed.
It's not that the relationship has tattered, but that it never existed in the first place.
Instead of beating myself up for over half a lifetime of trying to heal a relationship that couldn't because it wasn't, felt a detached interest in the sting, in the fact that having my outsideness brought home still stung. And once again, as she did so many years ago, it was Barb revealing the truth, in her grounded, sensible way.
Just realizing that Barb & John share an important trait that I wish was mine - the ability to see the difficult in another without forming a judgement around it. To experience it just as a fact or event, without a smidgen of editorializing or embellishing.
Was surprised this morning by the unexpected sting of being outside of Mim's circle of compatriots, at the reminder that I was never really inside it. Where once I would have felt woeful, I was swept with gratitude for having all the remarkable things that came & come my way because of & through Mim.
The sting hurt, but the gratitude for all Mim was & is in my life - however distant & challenging - is like aloe on the teensy wound.
At Bounty this a.m., was delighted to nab a gab with a classmate who's a longtime friend. Didn't tag up in high school, but years later, after she became a friend of Mim's. Not sure what drew them together, possibly Laurel Summer Camp. In any case, Barb stayed with us a couple times, including over Christmas. (Remember how we'd include sun block in her stocking presents, since she came down from frozen Canada.) As I recall, Mom was down in Australia during those stays.
Barb was the first person I ever heard take Mim to task, although she did it with a laugh. It must have been over a Christmas stay, at least 30 years ago. She wondered aloud to Mim why my older sis never helped with the dishes & snorted with disbelieving laughter when Mim explained she didn't know where the dishes went.
I'd never heard anyone say anything remotely critical to Mim, so it was quite the moment for me. And it made sense - to NOT know where the dishes belonged would seem to require an incredible concentration of will. But someone noticing it, finding it ludicrous & commenting on it - without damaging their core relationship - was downright wonderful. Bravo, Barb!
For me, Barb has always been a truth teller. No drama, just the facts m'am. When she asked today about Mim, was able to fill her in on the little bit I know (way more than this time last year, but basically nada). Barb mentioned that Mim hadn't touched base with her in about two years. She talked about getting a letter from her, a group letter, but nothing after that. She reckoned the last time she got a photo was back in 2009.
After all these years, after putting things in perspective, using ancient emotional ouches as precious lessons learned rather than painful memories, took me by surprise to feel the sharp sting of regret. Mim sent group letters - but not to me. The last pic Barb has is from 2009; the last one I've seen is from 2000, at Whitney & Chad's wedding.
Reminded myself that it's a sorry use of energy, feeling woeful over the lack of any there there. It's not like this is where our once apparently close relationship has degenerated - this is where it actually was all those years. It stung because I care about & for Mim, as I have all my life. And, in the ways I long hoped for, I don't seem to register on her personal radar, not even getting a copy of a group letter. Except that makes sense, since I've never really been part of her group, including her family group.
Bravo, me! Not long ago, the fresh reminder would have been devastating, leaving me wiped out by heartbreak & personal recrimination for days, grieving for something that never even existed.
It's not that the relationship has tattered, but that it never existed in the first place.
Instead of beating myself up for over half a lifetime of trying to heal a relationship that couldn't because it wasn't, felt a detached interest in the sting, in the fact that having my outsideness brought home still stung. And once again, as she did so many years ago, it was Barb revealing the truth, in her grounded, sensible way.
Just realizing that Barb & John share an important trait that I wish was mine - the ability to see the difficult in another without forming a judgement around it. To experience it just as a fact or event, without a smidgen of editorializing or embellishing.
Was surprised this morning by the unexpected sting of being outside of Mim's circle of compatriots, at the reminder that I was never really inside it. Where once I would have felt woeful, I was swept with gratitude for having all the remarkable things that came & come my way because of & through Mim.
The sting hurt, but the gratitude for all Mim was & is in my life - however distant & challenging - is like aloe on the teensy wound.
paying, period
The concept of paying forward is appealing. When someone does something kind & generous, pay it forward, be kind & generous with another.
So is paying, period. Paying for yourself, covering your own expenses. Developing financial stability.
Stability is a good thing, not something just for dullards. There is nothing romantic about not having any money.
That might sound a tad strange coming from someone who's vision is of people who can afford the investment pooling together underwriting to free me to do my elder care thing without the constraint of money worries. That will be a formal arrangement, with specific monies provided by others AND defined expectations of what I will deliver on my end.
What it will not be is ANYTHING happening by default. I had a deeply-rooted fear of things happening by default - people not actively doing something, it just seeming to happen without action & certainly not intention, yet happening all the same.
Here's how I see the next few years working out - for several, my work/life will be underwritten by people who can afford it & are invested in seeing my elder work germinate, take root, grow, blossom, flourish; as I develop a clientele, my need for financial support will go away; as I become well-known & start writing & sharing what I've learned, I'll be able to invest in others, as I was valued & supported when I most needed it.
Paying forward is wonderful, a beautiful concept & practice. But it HAS to start with paying your own way, period.
So is paying, period. Paying for yourself, covering your own expenses. Developing financial stability.
Stability is a good thing, not something just for dullards. There is nothing romantic about not having any money.
That might sound a tad strange coming from someone who's vision is of people who can afford the investment pooling together underwriting to free me to do my elder care thing without the constraint of money worries. That will be a formal arrangement, with specific monies provided by others AND defined expectations of what I will deliver on my end.
What it will not be is ANYTHING happening by default. I had a deeply-rooted fear of things happening by default - people not actively doing something, it just seeming to happen without action & certainly not intention, yet happening all the same.
Here's how I see the next few years working out - for several, my work/life will be underwritten by people who can afford it & are invested in seeing my elder work germinate, take root, grow, blossom, flourish; as I develop a clientele, my need for financial support will go away; as I become well-known & start writing & sharing what I've learned, I'll be able to invest in others, as I was valued & supported when I most needed it.
Paying forward is wonderful, a beautiful concept & practice. But it HAS to start with paying your own way, period.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
in the swim
What a delightful time we had at last night's Bryn Athyn Swim Club fund-raiser! Apparently, they've typically held it in the winter time, but I guess our brutal winter waved them closer to summer. It's doubtful we would have gone if it was in winter & am pretty sure we wouldn't be joining the swim club.
Can feel Mom smiling from above. She was a huge swim club booster. But then, she was a total water baby! I, on the other hand, had little to no interest in swimming. Oh, it was wonderful fun to loll about in the pool at Cairnwood or down at Alice & Frank Day's.
"Aunt" Gay's olympic-length pool featured both high & low dives. It was great fun jumping off the high dive - well, not so much going into the water, but you got a great view from up there; to the right was the carriage house at the edge of Klips' wheat fields & to the left was the view up to Cairnwood, across Bishop Pendleton's beautiful rose garden. How wonderful that - even as a child & teen - I realized what a special spot it was, especially the long wisteria-laden pergola that muffled the noise of the traffic on Huntingdon Pike & increased the sense of a place out of place, time out of time. It was delightfully private, since I was usually the only youngster there, enjoying the pool while Mom & "Aunt" Gay & maybe Eva Henderson or another motherly sort visited & gabbed. Idyllic.
"Aunt" Alice's pool was much smaller, teeny tiny in comparison to the Pendleton's. But it was special to me, tucked amidst tall trees & beautiful flowering shrubs. It really was a very small pool, but it always felt just right to me. Again, I'd enjoy the water while Mom & her cohorts got in a nice visit before taking their own leisurely time in the water.
When I was very young, we'd occasionally go to "Aunt" Clara Pitcairn's for a swim. Her pool was in the most spectacular setting of all, with a wow view of the cathedral, but I never found it alluring, no doubt due to the long, bake-in-the-sun walk home - down Cairncrest's long driveway to Quarry Road, then up to the shade of Alnwick Road.
Even rarer were our visits to Emilie & Carl Asplundh's pool. What an elegant setting! There was something extra special about their pool - it was inviting, with a zen-like vibe; a gathering spot, a place for family & friends to enjoy each other's company as much as the water.
Phyllis & Garth had a pool, but I can't remember ever going there for a swim. Mom & Philly were friendly, but not buds. (Small wonder, as Philly was years younger.) The Grahams had a pool & I'm sure there are others that slipped my notice. Mom took Peter & Mike & Mim to swim at "the pond;" by the time Ian & I came along, it was off limits due to pollution.
With the pond unavailable, there was a crying need for a swim club to replace it. Unlike Mom, I never warmed to the swim club. First of all, it was not much fun for me to be in the pool with hoards of other people, not after being pampered at far more special swimming spots. Most important, socializing just wasn't the draw that it was for most young folks. Even if they weren't wild about swimming, they tagged up with buddies & hung out hours on end.
Just never related to it, not having my own circle of friends. The one person who truly mattered to me - Mim - never swam, at least not that I can recall. I am sure she had a wonderful time swimming when she was out at the Ripley Ranch when she was 15, but I don't know any other time. And if Mim wasn't there, it didn't hold much allure for me.
All of that is my long explanation for why it never ever occurred to me to join the swim club. My memories were of a hot, treeless place with little to no shade, felt fat & ugly in my swim suit, had no interest in just sitting around by myself - it was yet another place to feel more out than in. Pretty darn pathetic. And light years from my here & now experience.
First of all, the swim club is GORGEOUS! Welcoming - make that beckoning. Looking forward to many afternoons lolling about in one of the comfy poolside chairs - in the sun or under the elegant pavilion - reading or visiting with friends. What fun it will be to see elementary school kids I've gotten to know over the years, ones who are Saturday morning cupcakers, parents I remember as my own students or even younger.
I don't envision going in a swim suit, although I have one & even know where it is. But who knows? Although I can't imagine ever being comfortable during the "adult swim" - too many memories of sitting on the skirt of the pool, eyes boring into the adults who were swimming laps or just enjoying being in the clear cool water.
Wow - suddenly swept with a happy memory of Friday night suppers at the pool, when Dad would join us. Can see him in his trunks, long body hair (he had a lot, but very manly - not gross) slicked down from the water. Had completely forgotten those long-ago summer evenings at the pool with my parents.
Last night's party was a winner. John enjoyed himself, too. Kerry Sullivan's husband is from Frankford, too! There were so many faces I love, as well as numerous couples we got to know better at Heather & Brett's 2013 fire pit Fridays. I took special joy is so many of my former students all grown up, many with high school, even college graduates. An unexpected treat was tagging up with Pam Gibberson, a bud from back in my US Healthcare days. She was the icing on the cake, pulling all my worlds together.
Yes, I feel Mom smiling down. Smiling for so many reasons. Smiling, maybe most of all, because in so many ways, on so many levels, her baby girl is finally in the swim of things!
Can feel Mom smiling from above. She was a huge swim club booster. But then, she was a total water baby! I, on the other hand, had little to no interest in swimming. Oh, it was wonderful fun to loll about in the pool at Cairnwood or down at Alice & Frank Day's.
"Aunt" Gay's olympic-length pool featured both high & low dives. It was great fun jumping off the high dive - well, not so much going into the water, but you got a great view from up there; to the right was the carriage house at the edge of Klips' wheat fields & to the left was the view up to Cairnwood, across Bishop Pendleton's beautiful rose garden. How wonderful that - even as a child & teen - I realized what a special spot it was, especially the long wisteria-laden pergola that muffled the noise of the traffic on Huntingdon Pike & increased the sense of a place out of place, time out of time. It was delightfully private, since I was usually the only youngster there, enjoying the pool while Mom & "Aunt" Gay & maybe Eva Henderson or another motherly sort visited & gabbed. Idyllic.
"Aunt" Alice's pool was much smaller, teeny tiny in comparison to the Pendleton's. But it was special to me, tucked amidst tall trees & beautiful flowering shrubs. It really was a very small pool, but it always felt just right to me. Again, I'd enjoy the water while Mom & her cohorts got in a nice visit before taking their own leisurely time in the water.
When I was very young, we'd occasionally go to "Aunt" Clara Pitcairn's for a swim. Her pool was in the most spectacular setting of all, with a wow view of the cathedral, but I never found it alluring, no doubt due to the long, bake-in-the-sun walk home - down Cairncrest's long driveway to Quarry Road, then up to the shade of Alnwick Road.
Even rarer were our visits to Emilie & Carl Asplundh's pool. What an elegant setting! There was something extra special about their pool - it was inviting, with a zen-like vibe; a gathering spot, a place for family & friends to enjoy each other's company as much as the water.
Phyllis & Garth had a pool, but I can't remember ever going there for a swim. Mom & Philly were friendly, but not buds. (Small wonder, as Philly was years younger.) The Grahams had a pool & I'm sure there are others that slipped my notice. Mom took Peter & Mike & Mim to swim at "the pond;" by the time Ian & I came along, it was off limits due to pollution.
With the pond unavailable, there was a crying need for a swim club to replace it. Unlike Mom, I never warmed to the swim club. First of all, it was not much fun for me to be in the pool with hoards of other people, not after being pampered at far more special swimming spots. Most important, socializing just wasn't the draw that it was for most young folks. Even if they weren't wild about swimming, they tagged up with buddies & hung out hours on end.
Just never related to it, not having my own circle of friends. The one person who truly mattered to me - Mim - never swam, at least not that I can recall. I am sure she had a wonderful time swimming when she was out at the Ripley Ranch when she was 15, but I don't know any other time. And if Mim wasn't there, it didn't hold much allure for me.
All of that is my long explanation for why it never ever occurred to me to join the swim club. My memories were of a hot, treeless place with little to no shade, felt fat & ugly in my swim suit, had no interest in just sitting around by myself - it was yet another place to feel more out than in. Pretty darn pathetic. And light years from my here & now experience.
First of all, the swim club is GORGEOUS! Welcoming - make that beckoning. Looking forward to many afternoons lolling about in one of the comfy poolside chairs - in the sun or under the elegant pavilion - reading or visiting with friends. What fun it will be to see elementary school kids I've gotten to know over the years, ones who are Saturday morning cupcakers, parents I remember as my own students or even younger.
I don't envision going in a swim suit, although I have one & even know where it is. But who knows? Although I can't imagine ever being comfortable during the "adult swim" - too many memories of sitting on the skirt of the pool, eyes boring into the adults who were swimming laps or just enjoying being in the clear cool water.
Wow - suddenly swept with a happy memory of Friday night suppers at the pool, when Dad would join us. Can see him in his trunks, long body hair (he had a lot, but very manly - not gross) slicked down from the water. Had completely forgotten those long-ago summer evenings at the pool with my parents.
Last night's party was a winner. John enjoyed himself, too. Kerry Sullivan's husband is from Frankford, too! There were so many faces I love, as well as numerous couples we got to know better at Heather & Brett's 2013 fire pit Fridays. I took special joy is so many of my former students all grown up, many with high school, even college graduates. An unexpected treat was tagging up with Pam Gibberson, a bud from back in my US Healthcare days. She was the icing on the cake, pulling all my worlds together.
Yes, I feel Mom smiling down. Smiling for so many reasons. Smiling, maybe most of all, because in so many ways, on so many levels, her baby girl is finally in the swim of things!
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