Subj: Mindwalkers - Dona nobis pacem
Date: 5/29/00 12:18:46 PM Eastern Daylight Time
From: Mindwalker1910
It is 11:15 a.m. and a crowd of Bryn Athynites are gathered at the flag pole in Boro Park to honor our nation's veterans. The cathedral overlooks the ceremonies from atop its hill.
I miss the ceremony. Every Memorial Day, Pete and I would get the kids ready, load up the buggy if there was a little one, and off we would go, up Alden Road, up the Black Path, to South Avenue and across to the park. Now, as back then, there are speeches, the Boys Scouts march, the Girls Club leaves a wreath at the memorial, everyone will join in singing the national anthem, a group from a near by VFW post will fire off a volley in memory of those who fell, someone will play "Taps" in the distance, and there will be a moment of silence. I am with them all today, if only n my heart.
For some still inexplicable reason, one year they asked Elsa to speak. She wasn't a veteran, wasn't a teach or community leader. Apparently, the person scheduled to speak fell through and the head of the selection committee worked at Prudential and so did Elsa and they ran into each other at the elevator and the other person saw her opportunity and took it. Elsa, never one to turn down a chance at a "jolly pulpit," came on board.
Elsa was 8-years old when Mike joined the Navy. He served in the Reserve while in high school and got his active uniform almost as soon as he got his diploma. The slogan is "Join the Navy and see the world." Mike did. He had the great good fortune to be a plank owner (original crew) of the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, on which he made two tours of duty of the Mediterranean. But what stopped our hearts back home was when the Enterprise took part in the Cuban Blockade during the Cuban missile crisis. That was scary. Mike and his shipmates were part of anuclear-powers showdown on our very doorstep that had us on the brink of unimaginable war. Like we had in the Great War and World War II, back home we waited and prayed.
Elsa's talk at Boro park focused on those uncertain times, times which most of the adults standing around the flag pole could remember in some way, and how it was for those of us waiting, waiting, waiting. She threw in her favorite bits of Lincoln, including doing right as we see the right. Then she did a gutsy thing - she lead the gathering in song. Elsa does not have a pitch-perfect voice, so I was startled when she came out with the request to sing. She got us all into singing the round, "Dona Nobis Pacem." It was pretty raggy, but we did it. Mim and I knew as soon as we heard Elsa invite everyone to join in that it was more than simply appropriate to the moment, that the tribute was pulled from a family-favorite M*A*S*H episode that honored Father Mulcahey and his work of peace among the ravages of war.
May you all have a memorable Memorial Day, whatever flag your service men and woman serve under. May the Lord continue to "Give us peace."
Love - Mum L.
<< My thanks to Lori Nelson (and loving thoughts of her parents, especially Lou) for the words to "Taps" ~ "Day is done, gone the sun, from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest, God is nigh..." >>
reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy (aka Deev) in celebration of KRL's centenary
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
EAST SIDE, WEST SIDE 03/14/00
Subj: WOMEN: Mindwalkers - East Side, West Side
Date: 3/14/00 9:00:34 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Mim spent the summer of 1965 doing a residential theater workshop at Greenwich Village's renown Circle in the Square Theater. Peter (her brother) and I went up to see her in a workshop production of, as I remember, Edward Albee's "Two for the Seesaw." She had one line - someone asked her how her plants were doing and she replied, "They're blooming." Not much of a line, but she delivered it perfectly and bagged a laugh. I was (and am) very proud.
She had to be out of her NYU dorm by Labor Day, so Pete, Elsa and I trooped up to the Village in the van to bring her and her stuff back to BA. We were startled to find every street around Washington Square packed with artists - it was the annual Greenwich Village Art Show. We were delighted, especially when we discovered that Val Sigsted, a Bryn Athyn friend, was there with his beautiful wood carvings.
Pete seemed especially proud to stroll about with his three womenfolk. The four of us went to The Cookery, where Alberta Hunter sang, for brunch - my first taste of chilled strawberry soup.
Looking back, I am so pleased that Mim gave us the opportunity to experience the Village in its hippie heyday.
That was the start of NYC as a Lockhart playground. For years, we went up for the Village Art Show. I remember one year - 1967 or 1968 - when the art show had pretty slim pickings. It was the first time I saw oil paintings on black velvet. To salvage the trip, Pete did the unexpected - driving us over each of the bridges connecting Manhattan to its opposite shores. The Triborough, the Queensboro, the Williamsburg, the Manhattan, the Brooklyn, and we headed home via the George Washington (my apologies if I left one out ~ it was a while ago).
Walking around the Village, I never imagined that Elsa and I would be sitting in that Square in the early 1980s as Mim received her bachelor's degree from New York University. Never one for doing things the standard way, she commuted from BA to night classes. She’s occasionally turned to Elsa for a lift to class; Elsa got so comfortable driving around the Big Apple, she’s always up for a meander up to NYC for weekend rambles along what she calls Manhattan's "back roads." Elsa’s blessed to have gotten Pete’s sense of direction and not mine. (Pete seemed practically clairvoyant to this directions-impaired woman. When the two of us visited London for a week in the early '70s, people would come up to Pete for directions and he could set them right on their way!)
For a small town gal, I get a charge out of visiting the "Big City" whether it be New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, London, Chicago, San Francisco or my beloved Sydney.
Love to all - Nan
reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka DEEV
Date: 3/14/00 9:00:34 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Mim spent the summer of 1965 doing a residential theater workshop at Greenwich Village's renown Circle in the Square Theater. Peter (her brother) and I went up to see her in a workshop production of, as I remember, Edward Albee's "Two for the Seesaw." She had one line - someone asked her how her plants were doing and she replied, "They're blooming." Not much of a line, but she delivered it perfectly and bagged a laugh. I was (and am) very proud.
She had to be out of her NYU dorm by Labor Day, so Pete, Elsa and I trooped up to the Village in the van to bring her and her stuff back to BA. We were startled to find every street around Washington Square packed with artists - it was the annual Greenwich Village Art Show. We were delighted, especially when we discovered that Val Sigsted, a Bryn Athyn friend, was there with his beautiful wood carvings.
Pete seemed especially proud to stroll about with his three womenfolk. The four of us went to The Cookery, where Alberta Hunter sang, for brunch - my first taste of chilled strawberry soup.
Looking back, I am so pleased that Mim gave us the opportunity to experience the Village in its hippie heyday.
That was the start of NYC as a Lockhart playground. For years, we went up for the Village Art Show. I remember one year - 1967 or 1968 - when the art show had pretty slim pickings. It was the first time I saw oil paintings on black velvet. To salvage the trip, Pete did the unexpected - driving us over each of the bridges connecting Manhattan to its opposite shores. The Triborough, the Queensboro, the Williamsburg, the Manhattan, the Brooklyn, and we headed home via the George Washington (my apologies if I left one out ~ it was a while ago).
Walking around the Village, I never imagined that Elsa and I would be sitting in that Square in the early 1980s as Mim received her bachelor's degree from New York University. Never one for doing things the standard way, she commuted from BA to night classes. She’s occasionally turned to Elsa for a lift to class; Elsa got so comfortable driving around the Big Apple, she’s always up for a meander up to NYC for weekend rambles along what she calls Manhattan's "back roads." Elsa’s blessed to have gotten Pete’s sense of direction and not mine. (Pete seemed practically clairvoyant to this directions-impaired woman. When the two of us visited London for a week in the early '70s, people would come up to Pete for directions and he could set them right on their way!)
For a small town gal, I get a charge out of visiting the "Big City" whether it be New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, London, Chicago, San Francisco or my beloved Sydney.
Love to all - Nan
reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka DEEV
Friday, May 28, 2010
30 YEARS AGO AT THIS TIME... (04/04/00)
Date: Tue, 4 Apr 2000 20:36:09 EDT
Subject: Mindwalkers - 30 years ago at this time...
... I was seated in the front pew at the cathedral, having watched three of my children process up the aisle, with our newest family member. A very happy anniversary to Mike & Kerry, who were married on April 4, 1970.
It seems not that long ago that Mike told us about a girl he had met on the ship he took from Australia to America, that he was more than casually interested - he was engaged. I thought it could be just a shipboard romance - intense but short lived. Now, here we are, 30 years later.
Mike was coming back to the USA after months of rambling Australia's sunny shores. Kerry was headed to Banff on the first leg of what she intended to be an around-the-world trip; because she was from a Commonwealth nation, she could get nursing positions in other Commonwealth countries without going through a lot of red tape. She got as far as the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
As it turned out, the wedding turned into a bit of a thriller. Kerry came down to spend Christmas 1969 with us without a hitch, but when she headed due south for the wedding, she was turned back at the border for some ridiculous red tape reason. We pulled every string we could down here and she finally made it through.
Then there was the fashion drama on The Day, when Mike opened up the box with the shirt he'd sent out to the cleaners to be properly pressed (Mike being a very stylish fellow) only to find they'd returned a pale blue shirt, not his dress shirt ...and time was marching onward. It was late afternoon and most of the family was at Diane Coffin's, "Aunt Di" having put out an early supper spread for us. Mim had the bright idea of calling Lach Pitcairn, who saved all of his dress clothes - he might have something from his long, ultra-lean days. Sure enough, he did.
Image getting married a world away from your family & friends. When Kimberly and Scott married this past January, her brothers were groomsmen and her parents and her grandmother were in attendance. None of Kerry's friends or relatives were able to attend. Bryn Athyn's Australian contingent closed ranks around her and Gay Pendleton was delighted to take on the role of surrogate Mom, but it is not the same. Talking to her mother on the phone from the party at our house after the church reception, I mentioned to Jean how difficult it must be, so far away. She answered that she could not have come to the wedding and then parted again from her Kerry. My heart went out to her and to Kerry.
That was a bittersweet moment in an otherwise wonderful wonderful day. I hope all my friends will join me in sending Mike & Kerry best wishes on this very special day.
Love to you all, but especially Mike & Kerry. May there be a blessing - MUM
reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka DEEV
Subject: Mindwalkers - 30 years ago at this time...
... I was seated in the front pew at the cathedral, having watched three of my children process up the aisle, with our newest family member. A very happy anniversary to Mike & Kerry, who were married on April 4, 1970.
It seems not that long ago that Mike told us about a girl he had met on the ship he took from Australia to America, that he was more than casually interested - he was engaged. I thought it could be just a shipboard romance - intense but short lived. Now, here we are, 30 years later.
Mike was coming back to the USA after months of rambling Australia's sunny shores. Kerry was headed to Banff on the first leg of what she intended to be an around-the-world trip; because she was from a Commonwealth nation, she could get nursing positions in other Commonwealth countries without going through a lot of red tape. She got as far as the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
As it turned out, the wedding turned into a bit of a thriller. Kerry came down to spend Christmas 1969 with us without a hitch, but when she headed due south for the wedding, she was turned back at the border for some ridiculous red tape reason. We pulled every string we could down here and she finally made it through.
Then there was the fashion drama on The Day, when Mike opened up the box with the shirt he'd sent out to the cleaners to be properly pressed (Mike being a very stylish fellow) only to find they'd returned a pale blue shirt, not his dress shirt ...and time was marching onward. It was late afternoon and most of the family was at Diane Coffin's, "Aunt Di" having put out an early supper spread for us. Mim had the bright idea of calling Lach Pitcairn, who saved all of his dress clothes - he might have something from his long, ultra-lean days. Sure enough, he did.
Image getting married a world away from your family & friends. When Kimberly and Scott married this past January, her brothers were groomsmen and her parents and her grandmother were in attendance. None of Kerry's friends or relatives were able to attend. Bryn Athyn's Australian contingent closed ranks around her and Gay Pendleton was delighted to take on the role of surrogate Mom, but it is not the same. Talking to her mother on the phone from the party at our house after the church reception, I mentioned to Jean how difficult it must be, so far away. She answered that she could not have come to the wedding and then parted again from her Kerry. My heart went out to her and to Kerry.
That was a bittersweet moment in an otherwise wonderful wonderful day. I hope all my friends will join me in sending Mike & Kerry best wishes on this very special day.
Love to you all, but especially Mike & Kerry. May there be a blessing - MUM
reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka DEEV
Thursday, May 27, 2010
SEMPER PERGE 06/09/00
Pardon my going out of order of Mom's original postings, but tomorrow is graduation day for MY senior class and they presented the Class of 2010 banner tonight at their dance, so just had to leap ahead to a sympatico posting! deev
Subj: Mindwalkers - Semper Perge
Date: 6/9/00 9:10:07 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Here in Bryn Athyn - where we have an elementary school, high school, junior college, senior college and theological school (with its wonderful masters program open to one & all) - the end of May and early June seems swamped with graduations. Today was 8th Grade graduation and tomorrow will be high school commencement. College graduation was over Memorial Day weekend, I believe.
I missed out on an elementary school graduation. Garrett Heights School went up to 9th grade and I was transferred after 8th grade to Eastern High School along with other "academic" students - they only kept the "business" students for 9th grade. We was gypped!
My one & only graduation was from the Academy of the New Church, which I attended for junior and senior years. The Class of 1928. My mother, who was living in Baltimore, sent me a beautiful dress for the Senior Dance - a short dress (remember, this was the era of the flapper and short dresses were the rage) of blue crepe de chine, with cream-colored chiffon sleeves. That was when I discovered blue was my color! I have been wracking my brain as to whether John Frazier or Phillip Odhner took me to the dance and I just cannot remember for the life of me.
My graduation dress was a similar style - white, of course, and as straight as possible falling just below the knee, with a deep hem of tiny pleats. I had lost a lot of weight the previous summer, so I looked practically fashionable. Anita Synnestvedt (Woodard) and Beryl Caldwell (Odhner) were the fashion setters in our class. I can still see their outfits – sharp looking suits with unshaped jackets that brushed the tops of their legs over straight white skirts. I remember that Beryl's was a beautiful light brocade, which gave it extra interest. Anita and Beryl had classic taste and were what I like to call "the genuine article."
What did the boys wear? I have no recollection, but knowing who they were, they had to look pretty sharp - Dick Gladish, John Schoenberger, John Frazier, Oliver Powell and Graham Gurney are just some of my fellow graduates.
Our banner - all ANC classes have banners - was done in silver threads on a black velvet background, with the motto, "Semper Perge" - "always forward." Our class ring reflected the banner, a gold ship on a black enameled background. As I recall, it set me back around $10.00.
The Assembly Hall was not built at that time and the Asplundh Field House was many, many decades down the pike. We graduated in the DeCharms Hall auditorium, which was on the top floor at that time. The graduating girls' families would present them with flowers. My parents were not able to be at the ceremony, so I did not expect to have a bouquet. Peggy Cowley (Schiffer), who was all of around 12 years old, was very sad that I would not have a bouquet, so the dear wonderful girl made me a bouquet of roses out of her family's garden. No other bouquet could have been carried with more pride or happiness.
I remember the music as we, the graduating class, marched in – Edward Elgar's "Land of Hope & Glory." I felt like nobility walking into that. As the senior girls were seated for the graduation ceremony, the junior girls came up and stood behind us and entwined our hair with a wreath of ribbons and flowers. I kept that wreath for a long time.
Back then, and in fact until a few years ago, all the upper schools – the high school, the two colleges and the theological school - graduated at the same time. I received my degree from the Girls School headmistress, Dorothy Davis. Elsa asked me to describe "Dodo" - she was Clara Davis Pitcairn's twin sister and, like her sister, Miss Dorothy could be very abrupt and direct, never one to pull her punches. She was not out to win a popularity contest; her eye was always on the prize of making sure "the girls" got a top notch New Church education.
Elsa asked me what I would say to the graduating Class of 1928 or 2000, for that matter, if I had the chance. I would tell them what my father always said, "When you stop learning, you are dead." I would tell them to continue their education, whether in college or not. Some of the "brightest and best" people with degrees and advanced degrees know squat compared to less "highly educated" folks with a good sense of people and common sense. That they should welcome change. To not give themselves airs, to take themselves lightly. In short, remember "Semper Perge" - -"always forward."
Nite-nite and God bless, with special love to Kelly, Carl, Meg and any other graduates who are dear to my heart that I might be leaving out. - - The Gramster
reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV
Subj: Mindwalkers - Semper Perge
Date: 6/9/00 9:10:07 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Here in Bryn Athyn - where we have an elementary school, high school, junior college, senior college and theological school (with its wonderful masters program open to one & all) - the end of May and early June seems swamped with graduations. Today was 8th Grade graduation and tomorrow will be high school commencement. College graduation was over Memorial Day weekend, I believe.
I missed out on an elementary school graduation. Garrett Heights School went up to 9th grade and I was transferred after 8th grade to Eastern High School along with other "academic" students - they only kept the "business" students for 9th grade. We was gypped!
My one & only graduation was from the Academy of the New Church, which I attended for junior and senior years. The Class of 1928. My mother, who was living in Baltimore, sent me a beautiful dress for the Senior Dance - a short dress (remember, this was the era of the flapper and short dresses were the rage) of blue crepe de chine, with cream-colored chiffon sleeves. That was when I discovered blue was my color! I have been wracking my brain as to whether John Frazier or Phillip Odhner took me to the dance and I just cannot remember for the life of me.
My graduation dress was a similar style - white, of course, and as straight as possible falling just below the knee, with a deep hem of tiny pleats. I had lost a lot of weight the previous summer, so I looked practically fashionable. Anita Synnestvedt (Woodard) and Beryl Caldwell (Odhner) were the fashion setters in our class. I can still see their outfits – sharp looking suits with unshaped jackets that brushed the tops of their legs over straight white skirts. I remember that Beryl's was a beautiful light brocade, which gave it extra interest. Anita and Beryl had classic taste and were what I like to call "the genuine article."
What did the boys wear? I have no recollection, but knowing who they were, they had to look pretty sharp - Dick Gladish, John Schoenberger, John Frazier, Oliver Powell and Graham Gurney are just some of my fellow graduates.
Our banner - all ANC classes have banners - was done in silver threads on a black velvet background, with the motto, "Semper Perge" - "always forward." Our class ring reflected the banner, a gold ship on a black enameled background. As I recall, it set me back around $10.00.
The Assembly Hall was not built at that time and the Asplundh Field House was many, many decades down the pike. We graduated in the DeCharms Hall auditorium, which was on the top floor at that time. The graduating girls' families would present them with flowers. My parents were not able to be at the ceremony, so I did not expect to have a bouquet. Peggy Cowley (Schiffer), who was all of around 12 years old, was very sad that I would not have a bouquet, so the dear wonderful girl made me a bouquet of roses out of her family's garden. No other bouquet could have been carried with more pride or happiness.
I remember the music as we, the graduating class, marched in – Edward Elgar's "Land of Hope & Glory." I felt like nobility walking into that. As the senior girls were seated for the graduation ceremony, the junior girls came up and stood behind us and entwined our hair with a wreath of ribbons and flowers. I kept that wreath for a long time.
Back then, and in fact until a few years ago, all the upper schools – the high school, the two colleges and the theological school - graduated at the same time. I received my degree from the Girls School headmistress, Dorothy Davis. Elsa asked me to describe "Dodo" - she was Clara Davis Pitcairn's twin sister and, like her sister, Miss Dorothy could be very abrupt and direct, never one to pull her punches. She was not out to win a popularity contest; her eye was always on the prize of making sure "the girls" got a top notch New Church education.
Elsa asked me what I would say to the graduating Class of 1928 or 2000, for that matter, if I had the chance. I would tell them what my father always said, "When you stop learning, you are dead." I would tell them to continue their education, whether in college or not. Some of the "brightest and best" people with degrees and advanced degrees know squat compared to less "highly educated" folks with a good sense of people and common sense. That they should welcome change. To not give themselves airs, to take themselves lightly. In short, remember "Semper Perge" - -"always forward."
Nite-nite and God bless, with special love to Kelly, Carl, Meg and any other graduates who are dear to my heart that I might be leaving out. - - The Gramster
reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
ST. ERMIN'S 03/17/00
Subj: Mindwalkers - St. Ermin's
Date: 3/17/00 11:46:51 PM Eastern Daylight Time
A dear-to-my-heart friend is in London on business. Lucky lad. Memories of my one trip to London flooded my mind when I read that he was across "the Pond."
Pete and I went to London the year before he died. We went in the wintertime, to dire warnings of how horrid the weather was sure to be. The weather, like everything else that week, was splendid. The weather was so mild, roses were blooming. We only had rain one day and only for part of that day.
We did not expect much from our hotel. What could we expect for a $399.99 package that included airfare, theater tickets, a rental car and breakfasts? That was dirt cheap, even for the early '70s. Given our choice of deluxe, "American" or English-style, we opted for the latter. We both figured "English-style" meant the bathroom was down the hall, but we couldn't afford the surcharge for the deluxe and we were not about to travel all that distance only to stay at an "American" anything.
How wrong we were! As our taxi pulled up, on the right was the clean modern lines and glistening, towering height of New Scotland Yard, as it proudly proclaimed; to the left was the courtyard leading to the gracious warm red brick building that was St. Ermin's Hotel. We walked into the lobby and both stopped still in our tracks with amazement - it was beautiful. Gracious Edwardian architecture, comfy overstuffed chairs and couches, formal but welcoming at the same time. Light and airy, elegant without being stuffy. We were entranced. To the left were the elevators to the rooms, to the right was the clubby Caxton Grill, which we would frequent often and which was a favorite "watering hole" for Scotland Yard officials.
We were in love. With each other, with all that we had read about London through the years, with a sense of coming home, and now with a hotel. And with a view - the view we had as we lay in bed at night, looking up at the lights of Scotland Yard which blazed throughout the night.
So many memories stirred by the business jaunt of a friend. Lovely way to head off to bed tonight.
Love to you all as I head up the wooden hill - Mrs. Raymond Lewis Lockhart, ADPOI
reposted with sweet memories of its original author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV
Date: 3/17/00 11:46:51 PM Eastern Daylight Time
A dear-to-my-heart friend is in London on business. Lucky lad. Memories of my one trip to London flooded my mind when I read that he was across "the Pond."
Pete and I went to London the year before he died. We went in the wintertime, to dire warnings of how horrid the weather was sure to be. The weather, like everything else that week, was splendid. The weather was so mild, roses were blooming. We only had rain one day and only for part of that day.
We did not expect much from our hotel. What could we expect for a $399.99 package that included airfare, theater tickets, a rental car and breakfasts? That was dirt cheap, even for the early '70s. Given our choice of deluxe, "American" or English-style, we opted for the latter. We both figured "English-style" meant the bathroom was down the hall, but we couldn't afford the surcharge for the deluxe and we were not about to travel all that distance only to stay at an "American" anything.
How wrong we were! As our taxi pulled up, on the right was the clean modern lines and glistening, towering height of New Scotland Yard, as it proudly proclaimed; to the left was the courtyard leading to the gracious warm red brick building that was St. Ermin's Hotel. We walked into the lobby and both stopped still in our tracks with amazement - it was beautiful. Gracious Edwardian architecture, comfy overstuffed chairs and couches, formal but welcoming at the same time. Light and airy, elegant without being stuffy. We were entranced. To the left were the elevators to the rooms, to the right was the clubby Caxton Grill, which we would frequent often and which was a favorite "watering hole" for Scotland Yard officials.
We were in love. With each other, with all that we had read about London through the years, with a sense of coming home, and now with a hotel. And with a view - the view we had as we lay in bed at night, looking up at the lights of Scotland Yard which blazed throughout the night.
So many memories stirred by the business jaunt of a friend. Lovely way to head off to bed tonight.
Love to you all as I head up the wooden hill - Mrs. Raymond Lewis Lockhart, ADPOI
reposted with sweet memories of its original author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
SPRING FLOWERS 02/28/00
Subj: Mindwalkers - spring flowers
Date: 2/28/00 11:08:47 PM Eastern Daylight Time
A young friend on a discussion list I belong to had a wonderful posting about planting pansies to welcome her gardener husband home from a weekend and about the early spring flowers putting in an appearance around her property. Unless Elsa takes me out this weekend, it will be some time before I see spring flowers, so I loved being able to at least see Caroline's property in my mind's eye.
I gardened wherever we have lived in Bryn Athyn - Alden Road (two houses), Cherry Lane, Woodland Road. Woodland Road was my greatest challenge, because every time I planted something, Danny Schmucker (our landlord) would mow it down. But that never stopped me.
I planted red, white and blue petunias for the nation's Bicentennial and they were in full bloom on July 4th. We have a much loved picture of a grandson, Reynolds, who was around four at the time, sitting in the midst of them, with a wonderful smile on his face.
Thinking about flowers makes me think of part of one of my favorite songs - "Peace like a garland, fragrant and living, crowneth forever all the gifts of Thy giving ~ Thy will and Thy wisdom, our Guide and our Stay."
This tired Grammie is heading up the wooden hill. Big day tomorrow ~ my first battery of preadmission testing starts at 8:00 a.m. It will be interesting - I usually sleep until at least 9:00.
Love to all ~ Mom/Mum/Mother/Gocky/Grammie/Grammie Kay/Nan/Aunt Kay/Kay
reposted with sweet memories of its author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev
Date: 2/28/00 11:08:47 PM Eastern Daylight Time
A young friend on a discussion list I belong to had a wonderful posting about planting pansies to welcome her gardener husband home from a weekend and about the early spring flowers putting in an appearance around her property. Unless Elsa takes me out this weekend, it will be some time before I see spring flowers, so I loved being able to at least see Caroline's property in my mind's eye.
I gardened wherever we have lived in Bryn Athyn - Alden Road (two houses), Cherry Lane, Woodland Road. Woodland Road was my greatest challenge, because every time I planted something, Danny Schmucker (our landlord) would mow it down. But that never stopped me.
I planted red, white and blue petunias for the nation's Bicentennial and they were in full bloom on July 4th. We have a much loved picture of a grandson, Reynolds, who was around four at the time, sitting in the midst of them, with a wonderful smile on his face.
Thinking about flowers makes me think of part of one of my favorite songs - "Peace like a garland, fragrant and living, crowneth forever all the gifts of Thy giving ~ Thy will and Thy wisdom, our Guide and our Stay."
This tired Grammie is heading up the wooden hill. Big day tomorrow ~ my first battery of preadmission testing starts at 8:00 a.m. It will be interesting - I usually sleep until at least 9:00.
Love to all ~ Mom/Mum/Mother/Gocky/Grammie/Grammie Kay/Nan/Aunt Kay/Kay
reposted with sweet memories of its author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev
Monday, May 24, 2010
AMAZING GRACE 02/27/00
Subj: Amazing Grace
Date: 2/27/00 8:53:57 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Elsa came home from church today positively twittering - the young people's choral group had sung one of my favorite songs, "Amazing Grace," immediately after the final hymn and she said it had an especially effective arrangement.
I remember a time about twenty or so years ago, when I was on my way to or from a visit to Australia and stayed for a few days with Marcelite Kline, Tom Kline's mother, who lived in Pasadena. She took me to a Samoan church to hear the beautiful music, which the congregation sang without benefit of books because they knew it so well. She explained that most of the congregants were domestic help in wealthy homes. I was not prepared for how beautifully everyone was dressed - this was their time to give thanks to the Lord and they wanted to do it in style. The singing was glorious, but nothing could have prepared me for hearing "Amazing Grace" sung by their choir - in Samoan. Could it really have been twenty years ago? Seems the blink of an eye.
Nite-nite and God bless ~ Mom/Gocky, Grammie, Grandma L./Nan/Aunt Kay/Kay
reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV
Date: 2/27/00 8:53:57 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Elsa came home from church today positively twittering - the young people's choral group had sung one of my favorite songs, "Amazing Grace," immediately after the final hymn and she said it had an especially effective arrangement.
I remember a time about twenty or so years ago, when I was on my way to or from a visit to Australia and stayed for a few days with Marcelite Kline, Tom Kline's mother, who lived in Pasadena. She took me to a Samoan church to hear the beautiful music, which the congregation sang without benefit of books because they knew it so well. She explained that most of the congregants were domestic help in wealthy homes. I was not prepared for how beautifully everyone was dressed - this was their time to give thanks to the Lord and they wanted to do it in style. The singing was glorious, but nothing could have prepared me for hearing "Amazing Grace" sung by their choir - in Samoan. Could it really have been twenty years ago? Seems the blink of an eye.
Nite-nite and God bless ~ Mom/Gocky, Grammie, Grandma L./Nan/Aunt Kay/Kay
reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV
Saturday, May 22, 2010
CHAMOMILE 2/24/00
Subj: Mindwalkers - Chamomile
Date: 2/25/00 10:45:21 PM Eastern Daylight Time
There is something especially soothing drinking chamomile tea, especially after an arduous outing. From the first moment I take the box of tea out of the cupboard, I feel happier and more relaxed. The chamomile boxtop has a picture of a woman with long hair in a flowing dress on a swing, a thatched cottage in the background - lovely. My favorite boxtop is the Echinacea Cold Season tea ~ a koala wrapped in a quilt, a pot of tea and box of tissues perched on a tree limb, holding a hot cuppa in his hand; a kookaburra sits across friom him, in the background a kangaroo and another koala & a billy and in there is just a bit of Ayers Rock. Quite a lot for a little box!.
I earned a hot cuppa chamomile tonight. Had my first C.T. scan at 8:00 am. I thought I must have confused the date, Holy Redeemer Hospital looked empty. But it was the right night, afterall. I had asked my doctor and I had asked his nurses if it was a difficult test and they all said it was easy. I guess easy is a comparative term, because I did not think it was. I found the MRI easier. That surprised me, because I get terrible claustrophobia and I expected the MRI to be awful. But they put on some Nat King Cole and it was pleasantly warm and I actually fell asleep. The C.T. scan, on the other hand, was uncomfortable and the room was chilly.
All the way home, I thought about a hot cup of chamomile tea, a few SnackWell crackers, and a bit of crystralized ginger. It was every bit as soothing as I thought it would be. Ah, for the simple pleasures of life.
Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
reposted in sweet memory of its original poster, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her transcriber/daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy, in celebration of the Gramster’s centenary (May 14)
Date: 2/25/00 10:45:21 PM Eastern Daylight Time
There is something especially soothing drinking chamomile tea, especially after an arduous outing. From the first moment I take the box of tea out of the cupboard, I feel happier and more relaxed. The chamomile boxtop has a picture of a woman with long hair in a flowing dress on a swing, a thatched cottage in the background - lovely. My favorite boxtop is the Echinacea Cold Season tea ~ a koala wrapped in a quilt, a pot of tea and box of tissues perched on a tree limb, holding a hot cuppa in his hand; a kookaburra sits across friom him, in the background a kangaroo and another koala & a billy and in there is just a bit of Ayers Rock. Quite a lot for a little box!.
I earned a hot cuppa chamomile tonight. Had my first C.T. scan at 8:00 am. I thought I must have confused the date, Holy Redeemer Hospital looked empty. But it was the right night, afterall. I had asked my doctor and I had asked his nurses if it was a difficult test and they all said it was easy. I guess easy is a comparative term, because I did not think it was. I found the MRI easier. That surprised me, because I get terrible claustrophobia and I expected the MRI to be awful. But they put on some Nat King Cole and it was pleasantly warm and I actually fell asleep. The C.T. scan, on the other hand, was uncomfortable and the room was chilly.
All the way home, I thought about a hot cup of chamomile tea, a few SnackWell crackers, and a bit of crystralized ginger. It was every bit as soothing as I thought it would be. Ah, for the simple pleasures of life.
Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
reposted in sweet memory of its original poster, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her transcriber/daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy, in celebration of the Gramster’s centenary (May 14)
Friday, May 21, 2010
NEW HOPE, THEN & NOW
Subj: WOMEN: Mindwalkers ~ New Hope, now & then
Date: 2/24/00 11:37:56 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Just back - at 10:10 p.m. ~ from a toot with Elsa up to New Hope. She took a bottle of sparkling nectar up as a surprise for friends who will be staying at a stunning inn for the weekend. A favorite R&R spot for John & Elsa, it is built within the ruins of a old mill. I went inside last spring with Elsa & Gail Cooper and it is a knock out. Dramatic ruins and dramatic interiors, yet somehow it was cozy. There was a warmth there.
Heading up, we talked about this time - was it really 63 years ago? - when Pete & I were planning our wedding. We thought New Hope would be a just-right place to spend our honeymoon. Apparently we were way ahead of our time, because when I went to the travel agency at the department store I worked at (yes, department stores really did have travel agencies in those days), the person looked at me like I had suggested Mars would be nice. "No one goes to New Hope. There's not even any place to stay."
Well, Pete & I knew that could not be so. New Hope was too charming not to have overnight lodgings. Back then, it really and truly was a bohemian artist's colony, with a special feeling about it that disappeared long before many of you were a gleam in your parents' eyes. We knew it was the place for us. So, one Sunday we packed up a picnic lunch and headed to Wayne Junction and the one train that went to New Hope. One train up in the morning, one train back at night.
We had a wonderful time traipsing all over New Hope that day. We settled down along side the canal and ate our lunch and talked about our wedding and our future. It was an idyllic day. Unfortunately, the travel agent knew of what he spoke - we could not find so much as ONE place for overnight visitors to stay. It was a great day and a great disappointment, at the same time. And it seems like yesterday.
Best wishes on you all. I am headed up the wooden hill ~ M/G/N/K/AK
(reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka DEEV)
Date: 2/24/00 11:37:56 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Just back - at 10:10 p.m. ~ from a toot with Elsa up to New Hope. She took a bottle of sparkling nectar up as a surprise for friends who will be staying at a stunning inn for the weekend. A favorite R&R spot for John & Elsa, it is built within the ruins of a old mill. I went inside last spring with Elsa & Gail Cooper and it is a knock out. Dramatic ruins and dramatic interiors, yet somehow it was cozy. There was a warmth there.
Heading up, we talked about this time - was it really 63 years ago? - when Pete & I were planning our wedding. We thought New Hope would be a just-right place to spend our honeymoon. Apparently we were way ahead of our time, because when I went to the travel agency at the department store I worked at (yes, department stores really did have travel agencies in those days), the person looked at me like I had suggested Mars would be nice. "No one goes to New Hope. There's not even any place to stay."
Well, Pete & I knew that could not be so. New Hope was too charming not to have overnight lodgings. Back then, it really and truly was a bohemian artist's colony, with a special feeling about it that disappeared long before many of you were a gleam in your parents' eyes. We knew it was the place for us. So, one Sunday we packed up a picnic lunch and headed to Wayne Junction and the one train that went to New Hope. One train up in the morning, one train back at night.
We had a wonderful time traipsing all over New Hope that day. We settled down along side the canal and ate our lunch and talked about our wedding and our future. It was an idyllic day. Unfortunately, the travel agent knew of what he spoke - we could not find so much as ONE place for overnight visitors to stay. It was a great day and a great disappointment, at the same time. And it seems like yesterday.
Best wishes on you all. I am headed up the wooden hill ~ M/G/N/K/AK
(reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka DEEV)
Thursday, May 20, 2010
HAPPY THOUGHTS 04/24/00
Date: Mon, 24 Apr 2000 22:14:46 EDT
Subject: Mindwalkers - Happy thoughts
After a week of processing all the beauty of last weekend - April 14-16 – I am finally able to share some of it. I am glad I waited. I need happy thoughts today.
How many people do you know who get to experience two family weddings on one day - on opposite sides of the world, no less? I did. Peggy & Jack Peddicord (my brother Alpha's daughter & her very good looking husband), Mim and John & Elsa and I gathered in my hotel room to watch the video of Scott & Kimberly's 22/1/2000 (as they would put it "Down Under") wedding on Sydney Harbour.
Mike & Kerry had the video shot for my enjoyment. The first shots were of Mike & Kerry leaving "Bryn Athyn" – which is what the people who built the house many, many years ago called it - for the wedding bus that took the Penshurst crowd to the ship. Mike looked sharp in his tux and Kerry looked "not half bad." I got a big kick out of watching the various people boarding the ship - where Scott greeted them - and seeing which ones I could recognize.
Kimberly and her three attendants - including my granddaughter Karen - boarded the ship at the Opera House, which served as backdrop to the wedding. Kimberly looked radiant and very happy. As for Karen, the little girl I knew is now a stylish woman.
I have so many thoughts about the wedding, which Dave Ayers officiated at, with the Australian flag billowing in the breeze behind him. A few tears were shed when I saw that. The Southern Cross.
Special moments that stand out include watching Mike serve as his son's best man. That brought a few more tears. Watching Scott looking at Kimberly as he said his vows meant another wet tissue, as did the blessing.
Everyone got into the act when it came to speeches at the reception. Mike lead off, followed by Kerry, the Turners, Scott and Kimberly. I even put my oar in, as Carolyn Heldon read a message from myself to the newlyweds and one from John & Elsa. A particularly moving moment for me was when Kimberly's parents spoke. Mrs. Turner - who looks younger than any of my children - managed a few words before happily burying her face on her equally young-looking husband's shoulder. When he welcomed Scott to the family, saying, "What's mine is yours," I just wanted to throw my arms around both of them in welcome. I would have looked pretty funny, wouldn't I, hugging a television set?!
It meant a lot to me to watch the video with Mim and Peggy & Jack and John & Elsa. Blessings on whoever made the tape.
If anyone would care to see a few snapshots, just stop on by anytime. This loving Nan would be delighted to show them off.
Love to one and all - Scott & Kimberly's NAN
(reposted with sweet memories of its author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, in celebration of her centenary by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka Deev)
Subject: Mindwalkers - Happy thoughts
After a week of processing all the beauty of last weekend - April 14-16 – I am finally able to share some of it. I am glad I waited. I need happy thoughts today.
How many people do you know who get to experience two family weddings on one day - on opposite sides of the world, no less? I did. Peggy & Jack Peddicord (my brother Alpha's daughter & her very good looking husband), Mim and John & Elsa and I gathered in my hotel room to watch the video of Scott & Kimberly's 22/1/2000 (as they would put it "Down Under") wedding on Sydney Harbour.
Mike & Kerry had the video shot for my enjoyment. The first shots were of Mike & Kerry leaving "Bryn Athyn" – which is what the people who built the house many, many years ago called it - for the wedding bus that took the Penshurst crowd to the ship. Mike looked sharp in his tux and Kerry looked "not half bad." I got a big kick out of watching the various people boarding the ship - where Scott greeted them - and seeing which ones I could recognize.
Kimberly and her three attendants - including my granddaughter Karen - boarded the ship at the Opera House, which served as backdrop to the wedding. Kimberly looked radiant and very happy. As for Karen, the little girl I knew is now a stylish woman.
I have so many thoughts about the wedding, which Dave Ayers officiated at, with the Australian flag billowing in the breeze behind him. A few tears were shed when I saw that. The Southern Cross.
Special moments that stand out include watching Mike serve as his son's best man. That brought a few more tears. Watching Scott looking at Kimberly as he said his vows meant another wet tissue, as did the blessing.
Everyone got into the act when it came to speeches at the reception. Mike lead off, followed by Kerry, the Turners, Scott and Kimberly. I even put my oar in, as Carolyn Heldon read a message from myself to the newlyweds and one from John & Elsa. A particularly moving moment for me was when Kimberly's parents spoke. Mrs. Turner - who looks younger than any of my children - managed a few words before happily burying her face on her equally young-looking husband's shoulder. When he welcomed Scott to the family, saying, "What's mine is yours," I just wanted to throw my arms around both of them in welcome. I would have looked pretty funny, wouldn't I, hugging a television set?!
It meant a lot to me to watch the video with Mim and Peggy & Jack and John & Elsa. Blessings on whoever made the tape.
If anyone would care to see a few snapshots, just stop on by anytime. This loving Nan would be delighted to show them off.
Love to one and all - Scott & Kimberly's NAN
(reposted with sweet memories of its author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, in celebration of her centenary by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka Deev)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
IN PRAISE OF MY MEN FOLK 02/23/00
Subject: in praise of my men folk
Date: Wed, 23 Feb 2000
In looking ahead to my March 7 surgery and recuperation, today I did what any right thinking woman of my generation would do - got my hair done.
John took me to the hairdresser, who has been doing my tresses for the past 40 years, gently helped me up the stairs and did not leave until he was sure I was safely tucked away in the beautician chair. When he picked me up, there was a little time for Jo and John to get to know each other. It seems that every woman I know takes to John right off and he takes to them. He settled me in the car, then headed back into the beauty parlor. Well, I was beginning to get "worried", when he reappeared about 5 minutes later - with a stack of magazines under his arm that Jo thought we'd like perusing.
When I look at John, I cannot help but think of my dear husband, Pete. Actually, his name was Raymond Lewis Lockhart, but, at his christening, his uncle took one look at him and exclaimed, "He's not a Raymond, he's a Pete!" And Pete he was, from that day forward.
I know that we are not supposed to make spiritual judgments, but I just know in my heart that my loves will someday be fully reconjoined with the loves that are my Pete. He made me feel so special, so cherished and appreciated. It has been 26 years since he died and I miss him every day - morning, noon & night. ("All I do the whole day through is dream of you.") From the day we met in 1935, it seemed we knew the other was THE one. Pete was so shy, the fellow who brought him to the party slipped one of my mother's silver teaspoons into his pocket so that Pete would have to call me again. But he was never shy with me. From the first kiss to our last in this life, he was my ardent lover and loyal best friend. I just came across an everyday Christmas gift tag - about 1 1/2 " square with a mug of holly against a red backdrop - that was on a long-ago present. The tag is anything but everyday to me: "Kay ~ So little a thing to express all the strengths that are mine through your love and affectionate understanding. Pete."
Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
(reposted with sweet memories of its author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, in celebration of her May 14 centenary, by her daughter/transcriber, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV)
Date: Wed, 23 Feb 2000
In looking ahead to my March 7 surgery and recuperation, today I did what any right thinking woman of my generation would do - got my hair done.
John took me to the hairdresser, who has been doing my tresses for the past 40 years, gently helped me up the stairs and did not leave until he was sure I was safely tucked away in the beautician chair. When he picked me up, there was a little time for Jo and John to get to know each other. It seems that every woman I know takes to John right off and he takes to them. He settled me in the car, then headed back into the beauty parlor. Well, I was beginning to get "worried", when he reappeared about 5 minutes later - with a stack of magazines under his arm that Jo thought we'd like perusing.
When I look at John, I cannot help but think of my dear husband, Pete. Actually, his name was Raymond Lewis Lockhart, but, at his christening, his uncle took one look at him and exclaimed, "He's not a Raymond, he's a Pete!" And Pete he was, from that day forward.
I know that we are not supposed to make spiritual judgments, but I just know in my heart that my loves will someday be fully reconjoined with the loves that are my Pete. He made me feel so special, so cherished and appreciated. It has been 26 years since he died and I miss him every day - morning, noon & night. ("All I do the whole day through is dream of you.") From the day we met in 1935, it seemed we knew the other was THE one. Pete was so shy, the fellow who brought him to the party slipped one of my mother's silver teaspoons into his pocket so that Pete would have to call me again. But he was never shy with me. From the first kiss to our last in this life, he was my ardent lover and loyal best friend. I just came across an everyday Christmas gift tag - about 1 1/2 " square with a mug of holly against a red backdrop - that was on a long-ago present. The tag is anything but everyday to me: "Kay ~ So little a thing to express all the strengths that are mine through your love and affectionate understanding. Pete."
Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
(reposted with sweet memories of its author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, in celebration of her May 14 centenary, by her daughter/transcriber, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV)
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
IRIS Feb 21, 2000
Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2000 20:17:26 EST
Subject: Iris
There are so many flowers that I love, but iris is my favorite, although they perplex me. Are they purple or blue?
When I came home from the hospital in the fall, Peter kept the house filled with beautiful flowers. By the time he was no longer available, Elsa was busy with all sorts of plans for Christmas decorations and fresh flowers became a distant memory.
Recently, she picked up Peter's floral baton and is keeping the house well stocked with spring flowers. The dining room table feels like spring, with tete-a-tete daffodils, crocus, a bouquet of delicate yellow flowers (neither of us know what they are called, but they look like sunshine) and a smashing bouquet of sunflowers/carnations/daisies from Brenda & Louise.
Crocuses were the first potted flowers Elsa surprised me with, last Saturday. It was hard to believe they would flower, the shoots looked so slender and delicate. Then she came into my room on Tuesday morning before leaving for work, a big cheeky grin on her face and something behind her back - the first blooms. In all my years of gardening, I do not remember ever noticing before how dramatic the yellow-orange stamen is against the purple flower. My fingers are crossed that I will be able to see Louise Doering Stevens' crocuses (or is it crocii?), which blanket her front lawn in the earliest days of spring.
A bouquet of iris is on the coffee table, where I can look at them all day. When Elsa first brought them home on Saturday, there was just the slightest suggestion that there might some day be blooms. I actually gasped when I sat down for Sunday breakfast and saw the first of them unfurling. So regal. Now, they are all out and thrill me whenever I look at them.
Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
reposted in sweet memory of its original poster, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her transcriber/daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy, in celebration of the Gramster’s centenary (May 14)
Subject: Iris
There are so many flowers that I love, but iris is my favorite, although they perplex me. Are they purple or blue?
When I came home from the hospital in the fall, Peter kept the house filled with beautiful flowers. By the time he was no longer available, Elsa was busy with all sorts of plans for Christmas decorations and fresh flowers became a distant memory.
Recently, she picked up Peter's floral baton and is keeping the house well stocked with spring flowers. The dining room table feels like spring, with tete-a-tete daffodils, crocus, a bouquet of delicate yellow flowers (neither of us know what they are called, but they look like sunshine) and a smashing bouquet of sunflowers/carnations/daisies from Brenda & Louise.
Crocuses were the first potted flowers Elsa surprised me with, last Saturday. It was hard to believe they would flower, the shoots looked so slender and delicate. Then she came into my room on Tuesday morning before leaving for work, a big cheeky grin on her face and something behind her back - the first blooms. In all my years of gardening, I do not remember ever noticing before how dramatic the yellow-orange stamen is against the purple flower. My fingers are crossed that I will be able to see Louise Doering Stevens' crocuses (or is it crocii?), which blanket her front lawn in the earliest days of spring.
A bouquet of iris is on the coffee table, where I can look at them all day. When Elsa first brought them home on Saturday, there was just the slightest suggestion that there might some day be blooms. I actually gasped when I sat down for Sunday breakfast and saw the first of them unfurling. So regal. Now, they are all out and thrill me whenever I look at them.
Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
reposted in sweet memory of its original poster, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her transcriber/daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy, in celebration of the Gramster’s centenary (May 14)
Monday, May 17, 2010
BONUS MONDAY A.M. MESSAGE 02/21/00
Elsa, my faithful scribe, has today off, so I can send off something on a weekday morning.
It feels good to connect with people. The Writings describe how, in the Spiritual World, thought brings presence. That is how I feel about e-mail, although it took a long time getting there.
One of the things I wanted to share is my delight in listening to Contemporary Service audio tapes. This surprised me. I considered these services as "New Church Lite." I never experienced it first hand, because due to difficulty getting out & about before late morning, it has been several years I have attended any church service, let alone one in the spartan Society Building rather than my beloved cathedral.
Elsa likes to go to Contemporary Service and now John goes with her too. After the service, she picks up an audiotape of the service for me to listen to. I love them. They are shorter and simpler than cathedral services, but I have found that does not make them less profound. They also serve double duty. When I was in the hospital in the fall, Elsa transcribed two tapes of music from the various services, which I believe helped speed my recuperation. There are songs that I have never heard before which are dear to my heart because of the audio tapes.
IN THE LION'S DEN
Yesterday, Jonathan Rose gave a talk on Daniel in the lion's den. Anyone who has heard Jonathan give a presentation knows what an effective storyteller he is (he can even make Latin translation seem interesting). What stood out to me was when he talked about Daniel giving thanks for the trials that he had to bear. Jonathan talked about the blessing that come from times when we are experiencing trials and in his exercise after the main talk he asked people to think about times of great difficulties that brought blessings and for us to be aware of and grateful to the Lord for them.
I have my own e-mail address and am here in thought (via Elsa's keyboarding) because of such an experience.
For the past week, I have been part of what I had hoped would be constructive but turned into a contentious exchange of e-mail between myself and a beloved other. It was not a pleasant experience for either of us. We were unable to establish any common ground for discussion and there were times I felt my very esse (existence, worth, self, soul) was being torn limb from limb.
Still, instead of feeling numb, as I would have not long ago, I could see the blessings that came from the situation and was grateful to the Lord for the experience and the wisdom to turn it to good.
INSPIRATION FROM UNUSUAL PLACES/SITUATIONS
I am grateful for having the courage to share two genuine concerns with someone I love. The person had turned to me for understanding, which was what I tried to give. I kept thinking about a favorite movie of mine - The Bishop's Wife.
Now, here I am, delivered safe from a lion's den, thanking the Lord for the new insights I have been given, with the exchange, between Cary Grant (an angel, Dudley) and David Niven (Henry, apparently an Episcopal bishop). To all those movie buffs out there, my apologies it is not verbatim:
Dudley - "I am leaving. I came here to answer your prayer. My work is finished."
Bishop - "But I asked for a cathedral and that has not happened."
Dudley - "No, Henry, you asked for guidance, and that has been given."
Love to you all and my apologies for the length ~ M/G/N/K/AK.
posted in memory and celebration of posting author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy
It feels good to connect with people. The Writings describe how, in the Spiritual World, thought brings presence. That is how I feel about e-mail, although it took a long time getting there.
One of the things I wanted to share is my delight in listening to Contemporary Service audio tapes. This surprised me. I considered these services as "New Church Lite." I never experienced it first hand, because due to difficulty getting out & about before late morning, it has been several years I have attended any church service, let alone one in the spartan Society Building rather than my beloved cathedral.
Elsa likes to go to Contemporary Service and now John goes with her too. After the service, she picks up an audiotape of the service for me to listen to. I love them. They are shorter and simpler than cathedral services, but I have found that does not make them less profound. They also serve double duty. When I was in the hospital in the fall, Elsa transcribed two tapes of music from the various services, which I believe helped speed my recuperation. There are songs that I have never heard before which are dear to my heart because of the audio tapes.
IN THE LION'S DEN
Yesterday, Jonathan Rose gave a talk on Daniel in the lion's den. Anyone who has heard Jonathan give a presentation knows what an effective storyteller he is (he can even make Latin translation seem interesting). What stood out to me was when he talked about Daniel giving thanks for the trials that he had to bear. Jonathan talked about the blessing that come from times when we are experiencing trials and in his exercise after the main talk he asked people to think about times of great difficulties that brought blessings and for us to be aware of and grateful to the Lord for them.
I have my own e-mail address and am here in thought (via Elsa's keyboarding) because of such an experience.
For the past week, I have been part of what I had hoped would be constructive but turned into a contentious exchange of e-mail between myself and a beloved other. It was not a pleasant experience for either of us. We were unable to establish any common ground for discussion and there were times I felt my very esse (existence, worth, self, soul) was being torn limb from limb.
Still, instead of feeling numb, as I would have not long ago, I could see the blessings that came from the situation and was grateful to the Lord for the experience and the wisdom to turn it to good.
INSPIRATION FROM UNUSUAL PLACES/SITUATIONS
I am grateful for having the courage to share two genuine concerns with someone I love. The person had turned to me for understanding, which was what I tried to give. I kept thinking about a favorite movie of mine - The Bishop's Wife.
Now, here I am, delivered safe from a lion's den, thanking the Lord for the new insights I have been given, with the exchange, between Cary Grant (an angel, Dudley) and David Niven (Henry, apparently an Episcopal bishop). To all those movie buffs out there, my apologies it is not verbatim:
Dudley - "I am leaving. I came here to answer your prayer. My work is finished."
Bishop - "But I asked for a cathedral and that has not happened."
Dudley - "No, Henry, you asked for guidance, and that has been given."
Love to you all and my apologies for the length ~ M/G/N/K/AK.
posted in memory and celebration of posting author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy
Sunday, May 16, 2010
WONDERFUL SUNDAY Feb 20, 2000
Subject: Wonderful Sunday
I am exhausted, but happily so.
This afternoon, my nephew Bob Ripley from California stopped by for lunch. Bob came all the way from his home near Sacramento for the memorial service of a classmate and good friend, Lawrence Behlert.
I kept feeling like pinching myself, it seemed so incredible that Bob was really sitting across from me. It was hard to let him go. When he left for the service, I stood at the door and waved until he was out of sight.
Even before he had stood up to make his good byes, daughter-of-my-heart Leslie Adams was at the door. We had a lovely visit. Leslie is a nurse, so she had a few words of caution to give about the upcoming surgery.
Elsa wasn’t home during Leslie’s visit. She was off representing the Lockharts at Lawrence’s service. She brought home an audio tape. It made my heart stop to hear Tommy Rose opening the Word. An Alden Roader! Elsa said that Tommy's talk made the cathedral feel as if was a side yard on Alden Road, with a whiffle ball game in progress. She ran through what seemed like a litany of Alden Roaders from the late '50s/early '60s who were there - Johnny and Janis Peck, Debbie Heldon, Marty and Diana DeCharms, Sig Soneson, Lew & Effie Grubb, Diana Echols, Annette Henderson, Lark Pitcairn, Braden Bostock. (Bob R., who attended high school in our hometown, counts as an honorary Alden Roader, based on his many stays at our house.) If Tommy's talk is typical of what our NC ministers deliver these days, our church is in very good and loving hands. It was warm, real and unforgettable.
Around eight-ish, I thought the day's events were over, then the phone ran. Elsa handed it to me with surprised look on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. I was hornswoggled to hear Carolyn Heldon on the line - all the way from Australia! We must have talked for well nigh an hour. She sounded like she was next door, rather than a world away. Thank you, Carolyn, granddaughter-of-this-delighted-grandma's heart!
My love to you all. It is time to "go up the wooden hill" & so to bed ~ Grammie Kay
Reposted by Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy in celebration of the 100th birthday of its original poster, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart (aka Mom – Mum – Gocky – Nan – Aunt Kay – Kay – Grammie – Grammie Kay – Gramster – Katie - Cossie – KRL), whose brief brief but sweet spate of online postings to a circle of friends pre-dated blogging. She is gone, but her postings live on!
I am exhausted, but happily so.
This afternoon, my nephew Bob Ripley from California stopped by for lunch. Bob came all the way from his home near Sacramento for the memorial service of a classmate and good friend, Lawrence Behlert.
I kept feeling like pinching myself, it seemed so incredible that Bob was really sitting across from me. It was hard to let him go. When he left for the service, I stood at the door and waved until he was out of sight.
Even before he had stood up to make his good byes, daughter-of-my-heart Leslie Adams was at the door. We had a lovely visit. Leslie is a nurse, so she had a few words of caution to give about the upcoming surgery.
Elsa wasn’t home during Leslie’s visit. She was off representing the Lockharts at Lawrence’s service. She brought home an audio tape. It made my heart stop to hear Tommy Rose opening the Word. An Alden Roader! Elsa said that Tommy's talk made the cathedral feel as if was a side yard on Alden Road, with a whiffle ball game in progress. She ran through what seemed like a litany of Alden Roaders from the late '50s/early '60s who were there - Johnny and Janis Peck, Debbie Heldon, Marty and Diana DeCharms, Sig Soneson, Lew & Effie Grubb, Diana Echols, Annette Henderson, Lark Pitcairn, Braden Bostock. (Bob R., who attended high school in our hometown, counts as an honorary Alden Roader, based on his many stays at our house.) If Tommy's talk is typical of what our NC ministers deliver these days, our church is in very good and loving hands. It was warm, real and unforgettable.
Around eight-ish, I thought the day's events were over, then the phone ran. Elsa handed it to me with surprised look on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. I was hornswoggled to hear Carolyn Heldon on the line - all the way from Australia! We must have talked for well nigh an hour. She sounded like she was next door, rather than a world away. Thank you, Carolyn, granddaughter-of-this-delighted-grandma's heart!
My love to you all. It is time to "go up the wooden hill" & so to bed ~ Grammie Kay
Reposted by Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy in celebration of the 100th birthday of its original poster, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart (aka Mom – Mum – Gocky – Nan – Aunt Kay – Kay – Grammie – Grammie Kay – Gramster – Katie - Cossie – KRL), whose brief brief but sweet spate of online postings to a circle of friends pre-dated blogging. She is gone, but her postings live on!
Saturday, May 15, 2010
CYBER GRAMMIE February 19, 2000
This is my first OFFICIAL note to my fellow mind walkers. I like that phrase. It describes where I am at the moment - as my physical self cranks down, my mental self seems to be revving up.
I sit in the big chair in our living room, the one that Brenda says is in the Stickley style and which has massive arms just right for resting my arms or for perching my meals, and pretty much stay put for the day, with occasional laps through the living room, kitchen and dining rooms. My friends cannot get over for daily visits, which is so different from when we lived in Bryn Athyn, where I knew everyone up and down every street. It is different from my Australian home with Mike & Kerry, which is next door to the pastor's house which is next door to the church which is next door to Baringa (a guest house). I dearly love Squirrel Haven, our home here on Pheasant Run, but part of me will always be homesick for Woodland Road and Dudley Street.
Until I can get out & about again - after surgery on my totally shot right shoulder, I will content myself with being a cyber Grammie. Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
posted in memory and celebration of posting author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy
I sit in the big chair in our living room, the one that Brenda says is in the Stickley style and which has massive arms just right for resting my arms or for perching my meals, and pretty much stay put for the day, with occasional laps through the living room, kitchen and dining rooms. My friends cannot get over for daily visits, which is so different from when we lived in Bryn Athyn, where I knew everyone up and down every street. It is different from my Australian home with Mike & Kerry, which is next door to the pastor's house which is next door to the church which is next door to Baringa (a guest house). I dearly love Squirrel Haven, our home here on Pheasant Run, but part of me will always be homesick for Woodland Road and Dudley Street.
Until I can get out & about again - after surgery on my totally shot right shoulder, I will content myself with being a cyber Grammie. Love to all - M/G/N/AK/K
posted in memory and celebration of posting author, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, by her daughter, Elsa (Deev) Lockhart Murphy
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Velveteen Grammie, by KRL
Mom wrote the following for an alumni journal, probably in 2001:
Margery Williams' classic, The Velveteen Rabbit*, includes an exchange between two nursery toys, the Skin Horse and the Rabbit, who has asked the horse, "What is REAL?" The Rabbit wants to know if it happens all at once, like being wound up, or bit by bit.
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to those who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your fur has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
I can relate to that passage. I turned 90 in May. As the years tick by and my fixtures and fittings become unglued and the "fur" is loved off, a stronger sense of being Real has moved forward. I have heard that timing is everything and the issue of aging is no different. From the mid-1960s to recently, the culture in the USA did not give much value to older people. The times today are a-changing as the generation of revolutionaries who declared "Don't trust anyone over thirty" now find themselves eligible for AARP+ membership. I have found that the voice of wisdom is increasingly sought out by a generation that has no intention of becoming invisible or going softly into that goodnight.
When I was a young whippersnapper of fifty and sixty, I did not think much about what life would be like if I lived to be a ripe old age. If I had, it would have fallen short of the mark, nowhere near what my experience has been, especially as I tripped the "old" ometer into my nineties. A favorite saying of mine for many moons has been "Old age ain't for sissies."
Actually, managing to get to 90 relatively sound of heart, mind and body (or any one or more of those three) indicates some grit. As I inch closer toward triple digits, being old has gotten a lot easier. Somewhere around my late 80s, I began to see the humor and humanity more in things, to take upsets less personally and put them more easily into perspective. Looking back, the toughest years were when my energies were beginning to flag and my body started slowing down. The proprium -- sense of self -- feels threatened as it becomes clear that an individual is far more than just the sum of physical parts. To get to the light, we have to work through the darkness. Moving out of that hanging-on state to one of accepting that the body as a temporary shelter designed to house our eternal soul could be compared to moving out of darkness and confusion toward lightness and the light. Ideally, the concepts of physical being, of time and relationships, are liberated as we get older and older.
My own awareness shifted when I suffered a small stroke late last September. That small stroke speeded up the process. My mind feels strong, my spirit feels strong. As my body continues to head south, it no longer has the energy to kick up a fuss about being temporary or to even try to fake being permanent. My feet drag somewhat and I move a lot more slowly than I did, but most days my spirit soars, making itself felt more and more.
Just as little children look at their parents as really old, not-so-young people can see their own parents as shutting down as we age, going into some sort of benign hibernation. It is true that nature brings us, willingly or not, into more meditative states and slower tempos. Am I bored to tears sitting in the big chair in the living room or in my soothing rocking chair? No, it is surprisingly rewarding. The problem is that young kids - looking through the eyes of a still preening self -- feel sad and think, "How dull her life must be." Too many Ancient and near-Ancient Ones fall for that line. Truth be told, growth keeps right on going, ideally right out of the ceilings of our cramped opinion. This old biddy believes that the Lord intends us to live fully--whatever our physical or mental condition--right up to the moment we traipse across the threshold of our spiritual home.
For whatever reason, growing feeble, infirm and even forgetful is part of the Lord's grand scheme. As I edge closer toward triple digits, it is easier to let go of timebound prejudices and expectations. Many women of my generation anchored our identities on others, those we took care of and nourished. Personally, I balked at sparing time or energy to think and act for myself. Luckily, I had taken some proactive strides toward becoming more aware well before the stroke.
Today, my body constantly clues me in that it is merely temporary. It is breaking down. That is in the order of things, however rotten it is to experience. I take two strong pain pills a day and I have excellent and open doctors. I live in a supportive household with two "youngsters" who love me. My daughter badgered and brow beat me to think for myself rather than constantly trying to mirror back what I thought she or others wanted me to say or do. She was the burr under my saddle for change, but the catalyst was my son-in-law, who is remarkably gifted in the ways of healthy communication. My online "family" brings unexpected and incalculable blessings, fulfilling in this life the promise that "with thought brings presence," all at the click of a mouse.
It is not all "beer and skittles"--there are some rough patches. The changes that come with old age are scary, especially changes in life roles. I have not enjoyed the hands-on role of wife for over 26 years. At ninety, I cannot even manage the role I played as a parent. The resources just are not there. I cannot provide massive emotional or even minor financial support. I cannot wash a floor or do the grocery shopping or even dust my own room. (I can still shell hard boiled eggs and clean mushrooms!)
Changing roles and changing identities can be rough, especially on children, no matter how old they are. Imagine the upset at finding that good old Mom is not what she used to be. That discovery could make even an adult feel like a kid lost at the department store. Whoever is ME is changing so fast it is hard to keep up at times. It feels like more is bubbling up to the surface than ever before -- well, since I fell in love, married and became a mom for the first time. As I write this in July, we are even thinking about putting together my very own web site, which seems ... well, I do not know what it seems, but it does. Talk about "the times today are a-changing" -- I would not have dreamt that I would set foot anywhere near a meeting of people considering the role of women within the General Church, but there I was on July 8, feeling right at home, sitting front and center, and enjoying it immensely.
Of course, there is the fear of dependency. In January 2000, I was diagnosed with acute degenerative arthritis of the right shoulder. Nothing can be done to alleviate the condition. It will get progressively worse and worse. Luckily, aside from the pain, the only effect at the moment is that I cannot get out of bed without a helping hand. Still, instead of being a custodial parent, I am the one needing care. That took me down a peg at first, but dependency has turned out to have unique blessings.
A passage from the book Still Here++ expresses my experience over the past year -- "When there is true surrender and service between people, the roles of helper and helped, and the boundaries between those in power and those who are powerless, begin to dissolve." That has been my experience with my daughter and son-in-law and with, it seems, most of the other people in my life - the old limiting boundaries have begun to dissolve.
Lots of things I loved to do are just memories. Instead of gearing up into depression over what is no longer, I find it simpler to shift perspective.
Picture going to a favorite restaurant and ordering a favorite dish, only to told it is no longer on the menu. There are two choices -- get in a funk over what is no longer availabIe or grab the opportunity to check over the menu for something new. My personal menu of possibilities seems like one of those oversized diner menus. There are many things that my physical condition keep me from doing, but there are a lot of new experiences just waiting to be given a whirl. On the physical level, life stinks. On almost every other level--emotional, mental, spiritual--the world is my oyster and every month has an R!
A friend urged me to write about old age and make all the younger folks envious of us Ancients. Growing old, even some of the sadder aspects of it, is part of the Lord's grand scheme. Let go of timebound prejudices and fears of growing older.
Marianne Williamson says that to get to the light, a person has to work through the darkness. In middle and early old age, life can seem dark and scary as we move out of the familiar into the unknown. Work through it toward the light.
One key lesson learned over the past few years is that even unhappy events can bring unexpected opportunites. Going back to Margery Williams' book, if the Boy had not gotten sick, if the loved but germ-infested Rabbit was not doomed to be burned, if he had not been able to wriggle a bit to get out the sack, if a real tear had not trickled down his shabby velvet nose, the Rabbit would not have come at that time into the fullness of being REAL. You could say my eyes come close to dropping off (cataract surgery is scheduled this fall) and my physical appearance is certainly getting shabbier.
Take heart!
This Velveteen Grammie holds the happy hope of one day being reunited with her O! Best Beloved and--together--seeing the REAL light.
* The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams 1922
+ American Association of Retired Persons (open to people over 50 years old)
++ Still Here, Ram Dass 2000
THE VELVETEEN GRAMMIE
Margery Williams' classic, The Velveteen Rabbit*, includes an exchange between two nursery toys, the Skin Horse and the Rabbit, who has asked the horse, "What is REAL?" The Rabbit wants to know if it happens all at once, like being wound up, or bit by bit.
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to those who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your fur has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
I can relate to that passage. I turned 90 in May. As the years tick by and my fixtures and fittings become unglued and the "fur" is loved off, a stronger sense of being Real has moved forward. I have heard that timing is everything and the issue of aging is no different. From the mid-1960s to recently, the culture in the USA did not give much value to older people. The times today are a-changing as the generation of revolutionaries who declared "Don't trust anyone over thirty" now find themselves eligible for AARP+ membership. I have found that the voice of wisdom is increasingly sought out by a generation that has no intention of becoming invisible or going softly into that goodnight.
When I was a young whippersnapper of fifty and sixty, I did not think much about what life would be like if I lived to be a ripe old age. If I had, it would have fallen short of the mark, nowhere near what my experience has been, especially as I tripped the "old" ometer into my nineties. A favorite saying of mine for many moons has been "Old age ain't for sissies."
Actually, managing to get to 90 relatively sound of heart, mind and body (or any one or more of those three) indicates some grit. As I inch closer toward triple digits, being old has gotten a lot easier. Somewhere around my late 80s, I began to see the humor and humanity more in things, to take upsets less personally and put them more easily into perspective. Looking back, the toughest years were when my energies were beginning to flag and my body started slowing down. The proprium -- sense of self -- feels threatened as it becomes clear that an individual is far more than just the sum of physical parts. To get to the light, we have to work through the darkness. Moving out of that hanging-on state to one of accepting that the body as a temporary shelter designed to house our eternal soul could be compared to moving out of darkness and confusion toward lightness and the light. Ideally, the concepts of physical being, of time and relationships, are liberated as we get older and older.
My own awareness shifted when I suffered a small stroke late last September. That small stroke speeded up the process. My mind feels strong, my spirit feels strong. As my body continues to head south, it no longer has the energy to kick up a fuss about being temporary or to even try to fake being permanent. My feet drag somewhat and I move a lot more slowly than I did, but most days my spirit soars, making itself felt more and more.
Just as little children look at their parents as really old, not-so-young people can see their own parents as shutting down as we age, going into some sort of benign hibernation. It is true that nature brings us, willingly or not, into more meditative states and slower tempos. Am I bored to tears sitting in the big chair in the living room or in my soothing rocking chair? No, it is surprisingly rewarding. The problem is that young kids - looking through the eyes of a still preening self -- feel sad and think, "How dull her life must be." Too many Ancient and near-Ancient Ones fall for that line. Truth be told, growth keeps right on going, ideally right out of the ceilings of our cramped opinion. This old biddy believes that the Lord intends us to live fully--whatever our physical or mental condition--right up to the moment we traipse across the threshold of our spiritual home.
For whatever reason, growing feeble, infirm and even forgetful is part of the Lord's grand scheme. As I edge closer toward triple digits, it is easier to let go of timebound prejudices and expectations. Many women of my generation anchored our identities on others, those we took care of and nourished. Personally, I balked at sparing time or energy to think and act for myself. Luckily, I had taken some proactive strides toward becoming more aware well before the stroke.
Today, my body constantly clues me in that it is merely temporary. It is breaking down. That is in the order of things, however rotten it is to experience. I take two strong pain pills a day and I have excellent and open doctors. I live in a supportive household with two "youngsters" who love me. My daughter badgered and brow beat me to think for myself rather than constantly trying to mirror back what I thought she or others wanted me to say or do. She was the burr under my saddle for change, but the catalyst was my son-in-law, who is remarkably gifted in the ways of healthy communication. My online "family" brings unexpected and incalculable blessings, fulfilling in this life the promise that "with thought brings presence," all at the click of a mouse.
It is not all "beer and skittles"--there are some rough patches. The changes that come with old age are scary, especially changes in life roles. I have not enjoyed the hands-on role of wife for over 26 years. At ninety, I cannot even manage the role I played as a parent. The resources just are not there. I cannot provide massive emotional or even minor financial support. I cannot wash a floor or do the grocery shopping or even dust my own room. (I can still shell hard boiled eggs and clean mushrooms!)
Changing roles and changing identities can be rough, especially on children, no matter how old they are. Imagine the upset at finding that good old Mom is not what she used to be. That discovery could make even an adult feel like a kid lost at the department store. Whoever is ME is changing so fast it is hard to keep up at times. It feels like more is bubbling up to the surface than ever before -- well, since I fell in love, married and became a mom for the first time. As I write this in July, we are even thinking about putting together my very own web site, which seems ... well, I do not know what it seems, but it does. Talk about "the times today are a-changing" -- I would not have dreamt that I would set foot anywhere near a meeting of people considering the role of women within the General Church, but there I was on July 8, feeling right at home, sitting front and center, and enjoying it immensely.
Of course, there is the fear of dependency. In January 2000, I was diagnosed with acute degenerative arthritis of the right shoulder. Nothing can be done to alleviate the condition. It will get progressively worse and worse. Luckily, aside from the pain, the only effect at the moment is that I cannot get out of bed without a helping hand. Still, instead of being a custodial parent, I am the one needing care. That took me down a peg at first, but dependency has turned out to have unique blessings.
A passage from the book Still Here++ expresses my experience over the past year -- "When there is true surrender and service between people, the roles of helper and helped, and the boundaries between those in power and those who are powerless, begin to dissolve." That has been my experience with my daughter and son-in-law and with, it seems, most of the other people in my life - the old limiting boundaries have begun to dissolve.
Lots of things I loved to do are just memories. Instead of gearing up into depression over what is no longer, I find it simpler to shift perspective.
Picture going to a favorite restaurant and ordering a favorite dish, only to told it is no longer on the menu. There are two choices -- get in a funk over what is no longer availabIe or grab the opportunity to check over the menu for something new. My personal menu of possibilities seems like one of those oversized diner menus. There are many things that my physical condition keep me from doing, but there are a lot of new experiences just waiting to be given a whirl. On the physical level, life stinks. On almost every other level--emotional, mental, spiritual--the world is my oyster and every month has an R!
A friend urged me to write about old age and make all the younger folks envious of us Ancients. Growing old, even some of the sadder aspects of it, is part of the Lord's grand scheme. Let go of timebound prejudices and fears of growing older.
Marianne Williamson says that to get to the light, a person has to work through the darkness. In middle and early old age, life can seem dark and scary as we move out of the familiar into the unknown. Work through it toward the light.
One key lesson learned over the past few years is that even unhappy events can bring unexpected opportunites. Going back to Margery Williams' book, if the Boy had not gotten sick, if the loved but germ-infested Rabbit was not doomed to be burned, if he had not been able to wriggle a bit to get out the sack, if a real tear had not trickled down his shabby velvet nose, the Rabbit would not have come at that time into the fullness of being REAL. You could say my eyes come close to dropping off (cataract surgery is scheduled this fall) and my physical appearance is certainly getting shabbier.
Take heart!
This Velveteen Grammie holds the happy hope of one day being reunited with her O! Best Beloved and--together--seeing the REAL light.
* The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams 1922
+ American Association of Retired Persons (open to people over 50 years old)
++ Still Here, Ram Dass 2000
KRL's pre-blog blogging
The amazing, challenging & unforgettable KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART was into blogging years before it was so. Mom would transcribe her thoughts, commentaries, memories to moi and I'd transcribe them for sending to a circle of friends. Her handle - Mindwalker1910. And was she ever, taking us along for the stroll!
To remember and celebrate the late, great Kay Lockhart on her 100th birthday ~ May 14 ~ I've created this blog spot for posting some of her "best of" postings.
Happy birthday, Mom/Mum/Kay/KRL/Katharine Reynolds Lockhart/Gocky/Nan/Grandma L/Aunt Kay/Gramster/Grammie Kay/Katie/Cossie!!!
To remember and celebrate the late, great Kay Lockhart on her 100th birthday ~ May 14 ~ I've created this blog spot for posting some of her "best of" postings.
Happy birthday, Mom/Mum/Kay/KRL/Katharine Reynolds Lockhart/Gocky/Nan/Grandma L/Aunt Kay/Gramster/Grammie Kay/Katie/Cossie!!!
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