BALI HIGH 06/25/00

Subject: Bali High
Date: Sun, 25 Jun 2000 19:19:33 EDT

People seem surprised to hear that I made seven trips to Australia between 1975-1995. I was 65 when I made my first journey down, just before Scott Graeme Lockhart made his world debut. Friends were leery that I was going down by myself at such an age, but I did not feel at all decrepit.

To offset the strain of the long trip, I started my practice of breaking the trip for a few days (the last flight was the only time I flew “straight through”). After flying from Philadelphia to Los Angeles, I stayed with friends in Pasadena. Another jaunt by air, then a second break in Tahiti.

Tahiti was incredibly beautiful. My hotel was inexpensive, but it was stunning. If I walked outside my room door, I was right on the beach. Oh, it was lovely. There was a dock. When I walked out to look around, there was a big pen of sharks. I beat a hasty retreat. I was not afraid of them, I just did not want to look at the ugly critters.

There is no describing the beauty of Tahiti - it is beyond description. The hill that rose behind my hotel was covered with flowering trees.

With all that beauty, it was still perhaps the loneliest time of my life. Gay & Willard had gone to Tahiti on one of their trips to Australia and Gay very much wanted me to see the island. She underwrote a bus trip around the island. The difference between her trip and mine was that her Own True Love was by her side. All that beauty made me miss Pete, who had just died the year before, and feel so alone with no one to share it with.

The loneliness was compounded because the Tahitians I had contact with tended to be very sullen and spoke French and very little English. Waiting for my plane to take off to Bali, my next stop, I went to buy a newspaper or a magazine - they were all in French. There was not even anyone in the airport - they all went home between the flights.

Now, Bali was another cup of tea. Unlike Tahiti, it was a British possession and everyone was friendly and beautiful. It seemed strange to hear the natives speaking impeccable English. I could have kissed each and every one of them. If you have ever seen the musical South Pacific, it captures the big smiles and friendliness that I experienced.

Love to all - KRL, world traveler

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev in honor of the 05/14 centenary of her birth

JANNA ... 06/14/00

Subj: Janna Synnestvedt Glebe
Date: 6/14/00 9:17:41 PM Eastern Daylight Time

It rocked me to hear this morning of Janna Glebe's death last night. She was just a kid, in her late 60s. I instinctively called Elsa at work, who - sensing my sadness and turmoil - suggested I use the rest of the day to think of how Janna touched my life.

The first time I set eyes on Janna, she was around 3 years old and her aunt, Anita Synnestvedt, was taking care of her and brought her by Harold and Clara Pitcairn's for a paddle in their pool. I was enchanted.

As they grew up and throughout their lives, the two Synnestvedt girls - Freya and Janna - were good foils for each other. Freya was outgoing and daring, ready to climb trees that left manly men of 12 years old quaking. Janna was quieter and quietly wound her way into my heart.

Our paths crossed over and over and over. I was a friend of her parents and had the fun of watching her grow up. Later, we had daughters - my youngest, her oldest - in the same class throughout elementary school and high school. Most of the time, we lived on the same side of town. Many's the time I would walk past their house - perched up on sort of a little bluff overlooking Fettersmill Road - on my way to or from the Valley and would hear, "Hello, Kay!" from the drive or from the way-high-up porch.

Our husbands, relatively quiet men, always found plenty to talk about, what with Ted being a builder and carpenter, Pete a lumberman and cabinetmaker.

Recently, we participated in the same discussion group, although I had not been since last year. As recently as last month, Janna wrote and called me - she was kicking herself for not stopping by to see me, but had been "under the weather." Even though Freya recently told me her sister was not doing well, I thought she must be mistaken - Janna sounded so good to me on the phone.

From the moment I saw her pool-side at Cairncrest, I sensed something magical about Janna. It went beyond her artistic talents, which included creating exquisite elf-land sculptures that stole the heart with their beauty and charm. Remarkably talented with her hands, Janna was talented at carefully crafting friendships as well. She was remarkably self-effacing, able to deflect a well-earned compliment with a laugh and light comment. I felt that Janna had difficulty seeing the incredible special qualities that were so apparent to my eye.

An interesting thing about her - she never seemed to age. They say that only the good die young, but I think that is twisted 'round - the truth is that the good seem always young.

This loss has hit me hard. The only thing that makes this moment, when my sadness is so fresh, bearable is remembering how Willard closed Pete's memorial service and applying it to my friend, Janna - she was taken from us because the Lord has need of her.

Sending out a cosmic hug tonight to my dear and doubly-appreciated circle of friends.

Love to all - Kay

reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev, in celebration of the 05/14 centenary of Kay's birth

THE RAIN IS RAINING... 06/14/00

Subject: "The rain is raining all around..."
Date: Mon, 12 Jun 2000 22:39:40 EDT

It certainly was today - a torrential thunder & lightning storm. In spite of the furious weather, I went with John to meet Elsa at Barnes & Noble/Willow Grove after work. It was worth it to see my daughter, who - knowing how skittish I have become over venturing out in bad weather - never dreamt that I would come along. She was practically agog helping me out of the car, the rain whipping all around.

What a pleasure to say, "I am not made of sugar, you know. I will not melt."

Very satisfying!

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter in honor of her 05/14 centenary

TALL SHIPS 06/24/00

very strange - posted this yesterday, but apparently it's out in cyberspace. luckily, i posted copies onto scott & karen's fb pages. this was 06/28/10 posting, so look for two today (playing catch-up)...

Subject: Tall Ships
Date: Sat, 24 Jun 2000 21:10:06 EDT

The tall ships arrived in Philadelphia yesterday, setting off all sorts of wonderful memories. The pictures in the paper of rigging and billowing sails and nimble crews took me right back 15 years, to Australia's own Bicentennial celebration, which included two special sailing vessel events.

Sydney Harbour is, to my mind and most experts' minds, the most beautiful harbor in the world. It's geographical setting is without peer and the Opera House gives it cosmopolitan dash. A perfect setting for celebrating Australia Day and the drama of tall ships.

The five of us - Mike & Kerry, Scott & Karen, and "Nan" - packed up a picnic and found a great spot on Farm Cove. We had an excellent view of the harbor.

I don't remember how many ships were there, but then I was pretty stunned by the majesty of it all. The ship from Argentina stands out in my mind - it had at least 5 rows of sail on each mast. "Awesome" really is the best word to describe it.

We were there to see them off on their way. Oh, the sight of those great majestic ships working their way out of the harbor, past The Heads, to the open sea. If I could find the words to describe the images in my mind I would, but I cannot.

The other time we packed up a picnic and headed to Farm Cove was for the reenactment of the arrival of the First Fleet. Now, that is not the same as tall ships by any stroke of the imagination. They were much smaller, which made them, in some ways, all the more dramatic.

Imagine sailing all the way across the world on those smaller vessels. We practically went delirious when one of the ships anchored right in front of us. Any closer and we would have been sharing our picnic with them!

One look at the cover of the Weekend section of the Philadelphia Inquirer and I am a kid of 75 again, a world away, snug with the Down Under branch of our clan, with good food, great sights and a full heart.

Yo ho to one and all - Nan Lockhart

reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV, in honor of the centenary of Nan's birth

COMMUNICATION IN MARRIAGE 06/17/00

Subj: Communication in Marriage
Date: 6/17/00 8:21:26 PM Eastern Daylight Time

Today was lonely. John and Elsa were away from 8:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. at a seminar on communication in marriage. Knowing it would be a long and potentially depressing day for me, Elsa reviewed how to operate the CD player - and suggested that I think about my own experience with communication in marriage. Both suggestions were godsends and I was in pretty good spirits when they returned.

Pete & I were married long before the term "marriage enrichment" was coined. The thought of sitting around with other couples - including people we knew - to consider ways to deepen our relationship would have seemed strange. Of course, we also did not have the many distractions and challenges today's married couples face. Pete worked and I took care of the children. I did not consider myself suffocated, but in the fullness of my use. I remember many years back, a person who knew me through my political activities asked what I did, if I went out to work. I said, "Oh, no. I stay home and look after my house and children." She said, "Don't you resent that?" I said, "No, I enjoy it. I think I am lucky." I did and I still do.

Through the years, some family members dismissed the relationship I shared with Pete as a "fairy tale." In their eyes, he dominated and I cow-towed. The possibility that we genuinely were partners in every sense seemed hard for them to accept. I felt like they saw me as a squashed cabbage leaf.

Not so, not so. It is true that Pete & I did not fight, although we did disagree. There were certain things we did that helped keep our marriage on an even keel. If I was giving a seminar on communication in marriage, I would emphasize:

>> The power of having a shared faith.
Pete grew up Presbyterian and I was raised in the General Church of the New
Jerusalem, but as adults we came to believe in the same idea of God and the same principles of life. Having a shared faith is powerful stuff in a marriage.

>> The power of respect.
I have heard married couples bait and tear down each other for sport, then say "We are just kidding" or "But it is so lovely making up." In my experience, it is impossible to completely take back an unkind comment; each one leaves a scar, however small.

>> Shared life goals.
Pete loved our faith’s doctrine of use, which guided his life. I hope it has guided mine, even when it has not been the popular or profitable way to go. I recall the horror a family member expressed hearing that I had sold a prime piece of property, asking for only the original price plus the taxes we’d paid. "You OWED it to your children to get as much for it as you could." That was not how I saw it. We bought the lot for a rock bottom price, because the seller wanted to develop the area as an extension of Bryn Athyn; to me, the right thing to do was to pass that savings and intention along. I had one stipulation – that the lot be sold to a couple with young children. The family member did not agree with me, but I know Pete would have.

>> Treat each other like full partners.
Before Pete went into business for himself, he discussed it thoroughly with me. When the children were growing up, they had to come first in my time. When the business was starting and growing, it had to come first in his time. I never doubted that we both came first in each others' hearts.

>> Pray together.
Say grace with the family at dinnertime and prayers together at night. Give thanks everyday for something outside of the two of you.

>> Remember that love does not consist in looking at each other, but together in the same direction.

That is part of what I would say if I held a communication in marriage seminar. One thing I forgot – focus less in the importance of being married and more on marrying someone with whom there is true compatibility. Marry the wrong one, and life turns into a never-ending nightmare; marry the right one, and you will find that fairy tales can come true. It CAN happen to you!

Love to all on this hot, steamy early evening - Mrs. Raymond Lewis Lockhart

reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev to honor the centenary of Mom's 05/14 birth

R.L.S. 06/11/00

Subject: R.L.S.
Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 22:49:28 EDT

Sitting in Barnes & Noble yesterday, looking out at the downpour drenching the parking lot, brought to mind, "The rain is raining all around, it falls on field and tree, it falls on the umbrellas here, and on the ships at sea."

There is something special about Robert Lewis Stevenson’s poems. I dearly loved A Child’s Garden of Verses when I was little and they were read to me and I dearly loved it as a parent reading it to my own little ones and I dearly love it today. Sweet memories of getting lost in the words and in Jessie Wilcox Smith’s beautiful illustrations. I wish I knew where that book has rambled off to. The volume close at hand these days is one illustrated by Tasha Tudor. It is exquisite, but there is something in Jessie Wilcox Smith’s illustrations that will always call to my heart.

I cannot pass up the chance to share some of my favorite RLS poems with my special circle of loved ones. If I included all of my dearly beloveds, Elsa would be at the key board for several hours. These are especially dear to my heart. So many memories and so much loved wrapped up in each one.

Foreign Lands
Up into the cherry tree ~ Who should climb but little me? ~ I held the trunk with both my hands ~ And looked abroad on foreign lands

I saw the next door garden lie, ~ Adorned with flowers, before my eye, ~ And many pleasant places more ~ That I had never seen before.

I saw the dimpling river pass ~ And be the sky’s blue looking glass; ~ The
dusty roads go up and down ~ With people tramping into town.

If I could find a higher tree, ~ Farther and farther I should see; ~ to where the grown-up river slips ~ Into the sea among the ships.

To where the roads on either hand ~ Lead onward into fairy land, ~ Where all
the children dine at five, ~ And all the playthings come alive.


To Alison Cunningham, From Her Boy
(his dedication in "A Child’s Garden of Verses")
For the long nights you lay awake and watched for my unworthy sake;
For you most comfortable hand that led me through the uneven land;
For all the story-books you read; for all the pains you comforted;
For all you pitied, all you bore, in sad and happy days of yore: -
My second Mother, my first Wife, the angel of my infant life -
From the sick child, now well and old, take, nurse, the little book you hold.

And grant it, Heaven, that all who read may find as near a nurse at need,
And every child who lists my rhyme, in the bright, fireside, nursery clime,
May hear it in as kind a voice, as made my childhood days rejoice!


Bed In Summer
In winter I get up at night and dress by golden candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see the birds still hopping on the tree,
And hear the grown-up people’s feet still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you, when all the sky is clear & blue,
And I should like so much to play, to have to go to bed by day?


At the Sea-side
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.

My holes were empty like a cup,
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come no more.


Windy Nights
Whenever the moon and stars are set
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And the ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then,
By he comes back at the gallop again.

~ and my favorite of all ~

The Lamplighter
My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky;
It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by;
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.

Now Tom may be a driver and Maria go to sea,
And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be;
But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do,
Oh Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you.

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
An Oh! Before you hurry by with ladder and with light,
Oh Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!


I leave with you the short & sweet …
Time To Rise - -
A birdie with a yellow bill,
Hopped upon the window-sill,
Cocked his shining eye and said:
"Ain't you shamed, you sleepy head!"

Nite-nite & God bless. This sleepy head is ready to head up the wooden
hill!

Love to one & all (and a special hug to Nora) ~ Ma Lockhart

reposted with sweet memories of KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter in celebration of the centenary of her 05/14 birthday.

CONSIDER YOURSELF AT HOME 06/26/00

Subject: Consider yourself at home
Date: Mon, 26 Jun 2000 21:16:40 EDT

The descent into Sydney is always exciting, but the first time you experience it is beyond description. We came in over Manley, which is like a little peninsula that stretches out into the harbor; you have to go over it to get to the harbor. I remember being fascinated by the red roofs. I remember being awed by the beauty of Sydney Harbour, a sensation I never lost. I was practically leaping out of my skin with excitement over being in Australia and the thought of seeing Mike & Kerry.

I did not think I would be able to restrain myself while going through customs. I wanted to be out of there and into my family's arms. At last I was free and spotted Mike & Kerry. Mike was so happy to see his dear old Mum, he literally swept me off my feet. Kerry looked beautiful – and very pregnant. All three of us were happy as dickey birds.

I arrived Down Under a month before the anticipated birth so that I could get down the routine of the house. They were living in Paddington at the time, a charming neighborhood with "Federal" houses of red brick trimmed with white wood. As I recall, there were beautiful wrought iron railings that made it reminiscent of pictures I have seen of New Orleans. .

Scott was born at what they call a laying-in hospital - dedicated to birthing. Australia is often more advanced than the USA in its medical practices (they do not have to fuss around with the AMA) and this hospital was no exception. I remember how much I liked it and the staff. It was so exciting to hold my grandson and even more to watch Mike holding his son. It made me miss Pete, in a sad but wonderful way.

When my children were born, the dad was not allowed in the delivery room and babies were brought to Mom according to schedule. For one of my children's births, I had a roommate. She had just finished feeding her baby and her husband was watching her and picked up his little bitty baby. One of the nurses came in, dressed him down and took the baby away. She really let him have it. He was in total disbelief - "What is the matter? I am not dirty." But the nurse would not budge.

Not so with Scott's birth. I remember Kerry asking me if I wanted to hold him, because I was making such a big fuss over him. I protested that the nurses would not let him, but Kerry set me right, pointing out that he was her baby and she said I could hold him. What happiness!

When Kerry and Mike brought their bouncing baby boy home, I was there to be a delighted chief cook and bottle washer. For a month, Kerry could just take it easy and let me take care of the house. It felt so good. I had not been needed like that since Pete died and it nourished my soul. I remember one of her friends dropping by and asking her what she was planning for dinner. Kerry tossed off her reply - "I haven't had to think about a meal in a month." The friend looked at me and said, "When you're through here, will you come over to my house?" And I think she meant it!

What lovely memories to take with me to my slumbers. Love to all - Mum/Nan

reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev in honor of the centenary of Mum's 05/16 birthday

A VERY FULL DAY 06/28/00

Subject: a very full day
Date: Wed, 28 Jun 2000 21:44:42 EDT

I am a tired lass, a very tired lass. It has been a full day.

Had a visit this morning from my son, Peter. It was wonderful - we have not seen each other since Whitney's wedding in April, so had lots to catch up on - and at the same time stressful.

It is unusual, but I usually get quite stressed around my children. I do not know why that it, but there it is.

What I have to watch out for is my "KRL Death Spiral" - I feel tense in what I think should be a totally happy moment, then get upset at myself for feeling tense and tell myself it is sheer nonsense and everything is really fine, completely ignoring how I actually feel, which only intensifies the tension, and so on and so forth. Keep forgetting that important things cannot be worked around, they must be worked through.

Do I tense up around Elsa? Yes, although I have improved over the past two years. Imagine living with someone who tenses up around you. It takes a lot of work by both of us - and endless patience on John's part - but now we are good buddies.

One of my bestest buddies is Dr. John Beight, my orthopedic surgeon. I think I have mentioned before that he is dashing fellow in looks and manner. He has been wonderful to me. I had an appointment with him this afternoon to check out my poor old shoulder. He asked how I was. I gave him my standard answer - "I take two pain pills a day. My spirits are good. I have a good appetite. I live with a loving daughter and a loving son-in-law. Who could ask for more? It can't get much better than this." He gave a slow little smile and said, "You're young."  Taken aback, I good-naturedly protested, "Me? I'm old!"  Continuing to rest my hands between his, he looked at me again, his smile got just a tad more... something, and he restated, firmly & plainly, "No - you're young."

Later, as I got ready to head out to the waiting room where John was biding his time, Dr. Beight looked at me very seriously and said, "Your son-in-law is a wonderful man. I saw the way he helped you." I wholeheartedly agreed! Then he shook my hand - he has beautiful hands. I thanked him very much and he graciously replied, "My pleasure" and sounded like he meant it. I am so lucky to have association with such a good doctor and gracious man. What I appreciate most about Dr. Beight is that he is unusually modest. He seems totally unconscious of the fact that he is a very handsome man. He is natural.

When I headed out to meet John, I felt much, much better than when I came in, in part from the cortisone shot in my shoulder, but in larger part due to the effect of Dr. Beight.

Hope you all are well. This weary woman is heading to bed.
Love – Grammie Kay

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev to honor the centenary (May 14, 2010) of the Gramster's birth

SUMMER AFTERNOON... 06/23/00

Subject: Summer Afternoon, Summer Afternoon
Date: Fri, 23 Jun 2000 21:11:36 EDT

I think the only time humans feel the idea of eternity is as children, as summer opens up before us. I remember having summer at my beck & call, to go vagabonding with Betty. Summer stretched in front of us like a long golden tunnel.

The children in the house catty-corner to our backyard are having a high old time right now, even with night fully fallen, fireflies flitting about. Someone just rang out with "Time out!"

Smiling - My Inner Child

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev

ROSE PETALS 06/20/00

Subject: Rose Petals
Date: Tue, 20 Jun 2000 22:01:52 EDT

Sitting in the big chair in the living room, I noticed that a beautiful rose from a dear friend's garden had lost a petal. I left it where it fell, deep coral on the black background of the table. A few whiles later, I noticed another had fallen. For some reason, those two petals made me feel serene and still within the moment. I noticed how each petal was a different shape, the different shades of coral each rendered up for my enjoyment. I found myself enjoying the petals as much as I have the rose.

I pondered the thought of memories, which do not have the life energy of the actual event, but each is beautiful in its own right. This afternoon, I found myself thinking of when Betty and I were young. It was 1930, so I would have been 20 and Betty 18 1/2. The financial security I had grown up with was just a memory. The two of us regularly scoured the Philadelphia Bulletin ("Everyone Reads the Bulletin") want ads. One day, we found what sounded like a great position - a family was looking for a cook and nanny. As we found out when we called to make an appointment, the family lived on Allen's Lane in Chestnut Hill. When the day came for our appointment, Betty and I put on our best bib & tucker and took the trolley (at that time, the two of us and Mother lived in our grandfather’s house in Germantown, not far from Chestnut Hill). It was a bit of a walk from the trolley stop to the Costello’s, but we were so excited it seemed like no distance at all.

The Costellos lived in one of those great big grey stone houses that epitomize the exclusive environs of Chestnut Hill. Both Mr. & Mrs. Costello interviewed us. We were a hit. Mrs. Costello wanted to hire us on the spot, but Mr. Costello pointed out that we were the first of quite a few scheduled appointments and it would be rude to cancel them. We were in quite a bit of suspense for a day or two, when we got the good word - the job was ours. It was a temporary position - their nanny/cook was going to Germany for six months to visit her family.

There were two boys and one little girl. Betty took the role of nanny and I was the cook. The older boy, who was about nine, was named Peter; his brother - I cannot remember his name - was about six. Nanny, the adored baby sister, was almost two.

Things that stand out in my memory include convincing Mrs. Costello that I knew all about cooking, when that was far from the truth. I figured that she had a lot of cookbooks and I could learn. I did! One time, she asked me if I could whip up a lemon meringue pie. "Of course!" Then I did a quick read of the cookbooks to see if I could come up with a recipe. Sure enough, there was a recipe. I was too inexperienced to know how tricky lemon meringue pies can be. I forged forward with the faith of ignorance. After the dinner party, Mrs. Costello proclaimed it the best lemon meringue pie she had ever set fork to. I still have the recipe.

Mrs. Costello, like so many "Hillers," rode every day. Mrs. Costello looked stunning in her riding habit, a real pleasure to behold. She rode with a group of women friends who would get together at one of their houses after the ride. I enjoyed when they came to the house on Allen's Lane, even though it meant I had to pull out all the stops making canapés and such. One day, as I was clearing, I was unusually thirsty and poured a large glass of water from the pitcher of spring water Mrs. Costello always had available at these gatherings for thirsty ladies. I almost gagged and spun around when I took a big gulp - it was straight gin! This was a good two years before they repealed Prohibition.

One day, one of the boys draped himself about me and begged me to tell a story from my own childhood. The children gathered around and I started telling them about some exploit from my youth. Peter stopped me, "Katharine, Betty tells stories better." and went her off to find her. What, I grilled my sister later, did she do to so enchant the children? "Oh," Betty explained, "When you tell the story, you tell they what happened. I embellish it here and there to make it more lively." Well, so much for harboring thoughts of being a good story teller.

My goodness, I could go on & on. Peter Costello standing on top of the refrigerator (they were a lot smaller back then and the motor was on top) with an umbrella, which he expected to waft him safely down to the kitchen floor. Betty going across the room and tripping on something, sending her weaving around the room trying to regain balance, and Nanny calling with delight from her high chair, "Do it again! Do it again!" She thought Betty had done it solely for her enjoyment. So many stories.

Our time came to an end. The children wanted us to stay, but the parents reluctantly pointed out their obligation to their cook/nanny - she went to visit her friends & family with the reassurance that her job would be safe, so safe it had to be.

Thinking of it all, I see Betty and Mr. & Mrs. Costello and the children as clearly as I see the petals.

John is pawing the earth for Elsa to be up and away on their evening walk, so I must say good night & God bless to you all.

Love - Gocky

UP, UP & AWAY! 06/19/00

Subject: Up, up & away!
Date: Mon, 19 Jun 2000 07:07:02 EDT

A very early morning posting (one of the advantages to waking up throughout the night and early morning) from a half-awake Grammie Kay to say, "Happy trails!" to all my friends who are heading off today or tomorrow.

Let's see... lots and lots of my fellow church members are heading up to Canada for our worldwide General Assembly. (What a treat yesterday to see Cara & Andy Dibb and their three children - Malcolm, Meghan and Laird – at the pageant, in town from South Africa, where Andy ministers, on their way to the Assembly.) Friends are flying down to my beloved Bermuda tomorrow and will be piloting a yacht back - nice work, if you can get it! My psychologist and her psychiatrist husband are heading down to Nashville for the Unitarian National Assembly.

Of course, my Australian friends are in the midst of winter, so summer vacations are a bit away - but they are getting geared up for the Olympics!

So much bustling about, My summer travel wish list is short & sweet – just our annual nip across New Jersey to Spring Lake, so I can see the ocean.

Dear friends - may your travels be happy and safe, wherever they may lead. I will think of you from the big chair in the living room.

Safe journeys – KRL

ps ~ The summer tree made its debut yesterday, on schedule. The bunnies and cards and spring flowers are down and sea shells & squirrels & silk roses & bumble bees & butterflies (scheduled to take a rest, I asked that they stay up) & one large pink dragonfly now grace its branches. Postcards from vacationing friends would give it much needed energy.

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, in celebration of the centenary of her birth (May 14) by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev

The Lord God Jesus Christ Doth Reign 06/18/00

Subject: The Lord God Jesus Christ Reigns!
Date: Sun, 18 Jun 2000 22:07:10 EDT

As a member of the General Church of the New Jerusalem, I am what is loosely referred to as a "Swedenborgian." In short, I believe that the Writings (32 volumes of revelation as given by the Lord through Emanuel Swedenborg) are the 2nd coming of the Lord. Like traditional Christians, I celebrate the Lord’s birth at Christmas and His resurrection at Easter. In addition, I celebrate the 19th of June.

I believe that the 2nd Coming happened - or its potential was made full - when the final volume of the Writings was completed. When True Christian Religion was completed, on June 19th, 1770, the Lord called together in the other world the 12 disciples who followed Him in this world and sent them forth throughout the heavens to proclaim that the Lord God Jesus Christ reigns, Whose kingdom shall be forever & ever.

It is very interesting being a Swedenborgian. First of all, a lot of people insist on believing it is a Swedish church, sort of an offshoot of Lutherans. Then, when they hear that we believe that the 2nd Coming has happened and that it was in the guise of a written revelation rather than a Christ-like coming to Earth, they often start cautiously inching away.

As Elsa likes to say, ours is a religion so small, we are known only to God and ourselves. I love my faith, especially today.

For as long as I can remember, people in Bryn Athyn have celebrated the 19th of June with special church services and a picnic on the cathedral lawn. Decades and decades ago, the Bryn Athyn church “society” switched gift giving from Christmas to "New Church Day." It is very festive - the children get presents, families spread out blankets and unload picnic hampers, and there's ice cream. Children have rolled down the long church hill for what seems eons - today's little ones and their parents and their grandparents and their grandparents and so on. To the Lockharts, it would have been unthinkable to stay at home. As is still done today, after the picnic, when the sun set and dusk came on, the cathedral was bathed in lights and beautiful music played; Pete and I and the children walked around the church and basked in its beauty. The light through the stained glass windows could move me to tears. I loved to walk down the hill and look up to soak in the sheer majesty of building, light and sound.

It has been many years since I went to a 19th of June church service, although Elsa will always drive me past the cathedral, down Cairncrest drive and up Quarry Road, so I can have some sense of my beloved "New Church Day" traditions.

Today was different.

From the moment I woke up, I just knew that I would go to the pageant. I cannot even remember how long ago it was that I saw my first and only New Church Day pageant. It was a disappointment and I came away thinking it is impossible to effectively present the visions seen by John on the Isle of Patmos as described in Revelation, which we believe foretells the 2nd Coming of the Lord. You can imagine Elsa's surprise when I mentioned around lunchtime that I wanted to go this year.

It was supposed to be.

I was not excited, I was not nervous, just sure I was meant to go. I got up from my nap at 4:40 p.m. and by 5:10 p.m. the two of us were on our way.

I felt unusually calm and at the same time expectant. It is impossible to describe the feelings I had as Elsa swung onto College Drive and we swung around and up to the Pike. I looked briefly at the church as we drove past it, but was too preoccupied with getting ready to decamp to take anything in.

Elsa drove through the porte-cochere and back up to Cathedral Road to let me out. Wonder of wonders, Brenda was strolling toward us at just the right moment. I was turned over to her and Tiffany Keal was handed my chair, then Elsa took off to park the car. Brenda and Tiffany got me settled and sat next to me. I was finally able to look up and around.

The sight I saw left me feeling a sense of awe. It was seeing – being part of - a living, breathing Memorable Relation. A crowd of all ages was arched in a semi-circle on the East Lawn, facing the church. Everyone seemed happy and looking forward to something wonderful. A bank of dark thunder clouds formed a dramatic backdrop for the soft grey stone and soaring pinnacles of the cathedral. It felt like we were part of a higher, more ethereal reality. As Elsa came up and touched my shoulder, I felt a sense of such blessing.

Jeremy Simons came out, dressed in his robes, and announced that pageant would go on, but might ultimately be called on account of rain (not really his words, but they catch the situation).

Oh my, what came next was so powerful. It made a tremendous difference, I think, having it on the East Lawn, rather than on the West Lawn, where it took place the year I saw it. Jeremy read from Revelation (the last book of the New Testament) and someone representing the disciple John came forward. Jeremy read, "After this, I looked, and behold, a door was opened in heaven: and the first voice I heard was as it were of a trumpet, talking with me; which said, ‘Come up hither, and I will show thee things which must be hereafter.’"

Well, it never occurred to me that this was being actually portrayed - I thought we were to imagine it in our minds. Elsa touched my shoulder and pointed up; there, way high up in the cathedral tower, standing on a small balcony, was someone portraying an angel, with a brilliant outfit with golden sleeves. It was a wonderful, powerful sight. A 2nd "angel" appeared, with a scroll with 7 seals, again way high up, on another balcony.

Off in the distance, between the central tower and a lower tower to the left, a great slash of lightning cut across the dark grey clouds. It was other worldly. I had tears in my eyes.

Jeremy continued reading from the Book of Revelation and spoke of someone "speaking with the voice of thunder." Well, no sooner had he said the last word than a great rumble of thunder shook all around us. I get chills just remembering. Everyone stayed put - with lightning in the distance and thunder close at hand, everyone stayed put.

Jeremy read of the four horsemen, the first on a white horse, the second on a red, the third on a black and the final - Death - on a pale horse. Each time Jeremy described a horse and rider, one appeared - on real horses. What a moment, to see each enter, then finally all four circling together. What power.

We managed to get to the release of the souls under the altar before the heavens opened up and the threatening storm became reality. Elsa hightailed if off for the car, Brenda & Tiffany helped me in, and off we went.

Even abbreviated, it was one of the most powerful things I have experienced. The obvious power of nature had something to do with it, but even without it, I am sure that I would have been deeply moved by what I saw and experienced.

As we drove away through the rain drops and dodging people making beelines for their cars, I understood why it was a given in my heart that this was one service I would not miss. I told Elsa that I thanked the Lord for the experience and (typically) she reminded me that the Lord had created the opportunity but that * I * was the one who got myself there.

It was an experience that I doubt any of the people who shared in it will forget. It is still with me and will be blessing me as I drop off to sleep.

It is not always easy to be a "Swedenborgian," to be different and to experience skepticism even from friends when they hear the bit about the 2nd Coming. But it is right for this Ancient One.

"The Lord God Jesus Christ doth reign!"
This gospel doth the Word proclaim.
His Kingdom on this Rock secure
Ages of ages shall endure.

Peace to you all. Love - the Ancient One

reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev

In my own write 03/21/00

Subj: in my own write
Date: 3/21/00 10:02:26 PM Eastern Daylight Time

You caught me ~ the subject line is lifted from a book of Mim's, a collection of poems by John Lennon. My apologies, but it captures how I feel at this moment.

The authenticity of my postings was questioned recently by someone because I do not actually tip tap them into the computer. A dear friend responded to reassure me that, "Whether the wording is yours....or Elsa's.... it makes no difference... IT'S YOUR MEMORIES AND/OR THOUGHTS that come thru."

This posting business in interesting. Yes, it is Elsa who wraps my memories, thoughts and impressions into prose; I plant the seeds, but it is - I freely admit - Elsa who tends, nurtures and prunes them, doing everything possible to ensure that my voice comes across as clearly and effectively as possible, using my own words for most of each posting, albeit often in a different order or slightly "tweaked" phrasing to get across in writing what's formed in my mind.

Before she starts tapping away at the keyboard, the two of us carefully go over what I want to share in the particular posting. She always hauls me back into the computer studio to read each draft or, if I’m already tucked in for the night, sits on my bed so I can hear what she set down; then it’s back to the keyboard with any changes (often several times). She only hits the “send” button after I give final sign off.

Our collaboration adds a new twist to an already unusually unusual mother-daughter relationship. A lot of people assume we are closer than two peas in a pod. I wish it were so. We have our challenges and obstacles ~ it is not all beer and skittles. That’s one reason that Peter Buss' sermon grabbed me the way it did the other day.

As part of his talk, Peter called a mother and daughter up before the congregation (I could not identify them from the audiotape, but I know from Elsa that it was Carol and Justine Brannon). Peter had lovely things to say about the "Rachel" ideals of being parent and child. I waited for him to address the "Leah" reality - that it is the rare-rare-rare parent/child relationship that does not have the occasional tough going. I waited to hear him talk about how relationships can seem severed or damaged beyond repair, but how the seed of love is always there, wanting to bloom. But he did not.

I was disappointed and am a little concerned.

Not that long ago, I would have heard Peter’s words and said to myself, "See, this is what relationships are supposed to be. If my own family relationships are not that way, it must be my fault. I am not nurturing the loving, supportive family God intended me to."

I would have felt downcast by the very beautiful parent-child picture Peter painted.

Over my many decades, I’ve learned that while families can be wonderful sources of support and love, let us be honest in saying that families that are always upbeat and cohesive are few and far between. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. Did you know that at one time, if a woman delivered a baby by Ceasarean section, her doctor had her deliver the rest of her children the same way? The reasoning was that the stress of delivery could rupture the scar. The truth is that a scar - where torn skin and muscle have been drawn back together and rehealed - is stronger than the original skin.

So, I believe, it is with families. They can go through difficult times, the relationships can even seem torn apart, but when the people care enough to be drawn back together, to listen and respond, to not do the same damaging actions or allow them to be done, then the family can be stronger than ever. We can use our years to strive for not only the “Leah” states of loving and being together – which, like Leah, have their own important off-spring - but also the “Rachel” ones as well.

Much love to my online family & relations - Aunt Kay

Ideal/Real 03/20/00

Subj: Ideal / Real
Date: 3/20/00 10:08:08 PM Eastern Daylight Time

This week's Contemporary Service was given by Peter Buss, a thought-provoking presentation on Rachel & Jacob & Leah. There was a lot for me to ponder as I listened to the tape during dinner tonight.

I tend to lean heavily on what Peter described as "Rachel truths" – truths that bring to mind lofty ideals. I typically shied away from the less lovely "Leah truths" - those more mundane truths that help me see what is right in front of my nose, things that need to be done if I am to make the ideal real.

To me, love was a beautiful, spiritual ideal and it was my privilege to cherish it.

Now, I know that while that ideal is to be cherished, love is first and foremost an action verb. Love IS beautiful & spiritual ~ and it can also be a rough road to hoe, messy, inconvenient and downright confusing.

Love is the fuel & the spark that makes my ancient world go 'round.

XOXOXOXOXOX - the Gramster

reposted in sweet memory of its composer, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka Deev

Rare Woods & Romance 03/13/00

Subject: Rare Woods & Romance
Date: Mon, 13 Mar 2000 20:29:28 EST

More NYC memories... About once a year, Pete would make a trip to NYC to pick up rare woods. I would go with him, not because he needed someone to ride shotgun but because it provided an equally rare opportunity for us to have some time together.

We would leave after the children were off to school. We would stop for a cup of coffee somewhere along the way and a nibble. We would cross into Manhattan via the Lincoln Tunnel and work our way up, up, up. Up to just above Harlem. Pete might be picking up rose wood, monkey pod, dimensional walnut or some other rare and beautiful wood. We would have a leisurely lunch on the drive home.

I loved those drives and that time alone, feeling like a couple of kids on a joy ride. Well, it was the best sort of joy ride, now that I think of it!

Love and to all - Gocky


reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

NYC & GPP 03/12/00

Subject: NYC & GPP
Date: Sun, 12 Mar 2000 21:48:00 EST

Yesterday, Elsa chauffeured John beyond the fringes of what is called the Main Line. Today, they came home after church, then were off to Manhattan, to a big art event that several gallery owners thought John should attend. In their absence, I thought about where they would be this afternoon. It is an area that I know or knew pretty well, thanks to Gay Pendleton.

Gay, a dear friend since we were youngsters, occasionally asked me to join her on fabric-hunting trips to NYC. I remember our first trip. We went by train, then took a taxi to what I guess would be called the Fabric District. It stopped outside this ratty looking place, a real dive, as they say. Gay got out and I followed, putting my complete trust in her, but not really believing we could be in the right place. We went into this shop that looked like a hole in the wall. A old man with a foreign accent came from around the counter to greet Gay. He clearly knew her and knew her well.

The fabrics Gay had requested were all ready for her inspection. And he brought out the most exquisite fabrics I had ever seen - brocades, silks and woolens that looked and felt like nothing I knew existed. The heavy weight of the one brocade, the slight whisp of another; the soft warmth of the woolen; the sheer richness of the silks. Gay asked my opinion about this one and that one ~ would this look good in a suit, how about that for the Charter Day Dance?

After Gay made her final decision and purchases, it was time to relax with lunch at Patricia Murphy's. Back then, Patricia Murphy's was one of THE places where the "ladies who lunch" gathered. The food was delicious and the setting (and clientele) were elegant.

Once in a while, we went up to Manhattan to look for a special outfit. One special outing comes to mind. I cannot remember which chic shop we were in, but I recall what the outfit Gay finally chose – an exquisite, gray suit with rose-colored gloves and a rose-colored hat. As I gathered myself up to leave, she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Now, we're going to pick one out for you." I was flabbergasted and protested that they much too expensive. She said, "No, they're not" in her light, but determined, tone. We picked out a cream-colored suit and a Borsalino hat to match. Back then, if you had a Borsalino hat, you really had something!

It has been over five years since I last saw Manhattan, but between jaunts with Gay, Pete, Mim and Elsa, I have such a stockpile of NYC memories that all I have to do is shut my eyes and I am on my way down memory lane.

And now to bed! Love and hugs – Kay

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

LIGHT AS AIR 03/10/00

Subject: Light as air
Date: Fri, 10 Mar 2000 20:30:47 EST

What a difference a day makes. As I went through getting ready for bed last night, I realized how many things I can still do with my bum right arm. I started thinking about what the specialist said - that there was a good possibility of losing all function of my arm and increased pain if I opt for surgery. I have always said that old age ain't for sissies. The fact is, today I felt as light as air, like a kid of 70.

There are so many things I can look forward, things that I thought I would miss - my granddaughter's shower next Saturday, her rehearsal dinner, her wedding; getting my cataracts taken care of; being up & about as spring flirts with us.

Love to one & all ~ Auntie Kay

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

ONE TIRED LITTLE CHICK 03/09/00

Subject: one tired little chick
Date: Thu, 9 Mar 2000 19:34:22 EST

That is me.

We - John, Elsa, myself - went down to Philadelphia for a 4:00 p.m. appointment at Presbyterian Hospital (in the University City section, for those of you who know Philadelphia). After looking at my passel of x-rays and reports and checking me out from hoof to horn, the specialist - Dr. Gerald Williams - was pretty discouraging about prospects for surgery making any improvements. I had a lot to think about on the drive home.

Elsa is Pete's daughter, wise in the highways & byways of Philadelphia and blessed with her father's keen sense of direction. Not only did she navigate us homeward without hitting any rush hour traffic, it was a spectacular drive. Mother Nature helped out, with temperatures at 5:15 p.m. dropping to the mid-60s.

We headed to the West River Drive, which I think must be one of the most beautiful drives in the world. It runs snug alongside the Schuylkill River. Boat House Row was bustling with activity. I have never seen so many shells on the river - it almost looked like a mini-regatta. It was thrilling to see their long, slender line - 1-man, 2-man, 4-man and many 8-man crews - skimming along the river, the elegance of the oars as they dipped into the river and arched up, dipped and arched, dipped and arched. I felt taken right out of my body, it was so beautiful. (My apologies to any sticklers out there if I got any of the terms wrong. I get boggled by what is a scull and what is a shell, whether is correct to call it crew or rowing or something else.)

It made me remember a story about the mother of Ellen Lear, my very best friend. Mrs. Lear was Richmond born and bred and, like me, loved the water. She married Mr. Lear around 1913 or '14. His family lived in Chestnut Hill and were "Hillers" through & through. (How to describe a Hiller? Top drawer society, the genuine article, people who today still put the prep in preppy.) Well, they thought this gal was the cat's whiskers, lovely and refined, until... the day she took a stroll to the river and - horrors - sat on a bench at the riverside. My dears, it simply was NOT done. When Ellen tells the story, I can just see the mother-in-law reaching for the smelling salts to keep from going into a swoon. Ellen’s mother, not one to be what she considered unfairly criticized, even by patrician in-laws, declared, “I did it and I’m glad!”

If I had not been so gol-darn tired, I would have looked for a nice, friendly bench and been a river watcher until dusk fell. The three of us and the spirit of Mrs. Lear, all enjoying the beauty of the moment.

Love to you all from a tired little chick-a-biddy ~ Nan

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

GOOD GRIEF... 03/07/00

Subject: Good Grief, Charlie Brown
Date: Tue, 7 Mar 2000** 23:41:00 EST

A discussion group that I have been part of for some time has included some interesting thoughts recently about grief. Seems a lot of people (including ministers and doctors) feel uncomfortable addressing the idea of grief over the loss of a loved one.

Why is it that people think it would be comforting to tell someone in the freshness of loss that they should be happy because the loved one is "in a better place"? Grief is not frivolous; it is an important part of living. Well, yes, people who grieve like Queen Victoria did - in an all-consuming fashion - do seem to be going overboard and forgetting the living. But normal grief at the loss of a loved one is an important growth step.

This was recently brought home to me by something Elsa told me. A very young friend's grandmother died after a long and sad illness. The little girl was, naturally, feeling desolate and was unusually somber in school. Instead of just letting the little one feel her sense of loss, her teacher – with the best of intentions - said, "Don't be sad!" in a light tone. Why wasn’t it okay for the little girl to be sad?

When Pete died at the relatively young age of 61, a doctor friend of ours, someone I respect and whose opinion I value, said to me, "Well, Kay, it's been six months since Pete passed away. Time to be getting on with life."

Luckily, I just thought he was bonkers.

Life would never be the same, just as it was never the same after Ian, our youngest son, died. Oh, the sun came out and happy times returned, but the sky was never quite the same shade of blue. Our oldest, Peter, said to me several years about Ian died, when tears welled up in my eyes over some small reminder, "You still miss him, don't you, even after all this time." He just couldn't get over it. When his own son turned 11 years old, Peter told me, "I understand now. I cannot imagine what I would do if anything happened to Reynolds."

For weeks after Pete died, I just sat in the big chair in the living room and felt at a complete loss. I had just lost my heart. The grief was not for Pete. How many people do you know who grieve on behalf of the person who died? Not many. I grieved for a loss beyond my comprehension.

When parents or siblings have a terminal illness or injury, adults wonder what to share with the children. Truman Capote was permanently scarred by his adored grandfather's death - not wanting to traumatize the child, the adults told him his grandfather "went away." Unimaginable. Then, again, I have heard some strange tales from friends within my own church about how adults in their lives handled (or mishandled) what they told or did not tell children about a loved one's death.

There are different forms of grief:
> There is the personal grief when a loved one dies.
> There is community grief, as when a young person dies in war. I remember the sadness that swept over Bryn Athyn when Richard (Pat) Walter died in World War II - it brought us together and many of his classmates called their sons Richard in his honor. Including, I believe, Richard Simons, whose death in Vietnam again brought Bryn Athyn together in grief.
> There is national grieving, as when Charles Schultz and Jim Henson passed away.
> There is even international grieving. FDR, JFK, Diana come to mind. Cynics label it hysteria, but total strangers coming together in sadness, leaving bouquets outside wrought iron gates or tossing flowers at a passing hearse, can be healing.

Did you grow up thinking about grief as a normal part of life or did you get the message to "be happy" instead of feeling the loss? It is 41 years since Ian died and I still miss him. It is 26 years since Pete's death and I will always and forever miss him every day.

How do I hope my family and friends will grieve when this Ancient One finally shakes these mortal coils? With a sense of loss, longing for the good times we shared, forgiveness for the rotten stuff, and - hopefully - lots of partying.

It is very, very late (almost midnight EST) & I must hie this tired body off to beddy bye.

Love to you all – Mum

**KRL composed two posts on same day - postponed/potentially canceled surgery put her in a pondering mood

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

FEELING WRAPPED... 03/06/00

Subject: feeling wrapped in your tenderness
Date: Mon, 6 Mar 2000 07:17:48 EST

What a wonderful weekend. On Saturday, Louise Doering Stevens (who was Ian's adored teacher at the time of his death, is one of my "daughters-of-my-heart," and one of John & Elsa's closest friends) called to give her bests before heading out for a week in Paris. It was wonderful for her to call and delightful each day to think of her & her Pete having a grand time in such a romantic city.

Yesterday, at Louise's suggestion, Elsa whisked me off on a drive-by of Louise's house, where purple crocus literally carpet her front yard. Then, I was chauffeured all over Bryn Athyn to see where spring is breaking out. We went down to Brenda Rydstrom Lindrooth's to see her crocus and snow drops, then past Greta Echols Bochneak's where the very first daffodil had made its solitary appearance. It was a short drive, but so uplifting. Spring is really and truly right around the corner.

We are expecting lovely temperatures today, so I am hoping some of the daffs edging Cairnwood's lawn near the Pike will be in bloom - they look so beautiful and innocent and I am always grateful to Brian Gunther for planting them. We will go to the hospital through Cairncrest to see the snow drops in the woods there (which we skipped yesterday due to the heavy volume of Sunday afternoon walkers.)

The phone rang & rang yesterday, to my great happiness. All of my nieces - Peggy in Missouri, Karen in Nevada and Linda in California - called, as did my nephew Bob, who we were so happy to see in the flesh a couple weeks ago. Daughters-of-my-heart Elsa Asplundh Acton and Leslie Adams rang up and d-o-m-h Brenda stopped by with some of the snow drops I had ooohed and aaaaahed over earlier in the day. E-mailed words of encouragement roll in, along with "You go, girl!" greetings and all sorts of best wishes on tomorrow's surgery.

I do not feel in the least concerned (about impending surgery). I love the quote from the Writings, "For peace has in it confidence in the Lord, that He leads all things to a good end." How can I worry when I know that is true?

I miss my older children. There, again, I hold onto knowing that the Lord leads all things to a good end. The very changes in my life that most other people are happy about - my working toward having a better idea of who I am and a stronger sense of self-love and care - can feel scary to loved ones comfy with me as I was. At one time, their unhappiness would have been enough to put the ky-bosh on my efforts. Now, I know that each of them is where they are meant to be at this time, as am I. One of the greatest blessings I have received over the past two years is a stronger awareness that we function in the Lord's time, not our own. "When a man is in this faith, he is in peace, for he then fears nothing, and no solicitude about things to come disquiets him."

The chain of healing thoughts that kept me company during my early autumn hospital stay and are now in my bedroom will be coming with me to Holy Redeemer tomorrow. I wish you could see it - a chain of bright-colored paper chains with thoughts and quotes that friends sent in when I had my mini-stroke. It will make me think of my entire expanded circle of online loved ones and keep you close to me in thought & spirit. My hospital room will have excerpts from Sark's Living Juicy to help recharge my energy levels and speed my recovery. While I am in the hospital, Faithful Scribe will post on my behalf some of my favorite excerpts from Sark. If you have never read Sark before (I hadn't until this past October), I think you are in for a treat.

You can definitely look for a posting from me tomorrow. I want to talk about death. Seriously. A young relative was horrified at the thought that I would even think about death, that doing so seemed defeatist thinking to her. How wrong she is. It is not morbid for an 89-year old woman who has faith in a more expanded existence than the one we experience here to think about it and share her feelings.

Death seems cruel when it takes an 11-year old, as it did our Ian, but at my age I see it as a trusted traveling companion. But I get ahead of myself. To be continued...

Love to all of you - Grammie Kay

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

THE BIG NEWS IS... 03/07/00

Subject: The big news is that my surgery is off
Date: Tue, 7 Mar 2000 07:06:04 EST

At the eleventh hour, my specialist called up to say he wants to delay, possibly cancel, my shoulder surgery. Now, I am off to see another specialist, this one is in musculature (sp??), in downtown Philadelphia, on Thursday afternoon. This is so wearying. Having trust in my orthopedic (sp?) surgeon helps. I have seen him for years and he is unusually caring. He spoke to me yesterday afternoon, then gave a full account to John, then he called late last night to go everything himself with Elsa.

Dr. Beight makes us feel like we are part of his team.

I received a flurry of calls yesterday. First, my former daughter-in-law, who remains a good friend, called. She had just heard about the surgery and wanted to give me her best. Then, her mother called (yes, Peter's former mother-in-law, which should give an idea of our unusual relationship) and gave me her best wishes. Then my granddaughter Whitney called. Close on the heels of their calls, came one from Peter. My mother's heart was so happy to hear his voice; it has been many moons. So, great things can come from not-so-great situations.

Whitney had been much in my thoughts yesterday, since she was the grandchild who was so horrified that I would even think about the possibility of death, which got me thinking. It is funny how many people freeze up at the mention of death, which is one of the very few things that each and every one of us will do. I dread the thought of a painful death process, but the thought of death gives me no qualms. The older I get and the more my body disintegrates around me, as it is, the more I know that I am not my body and the more I look forward to removing it like an old glove that has outlived its purpose.

Who is it said that we are not human beings having a spiritual experience, but spiritual beings having a human experience? I like that.

As a staunch believer in my faith, what is there to fear? I know that the life after this is a life filled with use, that we will go of our own free will to whatever spiritual society reflects the loves we made our own in this life.
What is to fear?

I believe that the loves that are the true me will be reunited with the loves that are the true Pete. I believe that there will be the most perfect form of male/female intercourse, which is even in its most wonderful earthly expression more a conjunction of minds than bodies. I have experienced with Pete, here in this life, how physical relations change with changing states of mind and body. We did not act in our sixties like we did when we were newlyweds, but it was more wonderful than we anything we experienced in our twenties. It really is all in the mind - the bliss, the deep passion, the remarkable pleasure, the great spike of joy.

Who knows what the next year will bring, for any of us? The trick seems to be in fully living within this moment, with awareness and learning from the past and full faith and sensitivity for the future.

One last thought in this lengthy posting (my Faithful Scribe's fingers are getting weary and I want to head back to bed) is that so many older people face one of the most dismal side effects of long life - losing their intimate circle of friends. Gay & Willard, Betty & Paul, Al & Margaret, Dot & Bert, Joyce, Marjorie, Cornelia, Viola, Pete - are all gone, while I remain. But my circle of friends, far from shrinking, has expanded to include so many wonderful people, young and not so young. Being basically confined to the house is moot, since my thoughts can reach you through e-mail. It does not even matter that my right shoulder is shot and cannot handle letter writing for longer than a few minutes. I just let Elsa's fingers do the typing and, magically, my words are sent to this circle. I can send family and friends St. David's Day cards (patron saint of Wales) and birthday cards and get well cards and thinking of you cards, all through this incredible box and wires. When the computer was out of commission for a few weeks, I found myself missing its presence; it seems like part of the family.

I come finally to the end. Reading this long posting, you might be feeling at this point about it much like I do about death - interested in seeing what the next bit says, but ready for it to wrap up so you can get on with your life.

Love to you all - The Gramster

BACK SO SOON? 03/05/00

Subject: Back, so soon?
Date: Sun, 5 Mar 2000 08:37:16 EST

Yes, it does feel like I was just composing a note for my merry little band. I had a rough night last night - lots of nightmares - and there are things I want to say before the day goes much farther.

A young relative of mine said two things over the past six months that stopped me in my tracks. The one I need to share today was a comment about family relationships - according to this bright, promising and talented young person, it is standard practice to work through family issues with friends so that we can present a civil and pleasant face within our family.

Actually, this is a big step up from what I thought for many years - that working out difficult family relationships was between myself and God alone; no friends, no ministers, no counselors, just a one-on-one between God and myself. It is not surprising that few things changed for the better.

In all the books and audiotapes I have read or listened to over the past two years, the need to lovingly address and at least try to resolve family issues in an open, loving, win-win way is what I remember. Not once do I remember any of them advising readers/listeners to squelch personal concerns. Three of my three favorite authors - Mary Pipher, Stephen Covey and John Bradshaw - make it clear that we are supposed to at least do our best to address active family issues and that we should always keep the door open.

Our earliest family influence working with family dynamics was my daughter, Mim, who is experienced working with children and is adept within her profession (she works with autistic children) at opening up/dealing with issues. She taught us about the need for tough love, with ourselves and others, and was the first to say that it was better to remove yourself (hopefully temporarily) from an unhealthy relationship than to close your eyes to what was happening and help perpetuate it.

That did not make any sense to me until recently. I did not understand the concept of accountability - mine and others. I did not understand that we cannot change others, no matter how much we care about them, we can only change ourselves. I did not understand that even if we create what we consider a loving and compassionate and safe place for change to happen, other people might feel that it is unloving, hurtful and unsafe.

I read that all families are dysfunctional (I dislike like that word, it is so clinical and so overused), but that healthier families are able to figure out what’s happening and get back on track faster.

I disagree with my young relative - it seems to me that working through family issues with friends or other people might make the immediate situation easier to deal with, but it does nothing to resolve real problems.

It does take a lot of courage. I have read and experienced that human nature dislikes change, even change for the better. That does not mean we should stop trying.

It might sound preachy, but all any of us can do is the best we can do at the moment, knowing what we know, which may or may not be enough in our eyes.

Thanks for letting me spout off. I feel better and the memory of my nightmares do not bother me as much as they were. Thank you for being there.

Love to you all - Grammie Kay

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

SEASHORE WEATHER 03/02/00

Subj: Seashore weather
Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2000 17:34:45 EST

Like a true Reynolds, I was prepared for the worst and hoped for the best (from pre-surgical hospital testing). Thank goodness, I got the best. Everyone was wonderful and the test went without a hitch.

I wasn't nervous, not even on the early morning (7:15 a.m.) drive to the hospital. It helped that the weather was right up my alley - great grey clouds and a brisk, spanking breeze. I felt too exhilarated by the weather to feel nervous.

It is hard to adequately describe what the sky looked like. The closest I can come is to compare it to the afghans that Nell, a dear friend in Australia, made. Envision a loosely crocheted throw, with soft-soft yarn that includes every possible shade of grey, thrown over a sky blue sheet.

We drove through Bryn Athyn, through the college campus, past the cathedral and down the Pike to the hospital. As I told Elsa, it felt like seashore weather, when the clouds are all jumbled over the ocean with the sun occasionally breaking through over the breakers and a bracing breeze coming off the ocean.

 The type of weather that Pete and I often enjoyed when we went to Atlantic City each February for the Middle Atlantic Lumberman's Association convention.

We had so much fun at those conventions. Pete & I never stayed at the big hotels up in Atlantic City (this was before gambling arrived and the really flashy hotels that are there now). We stayed down in Ventnor, at a small motel right on the board walk. It was on the beach, but in a residential area. Our room included a kitchenette, so we could eat there and watch the kids riding their bikes up the boardwalk to school. It was so private, we could get dressed in front of the window, watching the waves crashing in, without fear of being seen. I loved those times of just the two of us. Even though we had the saggy-baggy bodies of the deep end of middle age, we looked to each other as if in the fullness of our youth. We made the most of the times we were alone.

Several times, Mike & Kerry came down for the big Saturday night banquet. It was a great source of pride to see Pete's lumberyard at the top of the list of contributors because he contributed more per earnings than any other yard. And his was the smallest! Pete, in turn, was so proud of Mike's presence. Most of the other members did not have children who were interested in the business. Pete would be proud to know that Mike owns a high end hardware store in the heart of Sydney.

It is amazing how a little thing like weather can jog so many memories. They helped keep my mind off what was happening today and what could happen. And now, that is all that today's testing is - a memory, and an unusually good one at that. The nurses, technicians and doctors treated me with kid gloves (so to speak). We laughed and joked and had as swell a time as was possible.

I'll tell you, though, I cannot WAIT until this is all over and done with. Less than five days to go until I am the Bionic Grammie!

Love to all & thanks for your kind thoughts & good wishes ~
The Gramster (aka KRL)

(the procedure was to her shoulder, which had been causing her problems due to a torn rotator cuff;  it was ultimately cancelled when the u of p specialist told her, "if you were MY mother, i'd advise against it because although it MIGHT improve your shoulder movement, it could also make it even more limited - deev 08/23/12)

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

NEW JEWELRY 03/05/00

Subject: new jewelry
Date: Sun, 5 Mar 2000 01:06:54 EST

For someone who never cared much about jewelry, I am certainly decked out these days in a variety of bracelets - one for each visit to the hospital for testing.

Who would have thought that Mike’s name would come up several times during my hospital stints? Mike has lived in Australia for well over 25 years, but on both Thursday and Friday, someone at the hospital asked, "Mrs. Lockhart? Are you related to Mike Lockhart?" On Friday, it was someone who was getting a blood transfusion at the same time I was. On Thursday, it was a volunteer who asked John, who had headed over to the hospital to see how things were going and was a bit lost.

John was tickled to pieces that someone knew Mike from way back when. As soon as he tracked down Elsa, he hurried her up to the main floor. The woman who had asked was gone. That didn't stop John. He started searching and found her. It was Muriel Liney, who is director of Volunteer Service and had been married to Vartan Yardumian, a good friend of Mike's and a fellow crew member of the USS Enterprise.

Not as in Starship Enterprise. This Enterprise was the FIRST nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. Like its namesake, it was the first of its class. As I understand it, the first ship of new class is traditionally called the Enterprise, dating from the Revolution or the War of 1812.

Mike joined the Navy in his senior year (1960), a weekend warrior during the school year, then full-time after graduation. The lucky fellow pulled the type of duty people dream of - serving on the "Big E" on her shakedown cruise. This is a big thing. As a member of her first crew, he is called a plank owner. As parents of crew member, Pete & I were invited to the commissioning at Newport News, VA. The Enterprise is as long as three football fields laid end to end. The commissioning ceremony was held in the hanger deck, which was huge. I was determined that we would see Mike, even though Pete pointed out that the odds were slim. I zeroed in on every tall, slender sailor and said, "There he is!" but it never was. Even I was losing hope when this tall sailor, way down the hanger, bent over and pulled up his socks. Many's the time I have seen Mike do the exact same thing, even in the middle of a crucial basketball game. Well, I stood up and wiggle-waggled my arms, so that he could see where we were and, sure enough, we did tag up after the ceremony.

After the official festivities were over and the ship was duly commissioned, we got down to some serious festivities. The town of Newport News threw the crew and its guests a real wing-ding clam bake. There was oysters and clams done several different ways (including a delicious clam chowder) and shrimp and fish. There was a HUGE cake that looked just like the Enterprise. Everyone had a great time. As much fun as it was, it was tough going to accept that Mike would be gone for many months.

Little did we know.

Mike ended up serving on the Enterprise during the Cuban Blockade (nothing like getting a call from your son who tells you he only has a minute and he can't tell you where he is going - very scary) and on two tours of the Mediterranean.

On one of the Med cruises, he and some of his crewmates went to the El Greco museum, I think in Toledo. Entering a room, he looked at a painting and casually mentioned his surprise that a museum would hang a reproduction. His buddies kidded him about being a hot shot "art expert," but he stood his ground. The guys were pretty impressed to read on the description, "This is a reproduction." They looked at Mike with newfound respect. None of them latched onto what the rest of it said - "The original hangs in the studio of the Rev. Theo Pitcairn, Bryn Athyn, PA." Mike was not about to volunteer the information that he had seen the original as part of a high school art appreciation class.

Being separated from the Navy almost killed Mike. Literally. He was discharged in Beirut. Sailors had to wear their dress blues at discharge, even if it was 104F in the shade (and there was no shade). As low man on the totem pole, Mike had to wait for the air transport to arrive to take him and the others back to the States. There he was, in his heavy dress blues, for I forget how many hours. He collapsed with heat stroke. He might have died if the Enterprise - with all its medical facilities - had not still been off shore; he was returned to the Big E and right into sick bay. The only thing that kept him from death's door was a whirlpool bath of ice cubes. I can understand why he detests cold weather and lives in toasty warm Australia.

Mike still loves travel. When he and Kerry were in here in 1997 for Scott's college graduation, the two of them traveled from Sydney to the West Coast to Philadelphia, then continued on the eastern route home, making them 'round the world travelers. He joined the Navy and certainly has seen the world!

Love to you all at this very late hour. Am off to my slumbers.
Love ~ Auntie Kay

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

O, HAPPY DAY! 03/18/00

Subj: O, Happy Day! (watch out, men - a "chick" posting)
Date: 3/18/00 9:47:36 PM Eastern Daylight Time

The power of the possible ~ I amazed myself today and went to Whitney's shower! Will wonders never cease. Such wonders there were.

I said it before to this circle of friends and say it again - Elsa has an unwavering belief in the possible. It does wonders for my recovery.

Elsa let me know that she thought I could make it to Whitney's shower, but that the choice was mine. I was leery, even scared. As is her way, Elsa presented the possibility as a series of self-contained, open-ended options.

First was the decision to go or not. I was so sure I would not have the energy, but then she asked what I thought Pete would say. That tore it - I knew I had to give it a try, at least. If I decided while dressing it was not a smart move, then that would be the end of it. It actually felt good to get dressed and took a lot less time than I thought it would. It has been weeks and weeks since I was dressed in day clothes. I looked pretty good. Instead of tiring me out, getting dressed seemed to put a little bounce in my step. We left, with the understanding that if I felt it was too much, she'd turn around at once.

We drove, as always, through Bryn Athyn, past flowering magnolias and daffodils, past the Post Office, across the creek, up and out onto Terwood Road. Just seeing our hometown gives me a boost. Elsa kept looking over to me, I guess to check me out, but all I ever gave her was a smile. Nobody's fool, she had brought along some of my favorite tapes to play.

As we drove along the turnpike, she said she would not be surprised if Mim would be at the shower. That seemed wildly far-fetched to me - Mim's physical problems keep her from heading across the Delaware from her NJ home - but it put the possibility in my mind.

By the time we exited from the Turnpike onto the "Blue Route" I knew that I was going to make it, even if we only stayed for 15 minutes. By the time we headed up Swedesford Road toward Berwyn, I was getting charged with excitement.

As the D'Entremonts' front door swung open, guess who one of the first people we saw was? Mim! I had not seen her since early October, back when I was in the hospital with my mini-stroke. What a moment, realizing that all the USA-based Lockhart women were together for a purely happy event. It still seems like a dream. Elsa, who was brought up by her sister to cherish anything having to do with family and who has worked through a lot of sibling issues recently, practically did cartwheels across the lawn, she was so happy at the completeness of the moment.

Whitney looked lovelier than ever, definitely radiant. She fussed over me, her mother fussed over me, her grandmother fussed over me, my daughters fussed over me, and the hostess was clearly pleased as punch that both grandmothers and all of Whitney's USA-based aunts were there.

Whitney was a darling and opened my presents first. Elsa wrapped my present - a Christmas combination of Mary Engelbreit's book, BELIEVE (inscribed in my own wobbly fist, "When this you see, remember me."), a small red cardinal ornament (Pete and I considered red cardinals our good luck sign), and a treasured ornament from our tree to theirs - in bright-colored Christmas paper. She polished up the pewter cocktail shaker that had been given in the earlier part of the century to Pete's aunt and her husband - J. Barton and Fanny Lockhart King - by some of his cricket chums in appreciation of Fanny & Bart's exceptional hospitality (and exceptional hooch). I gave it to Whitney on "behalf of the spirit of Lockhart women past and present for the spirits of Lockhart women present and future." What a lovely, unexpected (to me) touch to have Mim, another Lockhart woman, present.

It touched me deeply that Whitney wore an engagement present that Elsa & I had given her on behalf of her great-grandmother, Lillian Lockhart, who died when Pete was in his teens. It was a drop necklace - very popular, I understand, these days - of three tiny solitaire diamonds in filigree settings. Gar' Lockhart gave it to her as part of her engagement present. It was given to me when I married Pete and I gave it, in turn, to Elsa, and the two of us put it into Whitney's trust. Since Whitney did not have any idea I would be there, her wearing it moved me deeply.

I stayed for close to 1 1/2 hours. Incredible! On the drive home, Elsa ran into Great Harvest Bread Company and came back with a warm chunk of Cinnamon Swirl Bread. It tasted delicious and helped me regroup my forces. I enjoyed the sunny ride home, but looked forward to a nice long nap.

It is well over six hours since we opened d'Entremonts' front door and caught sight of Mim, well over six hours since I took in the beauty of my grown-up granddaughter, now on the verge of being married to a young man who seems a lovely lad (I certainly consider him a lucky one).

I had to miss all of the fun & festivities surrounding Scott & Kimberly's Down Under wedding in January, which makes being able to get to any of Whitney & Chad's special events doubly precious. I am still walking on air with happiness and looking forward to next month ~~ to meeting Chad's family, to the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, the reception, the brunch...

Sorry about the soppy, sentimental tone of this posting. Cannot be helped.
Love, love and more love to one & all - Gockers (as Whitney would say)

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy, aka DEEV

CHRISTA - 03/14/00

Subj: Christa
Date: 3/14/00 11:47:21 PM Eastern Daylight Time

Thinking of New York makes brings thoughts of Christa to mind.

I first met Christa in 1928. I was 18 and had just returned to Baltimore after graduating from high school in Bryn Athyn. Christa was 16 and newly arrived from Germany to live with her aunt, Mrs. Linthicum, who lived across the street from my family's home. Her brother, Freddy, had arrived earlier. Germany was in grim shape after World War I and anyone who could send their children to America jumped at the chance.

When Christa arrived, she couldn't speak a word of English and the only German I knew was “gesundheit.” But we communicated from the first without a hitch. She picked up English with amazing ease and, unlike her brother, soon spoke it almost without any accent. She married - and divorced – quite young. Unhappy with her life, she decided to return home to familiar surroundings and family.

Seeing her off on the Bremen, a stately German ocean liner, was the first time I set foot in New York City. We went up on the train together. I remember wanting that trip to never end. It is hard in this day & age to think of saying good bye to someone with the expectation of never seeing each other again.

When we arrived in New York, we rushed to get to the dock as soon as possible. Another thing that is impossible to describe ~ the feeling of arriving at the docks, with so many ships in port. That was the only way to make a crossing in 1932 and the docks were bustling with people and luggage and cargo.

As we made our way toward the Bremen, a man came up - a very pleasant looking fellow - and struck up a conversation with Christa in German. His tone was so nice and friendly, yet Christa went white as a sheet as he talked. Smiling at her and at me, he handed her a small parcel, which she put in her purse. He tipped his hat to the two of us and disappeared into the crowd. When we were alone together, Christa - still shaken - explained to me that she knew him as a member of the Bund, back then a secret organization of German sympathizers. He had asked her to mail the parcel - ships had post offices - after the ship entered international waters. Christa knew that if the officials found the documents on her, she could be arrested. But the thought of saying "no" seemed even more terrifying to her.

We were thoroughly rattled by the time she got to her stateroom. Our nerves were slightly soothed when Christa met the young man who would serve as her steward - someone from her hometown, a fellow she already knew. It made me feel better knowing she would have a familiar face taking care of her.

Any thought of seeing the sights vanished with the last smokestack. I was too unnerved by what happened. I needed the safety of my own family and familiar faces.

Several years later, Christa sent me a snapshot. The young woman I knew with the lovely, smiling face was unrecognizable. This person didn't have the slightest hint of a smile. As she explained in a letter, "You will notice I am not smiling. No one smiles in Germany these days." She died during the war, apparently of cancer, but who knows for sure.

I miss her still - Katrine

reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

FAMILY 03-01-00

Subj: Family (be warned ~ a self-indulgent posting!)
Date: 3/1/00 7:46:37 PM Eastern Daylight Time

I guess it is not surprising that my family, my children, are in my thoughts almost constantly these days. I remember Pete holding the newborn Peter and saying, "I feel like I have the whole world in my arms." Mike's 2/11 birth, which kept me in the hospital over Valentine's Day and Pete bringing both of us red tulips on 2/14. Mim, our first girl. Ian's birth. Elsa's. It seems such a short time ago.

We are a family of very different and very definite individuals. As John, an only child himself, puts it, the four surviving children seem to come from four separate gene pools. I could boot myself at times for trying – without success - to look like an "ideal" (i.e. like-minded) family. I felt threatened by "divisiveness" instead of celebrating our family's diversity.

I finally, as they say, "get it." As I waited for my tests yesterday and again today, I tried to think of what one special gift from each of my children stands out in my mind:
>> Peter showed us the importance of honesty and straight-shooting ways;
>> Mike's travels opened the world to our family;
>> Mim's adventures - heading out to California for workshop classes at Pasadena Playhouse, her summer in the '60s doing theater workshop at Greenwich Village's famous Circle in the Square, her trips to Hawaii and Ireland, her stints at rural Berry College in Georgia and at the University of Houston, getting her undergraduate degree commuting from BA to night school at NYU - added dash & sophistication;
>> Ian taught how unpredictable life can be;
>> Elsa played the family Pied Piper, leading us (especially me) astray to NYC, Williamsburg, Chicago, Washington D.C., San Francisco, DisneyWorld and many points in between.

What quality stands out in my mind about each of my children -
>> Peter's personal image and love of being a devoted father, which is first and foremost in his heart
>> Mike's ease with his fellow humans
>> Kerry's compassion for and capacity to help the women she counsels, giving them hope in darkness
>> Mim's ability to give 100% of herself to whatever cause or people she holds dear
>> Ian's love of nature and all of God's creatures
>> Elsa's unshakeable belief in the possible, no matter what the odds
>> John's sense of fair play

Once I stopped trying to redesign who my children are and instead learned to respect them, I was free to see lucky I am to have complex children who do not pull their punches. Because each of them is a strong, outspoken individual, I can see myself as an individual who is part of an incredible family.

I have a big day tomorrow, so am heading to bed early. Be back with you tomorrow night. Nite-nite and God bless ~ Nan (aka Kay Lockhart)

reposted with sweet memories of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV

...A "PRETTY PENNY" 06/02/00

Subj: Mindwalkers - Treasuring a "Pretty Penny"
Date: 6/2/00 10:33:23 AM Eastern Daylight Time

What a nice surprise to sound my "Clappy," alerting John to heave himself out of bed and come down to hoist me out of mine and put on my shoes, only to find Elsa trotting up the stairs from the living room. She took an unscheduled day off.

Smart lass, having been up some late nights this week finishing up BA Theta Alpha's traditional gift to the Junior girls, handmade pins with stars and a note that says "Shine On! Get a good rest over the summer - you have a BIG year ahead!" I love the pins, each is so different from the rest, but think I like the note best of all. A nice tip of the hat that they have ARRIVED.

What a treat to do an a.m. posting, when I am at my freshest.

Elsa has been declutterfying the place of late. Realized that her inner self does not function well in clutter, although she was raised in an environment where it was, for various reason, more or less the norm. She has been winnowing out the book shelves, which is something I balk at. It seems sacrilege to get rid of a book, like cutting down a tree.

Finally got it through my thick skull that her goal was to pass along the books we do not find useful or love. My goodness, she is even passing along her wonderful collection of quilting books. She appreciates quilting, but the processes are not really up her alley, so she is ushering them into the hands of people who will bring them into the fullness of their use. Even her gardening books will be exiting to new homes and hands, but she says she will never be the level of gardener to justify the space and energy.

This morning, we went through the bookshelves in my bedroom, looking for some best beloved books to take to the living room where we can soak in their positive energy every day (I rarely see them at the far end of my bedroom). The ones making the downstairs trek are varied.

It had been years and years since I last set eyes on Helen Hayes' "A Gathering of Hope," a slim volume of short readings, things she wrote or things she loved. It will be just right for the living room, since it is so dear to my heart and ideal for the brief bits of reading I do these days (am looking forward to getting my cataracts replaced later this summer!!).

Ever since I first saw her picture, when she was a wisp of a girl but already a Broadway ingenue, I have had a sense of connection with Helen Hayes; strangely enough,Elsa has a similar sense with her husband, Charles MacArthur. About 15 years ago, we headed up to Nyack, NY to glimpse their home, Pretty Penny. Charlie has been gone for decades and decades, but Helen was still alive when we went that first time and for several years after.

What a wonderful village. We felt immediately "at home" in Nyack, high above the Hudson, and we have been up many times since. The people at O'D's (O' Donough's, a wonderful neighborhood pub) would greet us, "There are those crazy people from Philadephia!" when we came in because we came such a long way to see a house and order up their delicious grilled chicken platter and best-ever apple crisp, served hot with luscious vanilla ice cream. I have not been to Nyack for five years or so, but it is alive and well and delicious in my heart.

What lovely memories of Nyack & Helen & her Charlie, Pretty Penny & walking along the Hudson & good times at O' D's to call to mind for the rest of the day. Love to you all - KRL

reposted in sweet memory of its author, KATHARINE REYNOLDS LOCKHART, by her scribe/daughter, Elsa Lockhart Murphy aka DEEV