Mim & Mom as "Menders"

In reading Martha Beck's Finding Your Way in a Wild New World, kept thinking not so much of myself as I do of my sister, Mim, and of my Mom.  

From my earliest memories, there was something special about my older sister.  Not special in a "gee, she is so terrific" way;  special in a "there's something about her, some deep quality that defies description" sense.  

Maybe it was that quality that I longed to have for my own, yet felt I never could, the quality that made me - until age 24 - want nothing more than  to be like my sister.

Which never made sense to others, since my sister didn't seem to have a life that anyone would want to emulate.  I didn't see that.  I saw a depth, a richness of spirit, a breadth of being that stunned & amazed me, made me want to hew to it.  An other-worldliness that spoke to & resonated in me.

Which is interesting, because it apparently either didn't speak to Mim or, if it did, seemed to frighten her.  

Since reading the book, am pondering if Mim sensed that she had the heart of a wayfinder, of a mender, and it scared her.  Had long assumed that Mim is the way she is - brilliant, immensely gifted, yet apparently self-rejecting - due to some early trauma.  Now, I have another possibility (realizing neither might be right) - maybe she has the soul of a wayfinder, but fearful of all it could bring.  

Mim as a wayfinder, a mender.  So much would make sense that didn't before....

As for Mom, there's no convincing me she didn't have the heart of a wayfinder, a mender, although perhaps thrown somewhat off-course at times with her own family, due to early life challenges.

Seeing her in my mind's eye, sitting in her big chair in the living room, a magnet for the moms gathered in our dining room making boxes for their freshmen daughters, remembering the looks & attitude as they knelt to talk to her - gives me chills, a deep sense of something I can't describe that ran between the mothers & this older woman.  My guess is that they'd agree with me that Mom was a mender.

Particularly remembering Krissie P. connecting with Mom in her last year, their friendship sparked by dropping off her daughters for a craft workshop, a tangible energy flowing between the two women.  

Opposites

For the most part, people marvel at how similar John & I are, definitely NOT an example of opposites attracting.  Yet, in so many ways that matter a lot, we are very different, whether by nature or nurture or both.

The most obvious difference is in religion.  I was raised within a strong religious community, surrounded by neighbors who cared a lot about religion, experiencing my entire education within religious schools.  It wasn't until my early thirties that I began to expand my circle of friends outside of people within my very small religion (I describe it as "so small, we're only known to God & ourselves").  It's important to note my awareness, since my very early twenties, that my grasp of faith was largely tethered to terms, rather than concepts, something that I found left me lacking.  John, on the other hand, was raised in a family where religion played a minor role.  As John tells it, his mother would have preferred being married by the justice of the peace, but his Dad's heart was set on their Episcopal ceremony.  He wasn't raised reading from the Bible or going to church.  When we met, he knew the well-know Bible stories, but that was it.  I was way more versed in religion than John.  But where I was really good with terms, John's deeply spiritual nature is rooted in wordless concepts.  He has been far more my spiritual mentor than I have been his.

Another obvious difference is diet & exercise.  Unless John is deathly sick, he runs through his 45-60 minute fitness program every day.  Without fail.  Me?  Ha!  His favorite breakfast is raw spinach accompanied by unsalted nuts & raisins;  me - two eggs over sauteed vegies with a thick slab of buttered homemade cinnamon raisin toast (and that gobs healthier than it once was).  John's birthday meal is poached wild salmon  with raw broccoli and roasted potatoes;  mine - 2" well-marbled steak, grilled medium rare (John would have done-to-a-crisp), with creamed mushrooms,  baked potato with butter & sour cream, and lightly steamed broccoli.  I like gravies, he likes dry.  I like sauced ribs, he likes just rub.  

Very different.  But those are relatively little ways that we are opposite.  There are way more serious ones.  Particularly when it come to letting go.

John believes in cemetaries, in bodies in caskets & burial plots;  I believe in giving your body to science & ending up as ashes.

I believe in living wills, in Do Not Resuscitate orders, in letting the body go because it's just a glove for our true being.  John believes in hanging on, on hoping doctors should take whatever means necessary to prolong life, that some form of life is better than none.  And that chills me.

I believe in letting go when the time comes, whether it is of things or of this earthly life;  John hangs on.  He kept a set of Brittanica because it belonged to his grandfather.  It took me months of pleading for him to relent & let me use their bookcase for books we actually use.  For me, the bookcase would have been enough;  not for John.  But he didn't care enough about them to put the encyclopedias in a safe place - he left them in the basement, where they got mildewed & had to be thrown out.  Even then, it took me weeks of pleading to get him to let go of them.  He hangs on.

It's been a point of sensitivity to me that we have a lot of wonderful Christmas ornaments that aren't used any more because we stopped having a big Christmas tree when Max got it into his head that it was there for his pleasure & took to climbing the branches (interesting that such a thing never occurred to Chessie or Gryf or Rennie).  It pains me to keep them boxed away, to think of them ultimately ending up at BATS.  So, this year I am beginning the process of moving them forward.  I have ones picked out for Whitney & Reynolds, for Scott & Karen, for Cheryl & Kelly & Bethany & Carl, for Angie & others dear to my heart.  

John is horrified.  How can I let go?  They mean so much to me.  

He doesn't grasp that because they mean so much to me, it matters that they are being USED by someone, not just stuck away in a big box with "Lockhart Christmas Ornaments" labeled on the side.  I won't be giving away ornaments that mean something to the two of us.  But there were 36 Christmases in my life before John came along, way more Lockhart celebrations before that.  These ornaments deserve to be on someone's tree, to have its story included as part of the gift.

Because each one has its own tale to tell, of who gave & to whom & when & maybe even where.  Who’s going to know that the little sailboat was a gift to Mom to put on the ClanLock tree on one of the many Christmases she spent Down Under with Mike & Kerry?  Or that a dear friend gave us the three handcrafted flying angels to symbolize the three Lockhart Ladies?  Or that Ian made this ornament, or Mom made that one when Peter was a toddler to distract him from the more fragile ornaments? 

In so many ways, John & I are remarkably similar.  But I like to let go, he likes to hold on.  That’s not just opposite, that’s cause for concern…

Mega Kudo #1 - we kept calm & carried on!!!

The 2012 Bryn Athyn Craft Show was an unabashed 5-star experience for both John & yours truly!  Most amazing part was how it turned into a clear expression of ALL that I am looking to in  my 3^rd act of living (including the glitchy "wake-up call" moment).

Our experience started months ago, deciding to keep things simple, each doing something  we enjoy & excel at, something likely to be embraced by the buying public.  And I wanted to  use materials we had on hand.  Hence, John's array of 5x7" and 8x10" prints were set off  in just-right frames I picked up last year on mega sale at A.C. Moore (plus employee discount!).  For my part, I stuck to tried & true whoopie pie recipes – pumpkin with maple cream & classic deep chocolate with fluff; no experimenting with gingerbread & lemon cream (tempted, but sounder thinking prevailed). 

The MEGA mega challenge was that I somehow committed myself to taking two grannie clients to Cape May for an overnight on THURSDAY, which meant we’d get back on the same day the Craft Sale opened for a home town preview.  

Knew I could do it!!!  

A couple days before the bop,  gathered together the white storage boxes we use as additional table space,  hauled out the pedestal "footed" with four elves slippers; made sure the black & holiday print drape cloths were clean & ironed;  wrapped up all the whoopie pies with their wrap-around labels printed & cut out;  got all print materials sent to & picked up from Copy Max (home printer temporarily disconnected);  wrote out instructions for John on what needed doing by mid-afternoon Friday; made sure that everything was in a logical place - - only then did I head out for of 36 hours of being by the sea side.

Good thing I was so thorough!  Our merry quartet got snagged on I-95 by early rush hour traffic, so we slogged through Philadelphia (this after I took the wrong exit off the Walt Whitman Bridge & ended up heading south over the I-95 bridge instead north to hearth, home & Craft Sale.  At 4:00 p.m., I called John from the road (we were at a stand still) & walked him through what needed to be done – your craft table HAS to be set up by 5:30 p.m., no exceptions. 

Of course, as soon as I called & made sure John had everything (knew he could ace the set up if he had the materials), traffic lightened up! 

Was totally delighted when the fourth jolly traveler – a wonderful navigator who knows Phila traffic patterns better than I do – made it possible for them to drop me off at the Craft Sale BEFORE John got there, then she got the others back to their own hearths & homes. 

Mega Kudo #1:  we were both prepared enough that my questionable arrival didn’t spin either of us into a panic.  We kept calm & carried on.   BRAVO! 

R.O.S.E.s and Weddings

From age four to fourteen, I lived in a house that was a converted chicken coop that shared a "top lawn" with the family next door & one on the other side of the fence.  They were cousins - Aunt Tryn was Uncle Stanley's sister. 

Although they were honorary aunt & uncle, they - and their other many sibs - were precious to me, someone who adored the idea of family & whose own relatives were in maryland, missouri & california.  I felt every inch a Rose - except on Christmas Eve.  

Every Christmas Eve was a stony-faced reminder of all that I wasn't.  It was the night of the R.O.S.E holiday party.  And Marcia & Artie & Tommy et al were invited.  And Alice & Billy & Robert & Susie were invited.  They were real & truly Roses.  On Christmas Eve, being a  fictitious Rose was a thorn through my heart.

Weddings are my modern-day equivalent of that long-ago Christmas Eve party.  

When I grunt & grumble over my lack of connection to young folks, friends chirp up with assurances about how LOTS of young adults have a special place for me in their hearts.  I know  I am a nice memory of their BACS & ANC years, someone who made their lives a little bit nicer, maybe gave them needed encouragement at the right time, maybe just made a difference by unabashedly shouting from the rooftops that they rocked.  An pleasant connection, but generally not a deep one.  Not the type of connection that gets wedding invitations.  Not that type of friendship, at all.  

Does that cause the stab of grief, of NOTness that I felt on those long-ago Christmas Eves?Praise be - NO.  Do I ever regret the light touch friendships I've formed - with the Roses, with my young friends?.  No how, no way.  

I have a LOT of friends who have the knack of crafting deep friendships or who have gobs of family connections.  They are blessed.  As am I.  

The closet doors in the Front Room sport BIG cards sent to me by the Class of 2010 when they were in kindergarten & again when they were in 5th grade.  I connected because it mattered to me that those particular classes, those particular kids, know I love them to pieces, not because they were related or I taught them or for any other reason than that they touched my heart.  They can never be a thorn in my heart, only joy to my spirit!!

Just Me

Dawned on me Sunday morning, during Jeremy's excellent & massively timely readings & sermon, that feeling blue can be a positive thing. 

When it's kept from spiraling into full-fledged depression, using it instead to trigger the "ah ha!" that something needs addressing, it's amazing how much it can accomplish, things that feeling upbeat & cheery just can't touch. 

FACT:  i am really good with just a light tap of friendship.  
OUTCOME:  loads of people know my face, even though 99.9% haven't really connected at a rich discourse level.  There's great value in that light tap, that recognition - because they know that I'm recognizing THEM, too.  And sometimes that simple, fleeting recognition can make a difference in a person's day.
  

Turns out that what I  thought of as a failing is just me BEing. 

I'm always going to be someone who can't do a stint at the college alumni office w/o having nibblings on hand for my BACNC "babies" (students and - at my age - teachers & staff), who inevitably forgets to keep my ANC "crafternoon" receipts to give Brenda for reimbursement, who is O! Be Joyful to have "adopted" the BACS 7th grade girls. 

Yeah, I didn't spend my earlier years developing a rich store house of interesting information. Can't go back & redo them now. How dorky dumb would it be to weep & wail what i didn't develop and diss the pretty neat stuff i did?? 

Looked down yesterday at my feet & found they're poised on yet another brand new starting line, another new beginning.  Tie up those sneakers & let's get going!

"Is it safe?"

John often quotes from the scene in Marathon Man where Laurence Olivier's Nazi dentist drills NYU student  Dustin Hoffman with the question, "Is it safe?"  

Much to my surprise, I woke up this morning asking the same question - without the dental instruments of torture, but certainly after a torturous path from clueless to aware to beginning to become informed & capable.  

Is it safe to be vulnerable - in the biological sense of that word, to let things in & out?  

For most of my life, it felt like it wasn't.  It felt like the safest way to live was by doing my best to scope out what other people wanted from me before they had to ask for it, like my wisest course of action was to correctly read their body language, tone.  

My conversation skills were practically inverted, part of me always slightly separated, watching to make sure I didn't say one word too many, didn't speak one moment longer than was acceptable.. So, no - it was NOT safe to be vulnerable, to just let go, to step out of fear & into flow.

Vulnerable was the last thing I was.  Until John came along.  And he knew - because I told him, quite often - that I shied away from love from fear of making myself vulnerable.  It was why I was a "cad magnet" when it came to guy-gal relationships - it was safe to hook up with guys who put themselves first.  But I didn't have any choice in the matter when it came to John.   My heart took one look & that was it - game over.

Looking back, 24 years to the day since our first, brief, didn't-remember-his-name-but-LIKED-him encounter, I realize those last two words sum up precisely the difference John made & makes in my life ~ it's not a game anymore, but the real deal.  

He is real.  

Our love is real.  

Our relationship with each other, with friends & loved ones is real.  

And it is the reality of it all that makes it safe.  

Safe to see myself as a challenged member of a mega challenged family, where everyone seemed on a confused path, no one seemed to feel even close to being what I'd call healthy, whole.  Safe to be excited about being at this remarkable place in my life.  Safe to build on the groundwork that I - I! - laid over the past couple years to achieve greater & greater health & wholeness.  Safe to be joyous & helpful, to do work that matters & is financially rewarding.  Safe to BE.  Most of all, safe to BE.

"Is it safe?"  Yes, it is.  And so we begin...

" Great conversation flowed easily."

Silly, getting teary over friend's FB posting about a dinner shared with friends & a college-age son.  It just sums up everything I've always admired in my sister, my brother, my mother & my husband, a quality I most woefully lack.  I am, or so it has always felt, devoid of any engaging conversation.  

John can discuss things that constantly surprise me & which engage others in back & forth discussion.  Mom always had the gift of asking the question that got someone opening up to her.  Mim could talk about a range of topics, from literature to what's happening on today's sports scene.  Peter - well, I don't know how to describe him, so won't even attempt.  

Me?  I am a conversation ender.  Have lacked the gift of gracious listener, the good fortune of an absorbed education, the blessing of a good memory & ability to connect people with events.  I am an anti-conversationalist, with no interesting insights to add, yet lacking the wisdom to stay silent & soak up others’ voices & thoughts.  

It is a great sadness.  

How I envy people who can say, "Great conversation flowed easily."  

I feel just like the character in West Wing who tells the love of her life that she "missed the window" for becoming someone who can do a serious relationship.  And the love of her life assures her it's not too late, that it will take work & effort, but he'll teach her, they'll work it out together.

But John can't teach me how to engage with other people.  He's all impressed because I can open a discussion with anyone.  He misses that opening a conversation is basically all I do.  There's no depth to continue in any substantial way.

Maybe this is the last negative legacy I have from my earlier family years.  The #1 message I received was that I was had nothing of worth, nothing to add to the family conversation.

Imagine growing up with people who gave off that vibe!  

I used to think Mim intentionally avoided having the sort of wonderful, deep, interesting, mind-massaging discussions with me that I heard her have with others.  All we ever talked about were TV shows & Pitcairns - ad infinitum.  I came away convinced I was too dim a bulb, too shallow, to be worth her investing time & energy. 

No one in my family talked to me about matters of substance.  Politics, religion, current events were all okay, but nothing that took me further - and oh how I wanted to reach further, deeper, richer.  

Ended up with a vocab too high-falutin' to connect with people whose  conversation range most suited me; too uninformed to keep up with & contribute to discussions with the very people whose minds I admire.  

Small wonder that a comment about a great conversation around a family dinner table reduced me to tears.

I missed the window. And there's no Danny to help me find it.  

I want people in my everyday life - lots of them, lots of ages.  

I want discussions, from silly to substantial.  

I want to belong. to feel a sense of place.  

I want to feel like I am competent at life.  

And it feels like I missed those windows, too.

Constant Amazement

It always amazes me how life has shifted over the past few months to be infinitely more wisely managed. The change didn't happen through anything that I did, but it would not have been possible without everything I'd done.

My birth faith teaches - as so many others do, too - that change doesn't come from within us, but from God, or whom I refer to as All That Is.  All we can do is prepare the way, become a vessel.  To set intention, do the work, let go of expectation, and experience what reveals itself.

Who would have thought that going to a Sunday morning church service in Chalfont, PA - a service lead by my dear friend, Edie Weinstein, my own Katie Joy - would transform my life so utterly completely profoundly?  Well, duh - she gave the talk at Circle of Miracles, so I guess it shouldn't have been so surprising!  Because what happened on that Sunday morning was the 4th (at least) downright miracle in my life.

Edie asked each of us to bring something that epitomized our "inner gremlin."  Now, I've done inner gremlin work for many, many years, dating to before Mom was reunited with her O! Best Beloved.  And it always said, "Picture your gremlin." 

Well, I never could.  Until Edie. 

Then - POW!  An image appeared, clear & strong.  My inner gremlin looks just like the Hawaiaan Punch guy!  Not anything ugly or scary, just a short guy with a bright Hawaiian shirt & a jazzed up hat.  That was my inner gremlin!  I wore the Hawaiian shirt that Mim gave Dad, along with a beautiful silk flower lei. 

I was the ONLY one who came dressed as her inner gremlin.  But maybe being dressed - prepared - the way opened me up to flipping a well-intentioned but horrifically effective inner saboteur into an invaluable constant ally, one that helps point out the next best thing to do & DO it.  

Early early this a.m., got  me pondering now blessed I've been to be open to, downright thirsty for, finding better ways to live my life.

Sad, but true, I grew up with family who seemed clueless on how to make day-to-day life work. Yes, even Mom was challenged that way  Not a judgement, just an observation.  Over the years, I learned LOTS of ways to mess up life, but ways to make things work smoothly, efficiently & effectively?  Nope.

Living effectively, being core competent, have been beacon desires in my life for as long as I can remember.  It explains the immediate connection with John, a most astonishing nurturing ground for healthy living.  Not by telling, but simply by being.  

This morning, I cleaned up the kitty litter (instead of ignoring it, waiting for John to see & take care of it) because of an immediate inner sense that made me do the right thing instead of averting my eyes & responsibility.  

It's stuns me how  I can prepare the way, but true change flows in from a Higher Place.  It is a constant amazement to be 60 years old & experiencing "getting it" for the first time.  And it's a delightful surprise that my response hasn't been to sit back & say "Finally!" but instead to, with great joy & gratitude for what is, keep preparing those ways.  What's next?  Keeping on preparing paths, partnering clearly formed intention with action steps, letting go of expectation of outcome, then welcoming new ways & means to live in joy,  

Tender heart

Never fails to astonish me - how reorganizing things can stir up so many memories, feelings.  Rediscovering ancient letters, suddenly coming upon a bit of familiar handwriting belonging to someone long gone, hearing voices calling from decades & decades past.  

My heart feels likes it's been pierced, over & over.  Not in a violent manner, but as I would a gorgeous piece of shoulder roast - to let the meat soak up the seasonings, the marinade.  To tenderize, not to wound.

What does it tell me?

What does it tell me that I'm still finding journals I started & never finished or finished & put away or never even began writing in at all.

So many upbeat beginnings that petered away.  Or did they?  Maybe each one is a vital message & a reminder - that I've believed in myself for a very very long time & have a strong belief in the possible.  

My challenge is that among all the tasks I've set myself over all the years - each of which DID yield key returns - was never the one:  FINISH  THESE  TASKS.

All of the words I've written, insights I've had, AH HA! moments I've experienced are IN my brain, my mind, my soul & spirit.  If sparked by the right trigger, they'd rush out, shouting, exclaiming, whooping the same thing, "Be!  Be!  Be!"  

What did finding all those journals tell me?  This is my moment.  BE.