"when I see you again..."

"'cause we've come
a long way
from where we began;

and I'll tell you
all about it
when I see you again..."

For me, the musical surprise of the summer was the duo Endless Summer. I have checked in with their Youtube channel once a week to see if they have posted anything new -- or old. Loved finding this video for  "See You Again," . It was the perfect accompaniment for this post.

This summer I've known the joy of seeing a number of people from past chapters of my life, that I'd not seen in a long time. And here is what I have learned: Love knows no time.

I remember a friend once telling me about sitting across from someone she hadn't seen in over fifty years, and, she just couldn't see it.  She couldn't see the fifty years.  I thought she was spinning a tale. Now I know, she wasn't.

This summer, as I sat across from friends I hadn't seen in 5 years, 20 years, 40 years, I could see the dark hair that was now peppered with silver, the shift in body mass, the change in gait  -- with my eyes. Yet over and over again, my heart saw what it had held in memory for decades. The sound of their laughter, the sparkle in their eyes, the curve of their hands as they held a pen -- it was all I could see. Truly.

His weathered face, dissolved into boyish-ness. The mature mom, became a coltish girl right before me. In the eyes of someone who had loved him, the grandfather was - again - the young athlete who had been able to sweep my teenage self off my feet.

Beauty, innocence, joy, sparkle -- are truly in the eyes of the beholder.

I have had a summer filled with "beholding" people I have long-loved. Just typing this post is causing my throat to tighten, my chest to burn, and my eyes to tear up with gratitude for every remarkable planned or unexpected visit, connection, late-night cup of tea, conversation, or meal. I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful gift. To actually feel the timelessness of love. To hear their voices, to see their eyes twinkle, and to feel their hugs. More of heaven on earth, I can't even imagine.

In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy writes:

"Love never loses sight of loveliness.
Its halo rests upon its object.
One marvels that a friend can ever seem
less than beautiful."

Nothing has made me feel more timeless and ageless than this summer's adventure -- sitting with, and listening to, the hearts of people of I have loved -- and still love.

offered with Love,

Cate 

"Obsolescence..."

"And I know I shouldn't care,
if I'm out, or if I'm in. 
'Cause if I am dismissed,
Oh, You always take me in..."

I remember the first time I really thought about the concept of obsolescence.   And what it meant to be obsolete...a word that means: "no longer current, fresh, functional, or useful; outdated."   
    
Carol and I were walking through the basement of the publishing house -- a cavernous space filled with cases of books.  She explained that in quantifying the value of our product line, we had to take into consideration an "obsolescence factor."   

It was a term I wasn't familiar with as a school teacher and administrator.  I must have looked like a deer in the headlights.  She went on to explain:

Books that could no longer be sold -- either because of an outdated design, unincorporated editorial changes, or deteriorated physical condition -- were depreciated.  The decreased worth of those books, factored into the overall valuation of our inventory. 

No wonder, that as an educator, I didn't get it.   Thank goodness. 


At the time, it made me sad.  I loved those books.  I loved their dated covers, the smell of old paper, the crackle of dried bindings.  I wanted to take them all home and put them on shelves so they would feel loved.  The ideas in those books were timeless.  How could timeless ideas ever be outdated to the point of being devalued. 
    
Sara's song, "Obsolete," makes me smile today, but there was a time, not so long ago, when this was one of my biggest fears.

To think that there could come a day when I was not fresh, youthful, standing on the edge of a new idea.  It terrified me. 

I didn't mind having a faded "cover," antiquated fonts, or crackly paper...but please, oh, please don't let me become editorially passé.

Praying with Mary Baker Eddy's:

"Immortal Mind feeds the body
with supernal freshness and fairness,
supplying it with beautiful
images of thought"

I have discovered that in the kingdom of heaven there is no obsolescence.  We can never be outdated since God is the only Mind.  And this Mind is omni-present -- always in the present.  It is constantly refreshing the environment of consciousness with Its most current ideas, concepts, insights.  

In this atmosphere of Mind, there is, as Eddy assures us, "supernal freshness and fairness."   

But its not enough to claim that I my thoughts -- no matter how humanly mature I am -- are supernally fresh and fair, youthful and current.  I have to also look at the attending truth about "children." 

As part of her definition of Children. in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Eddy states:

"God's thoughts, not in embryo, but in maturity"

And elsewhere, in speaking of mental vitality, she writes:

"Man is God's reflection,
needing no cultivation,
but ever beautiful and complete."

So, here's the deal:  If I want to be able to claim my freedom from obsolescence -- and experience the attending spiritual freshness I long for -- I also have to accept my freedom from any false sense of personally cultivated inspiration, maturity of insight, or experiential hierarchy.   

Neither obsolescence for me or immaturity for my children, my neighbors, or you...I think this is the perfect recipe for universal and supernal freshness, fairness...and wisdom. 

But I think I'll keep the white hair.  I've waited for it since I was in my twenties, and I like it.

offered with love...

Kate

[photo credit: Samantha Hopple, Summer 2012]

"..it's yesterday once more..."

"When I was young
I'd listen to the radio,
waiting for my favorite songs
When they played I'd sing along
It made me smile..."
-     John Bettis

Sunday afternoon I was sitting in my new favorite coffeehouse writing, when Karen Carpenter singing "Yesterday Once More" came pouring out of the overhead speakers, and through the air like warm lavender-infused honey.

It was a moment of sweet serendipity that took me by surprise in the most delicious way.  Since I'd begun haunting its eclectic mixture of vintage fabric, organic baked goods with wonderfully strange flavor combinations, and gentle, but edgy tattooed baristas, the music in the coffeehouse had been more cutting edge, than soft rock.  It may not have been what I'd have put on my ipod, but I didn't mind it.  I was there for the tea, not the tunes.

So when I heard the first low strains of Karen Carpenter's sweet rich, "when I was young..." and Richard's harmonies that are so perfectly perfect they make you wonder if it isn't just great reverb, it really was "yesterday once more."

I was sitting on the end of the long grassy pier jutting into Lake Champlain on North Hero Island.   My friends and I had traveled to Vermont from western New Jersey to work at the Bed and Breakfast/Inn that our dentist owned and operated each summer.  It has been scary to be away from my family for the first time, to work that hard (16 hours a day...with only one day off every two weeks,  in the kitchen, the dining room, as a chambermaid, teaching water skiing, washing dishes...all for $14.77/week).  But I was doing it.  I was learning to try new things, meet new people, and hold my ground on personal space and values.  But it wasn't easy. 

I've been thinking about this a lot since I heard Karen Carpenter's voice on Sunday.  I'd never thought of myself as a particularly brave girl.  I'd spent most of my time drawing, writing, reading, painting, helping my mom raise seven younger children, baking, dancing, and haunting libraries.  I'd always thought of my sister Nancy as the "brave one."  I seemed to try new things only when she'd boldly crashed through the door and then held it open for me to slip in behind her.   But that summer was all mine.  I'd applied for the job, gone to the interview, gotten permission from my parents, organized travel, worked out coverage for my home responsibilities with my sisters (that had cost me almost all I would make that summer), and held my ground on going as each little demon voice screamed "you can't do this...you are the mousey one..."

But I did it. 

So what does this have to do with today's post...besides being a story about realizing that I wasn't the cowering bookworm I'd always thought of myself as being?  Well, it comes down to the conversation I had this summer with the nurse, Mark, at the mountain clinic.  I referred to it in a recent post titled, "Everything in its Time," about spiritual vectors.  Another part of that conversation had to do with aging.

When we first met Mark, I asked him, as "small talk," where he lived in the Valley.  He explained that he lived in a turn-of-the-century house near the Arkansas River.  He said that it had been built by miners and still had bullet holes in the windows where the winds blew through.  I asked if that wasn't cold in the winter (I knew how long, cold, and windy the Valley could be when the snow drifted to the rooftops) and he said, "yes, but that he tried to keep his scope of comfort broad."

This fascinated me.  I asked him to tell us more.  He explained that in the off-season he taught survival skills to elderhostel-ers.  And that what he had learned was that age-blind youthfulness seemed to be directly related to one's scope of comfort.  The broader the range of temperatures, living conditions, food choices one was comfortable with exploring or living in, the more youthful the person was.  The narrower the range the more age-related physical and mental issues the person seemed to be facing on a regular basis. 

This, he said, was what he himself was trying very diligently to arrest in himself.  To not decide that, just because he was getting older and had the means to determine his circumstances, he would only live in a place that he liked, to make sure that the temperature was optimal, that the bed was soft/firm according to his liking, or that he only went to his favorite restaurants and ate those items that he already knew were his favorites.  He said that he worked very hard to keep himself "uncomfortable." 

Wow...I loved it...but it made me cringe.  'Nuff said.  I have a lot of work to do in reclaiming my love for less comfort.  But Mark himself was such a great example of his philosophy.  When I discovered what his chronological marker was, I was shocked.    Mark told me our next conversation that "life conspires against our freedom from aging."  He explained that he saw so many of his patients come in with injuries, aches, and pains who "didn't deserve it."  They had worked so hard as young professionals, parents, and neighbors.  They had scrimped and saved to be able to retire.  But, he said, their retirement had come to mean living the good life.  Living in a temperate climate, eating out, sleeping in, relaxing, having things exactly the way they'd always wanted things to be.  But, he almost wept, it was this very decrease in discomfort...living a life full of surprises, and being caught off guard by a freak snow storm, or a teenager's crisis, that seemed to be aging them fastest. 

He said that the key to vitality, for him, was to have the broadest range of what he could be comfortable with, and survive in, as possible. 

Hmmm...

I love that spiritual thought-leader, Mary Baker Eddy, was busiest, and hardest at work, exploring new ideas, breaking down religious, social, and gender barriers in her nineties!!

I have been thinking about this a lot lately.  

We live in an age of personal choice.  A time in history when we think we should (and do) get to have things exactly the way we want them.  For example.  I should only have to listen to the music I like.  So I download my favorite songs...the songs I am comfortable with...on my ipod, pop in my earbuds, and listen to what I like.  

But I realize that there is no spiritual serendipity to this way of living. 

"When I was young I listened to the radio,
waiting for my favorite songs..." 

When I heard that line of music on Sunday, I got up from the table and walked over to the counter.  I hugged the girl with the shaved head, and fedora, wearing a vintage apron on top of her shorts.  I thanked the tattooed barista with piercings who was in charge of the music. I told them that I'd been at the Allentown Fairgrounds concert one summer when they'd played this song to a huge crowd that sang along with every word.  Then, well...I sang along.  We all did.  They knew the words too.  We were like a strangely-mixed up group of children in a sandbox singing,

"Every sha-la-la
every wo, oh, oh
still shines...

Every shing,a-ling-a-ling
that they're starting to sing's
So fine.

When they get to the part
where he's breaking her heart
It can really make you cry
just like before...
It's yesterday once more...."

Full voice...you should have been there...

A friend shared this video on Facebook yesterday....I want to be her when I grow up...

love,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"...digging the dancing queen..."

"...I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder - 
of a fairy tale
You can take the future - 
even if you fail
I believe in angels -
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream
I have a dream..."
-Abba "I Have a Dream"

Okay, I admit it...I have watched "Mamma Mia" more times than I can bring myself to type in numbers, but something about this movie makes me want to take all 54 years in this chapter of my eternity book and shred them into celebratory confetti.

I do have a dream...many of them.  But the fabulous thing is...the dreams I once had (at least the ones that didn't include "stuff") have all mostly come true in ways that are clearly Love-inspired and God-bestowed.  And new dreams are born in my heart each day.  Dreams of renewable energy, stronger alliances with our global neighbors and partners, integrity in government and business, and more grace...always more grace.   Dreams of seeing things in new ways,  refreshed friendships, freedom from past regrets, a false sense of achievement, or failure....anything that would keep me from dreaming new dreams with all my heart.

There is something about watching my favorite dramatic actress of all time, Meryl Streep, dancing and singing through the village streets of a Greek island, jumping on her bed, and getting "twitterpated" at the sight of a long-lost beau, that makes me want to join her in cavorting through olive groves with dozen of other liberated Greek housewives and grandmas.   I want to play air guitar on a pier and throw my friends into the harbor!!

I remember a Sunday School student once remarking, with exasperation that he was worried about his mother.  He was concerned that she had begun to lose her mind.  She was singing at the breakfast table, thinking about changing careers, and wearing her hair differently.  Didn't she know that she was a mother with grown children?  And wasn't he the kid, the one who was supposed to be exploring life and considering his options...not her? 

I remember suggesting to him, that if he wanted her to trust him as he tried new things, struck out on new paths, and discovered the world around him, he would have to trust her to do the same.  I tried to help him see that our hearts - the province where dreams reside and where God, Love, reigns supreme - never grow old.  The heart that dreams never ages. It never atrophies.  It never matures, loses its vitality, and becomes intractable. It never ceases to dream, to hope...to imagine the presence of goodness, the promise of Love, the fullness of Life.

In all my spiritual reading, scriptural research, and study, I have never found a single reference to "the adult of God."  It's always the "child of God," the "children of Israel."  Even Jesus, the most mature spiritual thinker I know of, referred to God as "Abba"...a term that is translated "daddy" or "papa."

We never become any more mature than we have always been...completely child-like, innocent, pure, willing, open, joyful, ready, eager.  This is our maturity, our fullness of being.  In her definition of "Children" from the glossary of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy says, "...God's thoughts, not in embryo, but in maturity..."

We exist from all eternity in this state of maturity...fullness, completeness, wholeness...we are never less, or more than the All-in-allness of the divine being.  We live, and move, and have our being in the same state of child-like wonder, trust, and joy...forever and ever and ever....throughout time, space and eternity.

"I have a dream
A song to sing...."

Celebrate your dreams...sing in the streets, jump on your bed, throw a bundle of sticks, say "oh Yea!!!" (by the way, this is the part in the movie that my daughter made me watch in bed with her...over and over and over and over and over again)...and have the time of your life as a dancing queen with your girlfriends...or husband, or children, or neighbors...or a a few random Greek housewives on an island in the Aegean...

enjoy this clip...but if you want to see the real movie...with the scene of the granny with the stick...rent the movie...this clip is just a taste...

"oh yea!!!'
you can dance
you can jive
having the time of your life
see that girl
watch that scene
digging the dancing queen..."
- from "Dancing Queen"
(also by Abba)

in childlike wonder...believing in angels and fairytales...and in you...always with love,

Kate

"Parents are people..."

"...Parents are people
People with children
When parents were little, they used to be kids
Like all of you, but then they grew
And now parents are grown-ups
Grown-ups with children
Busy with children, and things that they do
There are a lot of things a lot of mommies
And a lot of daddies,
and a lot of parents can do..."
-     Carol Hall

I was barely out of high school when my dad suddenly passed on (following a road collision) that left my 39 year old mom widowed with 8 children under the age of 19.  I am still ashamed to admit that although I was heartbroken for our family, and devastated by the way his passing turned our lives upside down socially, financially and emotionally, I was not as deeply concerned about my mom losing her husband and companion, as I should have been.  I thought, "they were old anyway".  Horrible, huh!?!?  But honest.  I was so immature.  The world of "adults over 30" was filled with senior citizens in my eyes.    I couldn't imagine that my mom still had the capacity to feel romance...or be in love.   She was old, she had eight children to raise, she'd had her day in the sun…right! 

Wrong....so sadly wrong...

My mom was, and still is, a vital, loving, hope-filled and gloriously alive woman….and always has been.  But it took me decades, following my dad's passing, to realize this fact. 

It finally dawned on my when one of my dearest friends, and her husband, had been in a tragically fatal automobile accident.  I had been with her in the hospital, day in and day out, for over a week while she was being treated in their critical care/trauma unit.  The day that she passed on I felt sad, and empty, and helpless in making sense of how a mother (and her husband who had passed on the day before) could be taken from their children at such a young age.  It was wrong and wasteful.  She was so vital and alive with promise.  "She was in the prime of her life, " I thought as I drove to another friend's house from the  hospital that day.  She was about my age for goodness sake, and I was only….37….

I literally stopped in my tracks.  I was driving through a suburban neighborhood…thank goodness…because my entire body stopped operating that 3,000 pound vehicle.   My foot came up off the gas pedal and I drifted to the side of the road where my car came to a stop.  In anguished horror I immediately thought of my mom. She was only been 39 when my dad  passed on and I had thought of her as "over the hill", beyond falling in love and having dreams.  My heart broke open wide for my mom…and my friend…in that surreal moment of suburban normalcy.  I KNEW how much I loved life, I KNEW how many dreams I had yet to even begin realizing, I KNEW how deeply I longed to be loved and in love…every day of my life. I KNEW how young I felt inside and how terrifying the thought of being widowed with eight children would be to me at that moment…heck, the thought of being widowed with one child was more than I could comprehend.  How would I go on?  How would I be able to even function in the context of the grief and despair of losing my husband, much less be able to work and provide for my child. 

As I sat there with my face in my hands…parked haphazardly in front of a someone's perfectly manicured suburban lawn…I wept for my friend, her husband, and their young daughters.  I wept for my own parents and our family.  I wept for my mom and all the years I thought she was too old to still need love and romance and companionship in her life.  I wept for my own insensitivity as a teenager.  

There were no cell phones in those days so I couldn't call my mom from the privacy of my car.  I had to wait for a few hours after arriving at my friend's house, when things had settled down and I could excuse myself.  However, when I did I told her all that was in my heart.  I told her that I was sorry I had never understood how young and dynamic she was and how alive her desires were.  I told her that I now understood that she was still a young woman inside and that I wanted to help her resurrect any dreams that she might have let the world…and us kids…convince her she was too old to still cherish and nurture.  I have tried to do just that.  I've tried to help her remember that she can still go to college,  start a new life by the ocean, climb a 14,000 foot mountain, or fall in love.

Whenever I begin to forget that we are all ageless children of God, I remember that moment in my friend's neighborhood.  I try to remember how, at 37, I felt just as alive to love and hope, and cherished dreams…as I had at 17.  The me who loved snuggling under the covers with a book for a great read on a rainy day at 11 is just as hungry for the perfect quilt-and-tea book today.  The me who sang at the top of her lungs on road trips alone behind the wheel flying across Kansas does the same thing on her way to camp every summer….much to the chagrin of her daughters.  The me who wakes up each morning with a heart eager to try something new…is the same me who just knew that she could do anything she set her mind to at 18.   And the me whose heart broke with every not-so-wise choice at 16, still lies awake at night praying for forgiveness and redemption at 53.

A few years ago I had a Sunday School student who came to class concerned that his mom was "going off the deep end" because she was wanting to make some drastic changes in her career.  Then in the next sentence he complained that she didn't give him enough freedom, as a new college student, to explore a number of different options that were of interest to him.  "Doesn't she know that this is what I am supposed to be allowed to do at my age?" he asked.  "Don't you know that's what she needs to be allowed, by you, to do as well?'  I countered.   "Are you giving her as much freedom to grow and evolve and change as you expect to give you?" I then asked gently.

I continue to learn, each day, that "Parents are People"…people who, in God's eye, are just children.  Children who are learning each day more of what they are capable of as His heir, children who grow in grace, learn from their choices, and never stop hoping, dreaming, evolving within the circle of His arms.

His child,
Kate