Summer Memories Conclusion

  It was around this time of year when I first expressed my teen ideal to become an artist, to write and illustrate children’s books. When the school guidance counselor poked discouraging jabs at my dream, the wife of my father’s boss stepped in and said, “If that’s what you want to do, you can do it!” The summer of 1972 she came to look at my portfolio and said she had a friend who might be able to help patch up the holes in my dream. Her friend happened to be a dean at the University of Arizona. An interview secured my acceptance into their art program. Though life’s twists and turns took me in a different direction I eventually got around to writing and illustrating my first children’s book “Feather Gifts for All Ages" and I’ve never forgotten the support of those kind women.
  Upon my return from the past to the present, along the tiny spirit road of that small rock I held in my hand, I realized there have been so many more supportive people along this life journey who said, “You can do it.” Mrs. Blatchford gave me sewing lessons after school when my sewing teacher ignored my abilities. Mrs. English pointed me toward my first fulfilling work in a fabric store; sewing being second only to art on my love-to-do list. Members of my beloved storytelling guild who continue to nurture my storytelling and stage presence. Friends, teachers, ministers, lawyers, team mates, co-workers, therapists, and strangers all appeared at just the right time to encircle me with love and encouraging words, to shepherd me onward when I felt lost. Each in their own way let me know I didn’t have to hide behind masks, costumes, or a stage persona. I could step into my own character and feel alive and confident, comfortable in my own skin.
  It’s those extra I love yous I still receive that help me relax when my head is exploding with adult details and confusion. It is a loved one sitting in silence and holding my hand when I’m blinded to the road ahead that helps me know the clouds will clear soon enough. It is a friend pointing to the stars and reminding me they are not so far away that I can’t reach for them that keeps me looking up and toward my dreams. I hope these Summer Memories stories have reawakened some of your dreams and stirred some good memories. Have a great start to your summer, the time of growth and ripening creativity! Breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!

Love, Robin

  This throwback to my summer memories has turned out to be more than just a stroll through the past. It’s a reminder of everyone who has supported my life and growth. Who supported you as you grew?

  The year I turned seven I received a two-wheel bicycle for my birthday, one I could grow into, lovingly refurbished with light blue paint and fresh grease by my parents. Sometime around the last days of spring my Dad spent hours running alongside me promising “You can do it pumpkin!” Soon enough I pedaled through the hot afternoons of summer and away, flying into new worlds.

  As I grew older, summers sparked bursts of creativity. I recalled the thrill of being on stage during that Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer performance in kindergarten. I hadn’t stepped in front of my classmates as shy Robin that day. I’d become Rudolph and experienced a flying lesson while wearing his skin. 

  I realized I could be anyone I wanted to be as long as the element of stage supported my wings. So, the summer I turned ten I gathered neighborhood friends and wrote, directed, and starred in a series of skits, complete with singing, dancing, and joke telling. In the basement of our church (free access being one of the benefits of having a minister for a father) we held practice, designed tickets and play bills, and eventually set up chairs for the audience we hoped to attract. 

  My dad and two of my friends’ moms filled half of the front row while the rest of the seats ran cold. But my friends and I glowed with the pride that reflected in the eyes of our parents and the sound of their applause for our accomplishment. I never forgot the good feeling of that day. Though I tended to still feel shy in day to day interaction and my creativity developed in more private settings, I knew that somewhere inside a more confident me stood anxious to come out. I’ll tell you more in the next edition. Until then let your creativity soar, even if it must be in the privacy of home for now. Breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!

Love, Robin

More Summer Memories

 

Mr. Judson Shea was short on words but long on wisdom and teaching all those little things one might ordinarily miss. He liked to grow things; vegetables, flowers, trees, children. I remember him plucking a flower from a bush at the side of his house. He held the bloom one way and showed me a Bleeding Heart. He turned it upside down, gently pulled at the petals with his overworked fingers, and made Dutchman’s breeches dance in my outstretched hand. Before dinner one night he called me to watch as he cut up broccoli. He chopped off the “trunk” of the tree and said, “Most people throw this part away but here’s what you do,” and proceeded to peel the woody bark and expose the tender middle. “This is the best part!” he assured me and I’ve enjoyed my favorite heart of broccoli trees every since.
  The summer I was six our two families shared a day at Loon Lake. The Sheas had a little row boat and Mr. Shea wanted to take all the kids for a ride. Judilee, David, and young Jud piled into the boat like pros but I balked. I’d never been in a boat. The way it rocked and swayed as the other children settled made my stomach roll. Older Jud held out his weathered hand and in the calmest voice said, “Come on. Nothin’s gonna happen to you.” Tears ran down my face. I shook my head “No” with vigor from my stubborn stance on stable earth. Dad held my hand and urged me toward the end of the dock reminding me how he’d taught me to swim the year before. We must have stood there for twenty minutes with Mr. Shea holding out his steady hand and repeating “Come on now. You can do it. You’ll be fine,” as I envisioned sharks and piranha and sea dragons tearing me limb from limb should I happen to fall in the lake.
  Finally, grounded by the steadiest of unflappable adult voices and hands and conviction, I hopped down into the boat to meet my destiny. The ride wasn’t so bad after all and from that day forward I jumped at every chance to be on a boat; row boats, canoes, kayaks, paddle boats, party boats, motor boats I could ski behind, lobster fishing boats that toured around harbors teeming with wildlife, boats that sailed me out to greet whales and dolphins and more sea birds that I could count. I was hooked on a newfound source of joy and all because Judson Shea (accompanied by my Dad) never lost faith that I could do something, even if it scared me silly, and he gave me the time and space to make the decision on my own.
  I faced many more decisions and choices after that one but more on that another day. Until then breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!
xo Robin

Summer Memories Part 3

If you’ve been following this thread of “Summer Memories,” you know that I started out finding a
“spirit rock” and had followed the spirit line it contained like a road to the past. As I stood holding the rock at creeks edge, my mind part way between now and the then, a frog jumped into the water leaving ripples in his wake. I recollected a frog making the same plop sound way back when as he jumped into the shadows and hid himself from perceived danger when my friend Judilee and me appeared to catch tiny fish and pollywogs swimming in the warmer sunlit pools. Later my little friend and I bugged her brothers to let us join them in the treehouse her dad built the summer before. They claimed “boys only” and went about their manly impersonations. We girls were oblivious to any danger in our quest to gain entry to that treehouse. If the boys could scale the makeshift ladder, so could we. The boys heard us coming and reiterated “No girls allowed!” from their lofty perch. Our victorious giggles rang out across the cow pasture after Mr. Shea stopped his tinkering long enough to call to the boys “Let the girls come up there now, ya hear?”

We scrambled up the ladder, climbed hand over hand, and when I reached for the next handhold near the completion of my goal, a broken branch stabbed my palm. I struggled back down with one bum hand held protectively at my side and ran through the back door wailing a pained cry. I held out my injury to Mrs. Shea who turned to a nearby cupboard and grabbed a tissue for my tears and a clear unlabeled jar filled with who knows what. She dabbed the mysterious, mustardy yellow, foul-smelling salve onto the wound, bandaged it with gauze and tape, kissed my cheek, and hugged me. “There. It’ll be fine.” She smiled down at me and I trusted her faith that it would indeed be fine and when she said I could tackle that ladder again, I believed her.

In later years I referred to Mrs. Shea as my second mom for all that she brought to my life. She remains at the top of the list of many loving adults who cheered me on as I grew. Her husband remains in my heart for similar reasons but I’ll save that for next time. Until then breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!

What are some of your summer memories? I'd love to hear!
Robin

Encouragement

As I mentioned in my last entry, my parents early championing of my abilities fortified me with courage and the assumption that all adults – that they approved of, of course – would back me with equal sincerity. But not all adults were so easily swayed. My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Mahoney, and I started off on the wrong foot. A few weeks into a very rough beginning, she knew I was still missing my mother. One day I felt sick and stood before her holding my stomach. “I need to go home. I’m sick.” Mrs. Mahoney would have none of it, sure in her conviction this was a ruse to get me home to my mother’s comforting arms. Unfortunately for my teacher, the only proof I could offer that I had come down with the flu, was to decorate her shoes with that mornings breakfast. Mrs. Mahoney never doubted me again. After she got to know me better and saw that I could manage time away from my mom quite well she came to believe that as shy as I was I could handle a leading role in the Christmas play. My mother nearly fell off her chair when I belted out my solo in “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Though she wore a gruff expression most of the time, I’m grateful for Mrs. Mahoney’s encouraging gesture that planted the seeds for future stage aspirations. I'll say more about that next time... Until then, I encourage you to breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!😀

Robin

Summer Memories

I gave myself some extra time to explore while out on my walk on a recent day that hinted of coming summer. I meandered along the edges of the creek and found a rock containing a “spirit line” as my Native American friends would call it. Spirit lines are typically placed in artwork to allow the spirit of the artist to exit the work when it is finished. The line in this rock invited me to wander past some of the sharp edges of now and into gentle thoughts and memories of people and experiences I am grateful for.

The line on the rock that has now taken up residence on my hearth is light gray with a narrow black line dividing it down the middle, like a road. When I hold it my finger traces this spirit road until I find myself in warm past summer places, remembering all who helped me along my path to the person I am now.

My mother started me out right with bright white walking shoes and “You can do it honey!” It was the summer of my second year when I finally took my first steps unassisted. Her applause urged me on, though after waiting fifteen months she may also have been secretly cheering for herself and her aching back that had hefted a rapidly growing me since birth.

When I was off and running she and my father took me out on summer nights to see the stars that floated down to glimmer about our yard. They each cupped their two hands like clamshells and urged “You can do it sweetheart!” as they caught blinking stars one by one and placed them in a jar for us to admire. 

Their love of being outdoors showed me a love for and connection to nature that sustains me still. That early championing of my abilities fortified me with courage and the assumption that all adults – that they approved of, of course – would back me with equal sincerity. But not all adults were so easily swayed as you will see in my next edition. Until then breathe in the beauty of this day, your day, and the Earth that supports you! Wishing you well in it!

Sacred Space

When I wrote down the stories for my book Earth Divine – Adventures of an Everyday Mystic I wanted to get across the idea that if we pay close attention to the incredible world that surrounds us and form true relationship with it, it responds in miraculous ways. Focused communication with people and pets as well as trees, birds, our wild four-legged friends, even rocks hold messages of wisdom and guidance. They offer us a sense of comfort and belonging, but only when we learn to be present and listen deeply. By staying present I found out it is possible to connect on levels I would never have believed until I knew the moment of NOW and realized the impermanence of things. I discovered the sacredness of direct contact and communion with all my relations.

Technology offers contact with humans. It is now possible to send messages to almost every part of the world. It also isolates us unless we have a dedicated intention to get out there and be with it all. What’s often missing is communion.

There are many advantages to technological access. I understand there are times when we want to connect with what the internet offers. At the same time if technology takes away from real-time connection with other humans and the world we are one with, where are we headed? Without down time how can we expect our imaginations to soar and dream and create? Without going outdoors for extended periods how can we have any hope of receiving essential messages from our non-human friends – messages that enhance our time here on earth? We are not using technology wisely. Before you tune me out, please listen to this five minute TEDx talk: https://youtu.be/UNGvhO8XNrE

I’ve been thinking a lot about cell phones – the kind that do everything but get you dressed in the morning. Cell phones are my biggest pet peeve. Why? Because they usually go everywhere with their owners and get in the way of live human interaction. I love the scent and sensuality of people – the little plastic attention robbers that take people away from where they are in present time, not so much. I want to know who you are today and who you hope to be tomorrow, what you care about, and what motivates or stirs you. I want to hear it with my ears and see it in your eyes.

I refuse to have anything but a simple phone. Friends and acquaintances snicker at my antique, my dinosaur of the techy age. If my phone, which does no more than connect me with (hopefully) a live voice or the occasional text message, is a simple dinosaur then so am I. I am happy to compare myself to those ancient creatures who lived as peaceable giants, who fed on plants and small fish, in families, herds, packs, and in strong social communities.

An article from Scientific American, written by Helen Lee Lin, social psychologist, says that the mere visual presence of a cell phone reduces the intimacy, trust, and empathy of a relationship. This is based on studies rather than biased opinion. You may read more here: https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-your-cell-phone-hurts-your-relationships/

I’ve felt the punch of being in the same space with someone on cell phone Wi-Fi just as I imagine many other dinosaurs have. We may as well be by ourselves if the other person is more interested in what’s happening on the phone than they are in the person they’re sitting next to.

When two or more people sit in the same close space using their devices, MIT professor and author Sherry Turkle calls it being “alone together.” She says, “Technology has become the architect of our intimacies. Online, we fall prey to the illusion of companionship, gathering thousands of Twitter and Facebook friends, and confusing tweets and wall posts with authentic communication. But this relentless connection leads to a deep solitude…as technology ramps up, our emotional lives ramp down…we’re lonely but we’re afraid of intimacy.” Listen to her TED talk here: https://www.ted.com/talks/sherry_turkle_alone_together

I’ve observed people having lunch together, engaged with their phones so much as to not know what else is going on around them let alone with the person they arrived with. Would they notice if someone nearby was choking? I’ve witnessed those in attendance at a concert in glazed-over obsession with a tiny lit screen instead of paying attention to the people on stage. As a performer myself, I know this has got to be hard for any performer who feeds off the energy of the crowd. What we don’t realize is how much we need tangible meaningful connection in any interaction. Phones are not only a distraction but an adverse step in the direction of forgetting how great and healthful real eyeball to eyeball, heart to heart communication and connection can be.

It can be too tempting to hide behind your little black box and not have to deal with the feelings and musings of another living, breathing, vulnerable person. A lack of face to face contact leads to complacency, anti-social behavior, loneliness, and erosion of emotional health. In Psychology today, Christopher Bergland wrote, “Phone calls and digital communication, with friends or family members, do not have the same power as face-to-face social interactions in helping to stave off depression." These days people have fewer close friendships, decreasing social skills (especially children), reduced language skills, and increased social media bullying (both adult and youth), and technology addiction. As a society, we are forgetting HOW to talk to each other.

Communication via technology tends to be quick, short, and impersonal. Years of research proves that ninety-three percent of communication is non-verbal. In online conversation, you have no way of knowing for sure how your recipient will receive and interpret your message. If you “talk” via the “waves” it’s too easy to react and say something you will later regret. You may be present with your own response but fail to be present with that of the other person. There is no voice inflection or tone. No body language or facial expression and little chance of coming to an understanding if a comment is misconstrued.

Growing up, I remember the mailman stopping by for coffee at the homes of his friends. He lingered and joyful chatter filled the rafters. My family had dinner with friends and nothing interfered with the flow of catching up, who did what when, and how it all went. The smiling faces caused by intimate conversation imprinted on my mind: Mom and Dad, Mr. and Mrs. Shea, Myrtle Stone, The Halls, my high school pals, and so many more. Most are gone but they live on in my heart because I paid attention when they were with me. They told jokes, shared concerns, offered praises, sympathy, and congratulations. When we were together it was rude to answer a ringing phone, turn on a television, or play the radio unless it was turned way down. Two or four or ten people engaged with each other full on, telling stories, listening - hearts buzzing in tune with each other. It didn’t matter if the story was new or had been told a thousand times. What mattered was connection and I always came away with a sense of being supported and necessary to the whole. The place where two or more gathered became sacred space. The same for solo moments. Alone time was a sacred time without distraction for inner contemplation, soul-searching, rejuvenation, and much needed quiet and rest from the cares of the world.

In yoga, I learned the ancient Sanskrit greeting Namaste – a term that means, “the divinity in me recognizes the divinity in you.” Yoga philosophy urges to do no harm. With these yoga teachings in mind I dream of a world where we care enough about each other and ourselves to enliven the sacred in our relationships and nurture them by making room in our scheduled lives for at least half an hour a day of intentional, meaningful conversation where we put aside all technology in favor of bonding with those we love. I envision when two or more are gathered we revere that time and space as sacred. Light a candle, hold hands, link arms, share a sunset. Even the non-verbal can be intimate and meaningful when technology doesn’t stand between us. When we are outdoors, alone or with others, we take time to quiet our thoughts and listen to the wisdom that waits in the hollows, the mountains, the creeks, the birdsong, and the serenity of stillness.

May peace and wonderful conversations be part of your every day!

Robin