Christmas Roses 12/23/00

At lunchtime, I knew pretty much what I wanted to write about tonight - snow and bone-chilling temperatures, children slip-sliding outside on the sidewalk, and me snug and cozy in the big chair in the living room.  I was going to write about Lockhart trips down to Wanamaker's on Market Street, meeting people at "the Eagle," the magnificent light-fountain-organ shows that left us all slack jawed year after year after year.  I was going to write about cold walks home from Bethayres station, a chilly house and hot cocoa.  Then the afternoon - and a delivery van - rolled around and everything changed.

Karen, thank you for the beautiful flowers.  Have you ever experienced a sense of magic when a florist's van pulls up in the driveway?  There is something about florists that is disarmingly enchanting.  The arrangement is stunning, with white spider mums (they remind me of the best sort of fireworks), red and white carnations, holly and holly berries, and beautiful, fragrant red roses.

The sight and rich scent of the red roses took me back 27 years, to the day of Pete's memorial service.  (I know I have told this story before, but one of the privilege's of advanced years is having license to retell classic tales.)  I had been missing Mike and Kerry, especially after Willard's simple and profoundly moving service.  When I walked into our dining room, I could smell something wonderful.  Behind the dining room door, on top of the china cabinet, stood a classic green urn filled with the most beautiful red roses I have ever seen.  The petals looked like the finest velvet and the scent was truly heavenly.  There was a card from Michael and Kerry (Scott and Karen not yet even a gleam in their parents' eyes), something along the lines of "Thinking of you at this special time."  Knowing they were with us in mind and heart deeply moved me and lifted my spirits.  Because of those roses, it felt like they were with us.

When Mike and Kerry called later on, I thanked them for the roses and said how much it meant to me to have them waiting for us after the service.  I must have mentioned at least three times the perfect timing.   

There was absolute silence on the other end. 

Finally one of them said, "What roses?"  

It turned out that they had sent the roses at Christmas - a month before Pete collapsed, a month before he was diagnosed with cancer, three months before he died.  They had wondered why we never mentioned receiving them at Christmas.   

That whole thing will forever give me pause and make the hair on the back of my head, right where it meets the neck, rise.  What wondrous hand was at work?  The timing, the card, the rightness of the arrangement.  Makes me wonder.

I will think of that amazing time and of Karen, who is always in my heart and too long not in my arms, whenever I look at the beautiful arrangement that arrived this afternoon.  Elsa set it on the island, where it reigns supreme, flanked by our three Beyer's Choice carolers - the grey-haired lady in red velvet with a muff on one side,  the younger couple keeping close together standing on the other.  I took one last look as I headed up the wooden hill.  It is a blessing to feel such happiness and love.  Karen, your "little pressie" was a big hit.

It is way past my bedtime.  Am off to bed with thoughts of loved ones far, far away, especially a much loved, much missed granddaughter.   

Love - Nan

ornaments & memories 12/21/00

The most precious ornaments in our house are the ones that we made when Peter

was a toddler - a baby coach that's now missing a "wheel" and a little red wagon that was stepped on two years ago.  The damage to the coach isn't obvious and John managed the little red wagon "all better" with a little glue and some skillful application of his airbrush.   

The angels that Ian made have brought specialgrace to the tree and topped it until just a few years ago, when an angel bear - which is perfect for Squirrel Haven - took over the tree topping duties.  

 The clay ornaments that Whitney and Reynolds made many moons ago have long since crumbled, but I do think about them every year as we put up the other treasures.  The paper Santa and cardboard clown that Ian made, the ornaments from Tiffany that Mim had at each place as "favors" at a swanky Christmas Eve dinner she put on for the four of us (Pete, myself, Mim and Elsa), the really really old Murphy ornaments, and so many more that I cannot remember at this moment.

Our tree is decked out with love and memories and happiness.

Have a holly-jolly-getting-ready-for Christmas.  ~ KRL ~

Little House on the Pennypack 12/18/00

A week that started out with me feeling like a nervous Nellie about the state of my fixtures and fittings turned out to be something very special.  First of all, the Lasix seems to be doing some good.  According to Elsa (one of my two "Putter On Of Socks and Shoes"), my legs are not as swollen as they were less than a week ago.  That is a comfort, given that since taking the Lasix I am up every hour on the hour throughout the night to use "Lamb" which is quite tiring to me and to my getter-uppers.  I keep my feet elevated on a small stool, so that helps too. 

Nice things resulted from feeling rotten.  Mim called twice this week, which made me happy.  Whitney called AND she and Chad sent me a get well card. Peter stopped by this afternoon and he is taking me out for dinner tomorrow night and then for a drive to see the Christmas lights. 

I called Peter on 12/15 to wish him a happy birthday.  I sang a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday to You!" and reminded him of the time I showed Whitney, who was just a little girl at the time, of a picture of Peter at around the same age, sitting in an Adirondack chair.  I asked her if she knew who it was and she said, "It’s me."  "No," I explained to her, "It is your Daddy."  She looked at the picture and she looked at me and, turning back to what she was doing, restated with unshaken confidence, "It’s me."  

Father & daughter really did look a lot alike and to me the span of years between the two childhoods can seem the blink of an eye.

Elsa has been pumping me for Peter memories since a few days before his birthday.  As I have already shared with this list, I did not have an easy time getting pregnant.  It turned out I had a crooked cervix - between medication and exercise, it righted itself, but it meant my joy at finding out I was finally pregnant was especially intense.  Then, when I was in danger of miscarriage, my OB/GYN Mike Bennett sent me packing to bed with the famous order that I was "not to lift so much as a tea cup." 

I love all of my children, but there is something special about that first child. We had some interesting - and one terrible - adventures in those early years.

We brought Peter home from the hospital - Hahnemann, in Philadelphia - to the house at the foot of Fettersmill as you drop down the road from Terwood, the one with boulders on the road to protect the house from cars that miss the sharp turn to go across the bridge. It is a lushy-plushy place now, but back then it was the nth degree of primitive. 

When I became pregnant with Peter, Pete and I wanted to move out of Philadelphia and closer to Bryn Athyn.  We needed to find a place to rent that we could afford and the wagon house rent was $15.00 a month.  We knew that it would be difficult living there, but we were torn.  Looking out the big north window, we saw a cardinal sitting on a tree - Pete looked at it and at me and said, "That is our sign - we are staying."  So we moved into the house in September. 

We were blessed with a strong pioneer spirit .  A roaring fire kept the place heated.  Since a cord of fire wood was not in the budget, we dragged fallen branches home to cut up.  Being surrounded by woods, it was a pretty easy thing to do. The place had electricity but no running water.  We had to trek up to the spring in the little park across the tracks (in back of where George Synnestvedt Co. was and Jim Connally’s wood working shop currently is) to get our water.  I must admit wondering what I looked like, this very pregnant woman walking  across the bridge lugging a big branch in one hand and a jug of water in another.   

You can imagine our joy at discovering that winter that the Water Company, to keep the pipes that ran under the bridge from freezing, had a run-off of the water right at the edge of our property.  I can still see my sister Betty standing under that beautiful run-off, filling up a jug.

Our living conditions were rustic, but we were in love and over the moon with happiness at our first child.  We made do with a two-burner stove and Dad Lockhart made us an iron grill so I could cook over the fire in the living room.  To this day, it is a point of pride that I made an entire Thanksgiving dinner at that fire place!

None of it would have been possible if Betty had not been there with us.  She made all the difference.  I can still see her, taking care of getting the daily supply of water, washing and hanging up the diapers to dry, doing a million other invaluable things for us.

In time, even we realized they were not the best conditions for raising an itty bitty baby.  We left the wagon house and moved into an apartment atop the Alden house at Alden Road and Cherry Lane.  I remember Leone Asplundh (now Graham) when she and Peter were both toddlers and Griff and Myrtle lived at what is now Dan Pendleton’s house.  She came over to play with Peter one day in our one-room apartment.  She looked around the room, took it all in, then announced, "Peter’s lucky - he got ‘tove in his room!"

I cannot let Peter’s birthday pass without telling about his birth, which turned out to be as unusual as the place we lived in.  Aunt Norma, Pete’s stepmother, was afraid that I would go into labor during the day, while Pete was at work (there was no phone at the wagon house), so she had me move in with her and Gar’ in Germantown when I drew close to my due date.  Thank goodness I was only there one night.  Norma had her bridge club over the day I arrived and I was ordered not to come anywhere near her guests because I was such an "odd shape" - strange way of taking care of someone. 

At it turned out, I went into labor in the middle of that very night.  Norma called a cab to take me to Hahnemann.  The cabbie was nervous enough taking a pregnant woman to the hospital, so it certainly did not help when Norma said in parting, "I hope you beat the stork!"  

The poor man was really on edge, so I spent the whole drive talking to him about his family and his job and anything I could think of to keep his mind off my labor pains. 

When I arrived at the hospital, I came in one door at the same time Mike
Bennett came in another.  "Where is Pete?" was his first comment.  At home, I  explained, he would not know I was at the hospital until he got to work.  Mike looked me straight in the eye and said, "You are a brave girl."   

Of course, Pete tore over as soon as he got to work and got the news.  Thank
goodness I was in the delivery room, but still in labor - Peter apparently had
no intention of leaving the nice warm womb - when Pete arrived.   

Back then,Dads were not allowed anywhere near the delivery room, so he was not allowed in anyway.  I had just a wiff of anesthesia - just enough to take the edge off the pain - so I was aware of the delivery.  I can still see the nursewaiting with a warm blanket to receive the baby - she had the warmest brown eyes. 

When Peter finally arrived and the nurse held him up for me to see, I cried and cried - Dr. Bennett said, "Now what the hell are you crying for?"  

"I am so happy!" was my triumphant reply.   

Mike said that the baby was sure to be a prize fighter, the way he kept batting away at the doctor’s hands as Mike tried to tie the cord. 

The staff bundled me up and I was on my way back to my room when we went past Pete.  I knew that if I said I was okay, Pete would wonder if it was really true or if I was just trying to be brave.  So, in an inspired moment, as we came up to him, I looked my beloved straight in the eye and said, "I would love a hamburger right now."  That set him at his ease; he knew all was well.

Hope all is well with you and yours.  Special love to Peter and to all my dear children.  Am FINALLY - past midnight - on my way up the wooden hill.  

Love - Peter’s Mom

Late Bloomers 12/11/00

 

The three Reynolds-Lockhart ladies - Mim, Elsa and myself - are each late bloomers.   

I did not marry until 26 - practically an old maid back in 1936 - and did not have my first child until 28.  Mim did not get her bachelor's degree until she was in her late 30s and got her first very own apartment when she was in her 40s.  Elsa married at 37 and had her first children in her mid-forties - - a multiple “birth” of 45 children (her beloved "adopted" 3rd grade).

But bloom we finally did.  

I consider the personal changes I am experiencing as a late bloom, one after what I thought was a hard frost.  

Mim went on to be recognized for her work with the NJ autistic organization with an official proclamation passed by the NJ State Legislature (very official looking, with lots of seals and such).   

Today, Elsa got to take a bow.  She received the President's Award for Excellence, presented each year by her employer, BISYS Plan Services.  What a surprise.  It was actually presented on Friday night at the company's big holiday bash, but true to form they were not there for the Big Announcement.  They had cut out early from the big bash, heading over to the newly opened Barnes &  Noble in Plymouth Meeting, just ten minutes from the swank country club where they left the party in full swing.  No one was more surprised than Elsa was at being honored out of over 1600 co-workers.  She keeps saying, "I was just doing my job."  Apparently, very well.  In addition to being recognized as one of The Best, she received a stunning star paperweight from Tiffany's and a hefty check. 

The paperweight was a lovely touch back to happy times with Mim up in New York City.  It was Mim who introduced us to Tiffany's and we went there often.  

It was delightful to wander the story, looking at all the wonders.  

If you ever get the chance to see the Christmas windows at Tiffany's, they are quite a treat, or at least they were back when we stood rapt in wonder on 5th Avenue.

  

Mim opened our eyes to the reality that a powder blue box with white silk ribbon from Tiffany was quite affordable.  They had beautiful wine glasses that were only $5.00 a stem.  Then there was the set of Santa Claus mugs in a BIG powder blue box, still tied with heavy white silk ribbon.  

Because of Mim's early influence, when Elsa hopped across The Pond on her first trip to England, she was able to find affordable treasures at Asprey's.  Before her wedding, the three of us made a pilgrimage up to New York City so she could register at Tiffany's.  If you want an idea of what it was like, watch  Sleepless in Seattle - the bride-to-be and her "advisors" walk along picking things out, as a stylish salesperson walks a deferential few paces back, noting down the choices.   

I think the first time Mim went there was with Brooke, when Brooke was still in elementary school. Mim likes to tell the tale of checking out the diamond rings and necklaces, then asking the dapper gentleman behind the counter, "Now, where is the good stuff?" 

After we were done at Tiffany's, we would head across and down 5th Avenue to

Rizzoli's, which was the most beautiful book store I have ever seen, even more than Sessler's.  The wood work and shelves and architecture was out of this world.  

I was sad when Rizzoli had to move to make way for a new building - although I did feel like I got a lovely bit of innocent revenge when the building inspectors, checking it out before demolition could begin, found a Louis Tiffany or a Lalique glass in the facade and the architects had to go back to the drawing board because the preservation codes would not permit them to move it outside of its original setting, let alone destroy it.

We have come a long way since they destroyed the magnificent Penn Station to

build Madison Square Gardens.  

Architects forced to redesign a building in order to preserve a pane of glass - amazing.

My goodness, here I meant to be writing about daughters and late bloomers and

I end up in NYC! 

What I set out to say, way back when, is that we three Reynolds-Lockhart ladies are all late bloomers, but my what a lovely bloom it is.

Love to all as I toddle up the wooden hill - TechnoGram