Childhood Tracings

Indelible Tracings, a new book, memorializes the United States Figure Skating Association (USFSA) team that was killed on a plane over Brussels in 1961, en route to the Worlds in Prague, as recounted in Obit magazine. The plane crashed 50 years ago today (February 17), and a prize winning documentary, The Rise, will be shown in some area theaters tonight only.

It brought back memories of my childhood figure skating days at the Ice Club of Baltimore in Carlin's Ice Rink, where my sister and I trained three times a week to pass USFSA figure and dance tests. The USFSA was so small then that when we passed a test, even ordinary skaters like us, had their names printed (albeit fine print) in the USFSA bulletin. I have three such bulletins sitting in my dining room, marked by by mother ("See p. 36") while I try to decide what to do with them. (Tear out the pages? Scan them? Leave them for my children to toss? Toss them now?)

For the record, page 36 in June 1953 says that age 13 I passed my Bronze dance test, including the Fiesta Tango. I remember the judge's name: Madeline Skirven. It doesn't say who my partner was. Nicky Royal was my favorite partner -- Billy Ridenhour was a little shaky and there was an older gentleman who was so shaky that it was scary to dance with him. (Note to grandchildren: even today I remember these details, and the details of your life will stay with you too!)

In earlier tests (May 1951) I passed the Predance. That one's pretty easy. I can still do the Dutch waltz, even in my dotage, all forward movement.

In May, 1950, I passed the preliminary figure test, representing hours and hours of "patch" skating that I wouldn't trade for the world. In patch skating, every move you make leaves a trace. You know absolutely for sure whether you did it right, and then you try to do it better the next time. I believe it was a huge mistake to take patch skating out of competitions, and as a result, few skaters do it. In my opinion that's like saying ballet dancers don't need to do a barre.

My sister and I started skating when I was three and she was five. My mother made our outfits as shown in the photo. They were reversible -- blue wool on one side, red satin on the reverse. The tights were wool. Our hats, which she made from chenille, had little pads in the back though we did soon learn to fall forward.

There weren't many child skaters then, and we were quite a wow at the club show. We did a "pair" number that consisted of us putting together some basic movements. As I remember, my contribution was a two-footed wibble wobble down the center line.

What did 12 years of skating bring to me, aside from knowing how to lace my grandkids skates?

Family time: The chance to participate in an activity with my ever busy father. My mother figured out that it was a good bonding activity for the four of us, and it gave both of them a rare chance to exercise. They developed friendships at the club and did the Dutch Waltz.

Persistence: The opportunity to work hard and be judged on whether I passed the test.

Exhilaration: The chance to skate free and fast, round and round, on an uncrowded rink. I'm spoiled for public skating forever.

A tolerance of cold temperatures, especially when bolstered by hot chocolate.

It's a puzzle to me why I didn't join Princeton Skating Club when we moved here. It focuses on ice dancing but it was expensive to join, and you couldn't just come and skate. Since then, Iceland has been built, but now I can't find my skates.

One result from the plane crash that wiped out all the skating stars: Money was raised to quickly bring the next generation to competition level, and it helped to fund the training of my all-time favorite, Peggy Fleming. She attributes her meteoric raise, according to the book, partly due to the extra training funds, but also to the vacuum at the top.

Dick Button wasn't on the plane; his picture is on one of the Skating magazine covers and he is, of course, featured in the documentary. Perhaps the names of those who died are in those magazines in small type, along with my name. Those young skaters would have been the right age, in 1961, to be champions.

Odetta's Wisdom

I don't want this treasure to get lost. It's on my Princeton Comment blog but buried, two years old. So I'm putting it here as well, to look at when I need to:

“Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous. Actually who are you not to be? You are a child of god. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.”

“We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some of us. It is in every one. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Shall Live Joyous Days

Dear Kids

When you think of the Book of Job, do you remember that Seatrain song we used to play all the time? In the early '70s, a band called Seatrain did a landmark interpretation of Job's lament and it frequently found its way to our turntable.

This week my Disciples study group is reading Job, and I asked George if we had it. He found it on YouTube, even better than the original because somebody's put energizing videos to it. To start a faith conversation with in your family, put this on!

Technical note re the Satan character -- he is not the devil of Christian tradition but a celestial being who is the adversary of the humans on earth.

Come to think of it, what kind of YouTube video could you/us make? (And who wants the part of Eliphaz?)

E Ala E: The heavens declare the glory

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I learned the Hawaiian sunrise chant "E Ala E" at an unlikely place -- the parking lot of a hotel on Kauai. It was taught by a Niihau native who was a Marriott employee. She teaches the sun chant to tourists at the Kauai Marriott.

The Niihau islanders bring this chant, every month, to healing ceremonies for Kaho' olawe, the island sacred to Hawaii's ocean god, which was desecrated and finally abandoned by the military.

A week later, on the island of Maui, we drove to the top of the volcano Haleakala for sunrise, and as gold and red colors filled the sky, a ranger just behind me sang the sun rise chant, with rabbinical power, a goosebump moment.

Last week in our PUMC Discipleship class we studied the Creation stories, including Psalm 19, 4b-6. "In the heavens he has a set a tent for the sun, which comes out like a bridegroom from his wedding canopy, and like a strong man runs its course with joy. Its rising is from the end of the heavens, and its circuit to the end of them, and nothing is hidden from its heat." I had paired that Psalm to a sunrise photo and liked the bridegroom/wedding canopy image and "strong man runs the course with joy."

Last month we had two wonderful sun-rise encounters, while on a Tauck America's Canyonlands Tour. At the Grand Canyon, we arrived at our lookout point in pitch dark, dressed for the chill, to watch the wonder unfold.
At Bryce, the light cast on the hoodoos was also well-worth losing sleep.

It was a spiritual experience, deepened by opportunities to interact with Navajo guides who shared their faith. Thanks to YouTube, here are sun-awakening songs from Native Americans who have somehow, in a white man's world, retained their inner strength and harmony with God and nature.

This Comanche Peyote song greets the dawn on Sunday morning. From the caption: It is to be sung on the birth of a new Sunday. When the sunlight hits the sky in the early dawn morning. When the very edge of the sun rays meet the silver glimmer of the clouds and the sky. It's lyrics are in reference to the beginning of a new day. A new day that brings comfort and happiness. This songs asks for God (The Creator) to make the prayers a reality.

Here is an early morning blessing from the Navajo.

After these glories of Creation, it seems small-minded to worry about whether to interpret the Genesis Creation stories literally. To quote from the Disciple study: "The Jews, who have lived with Genesis for a long time, are amazed that Christians want to literalize the poetry...The symbol of seven days is a faith statement...seven days are poetic symbols to show form and to remind us to order our lives as God has ordered the universe."

As suggested by Psalm 90:4: "A thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, or like a watch in the night."

In other words, worry less about creationism vs evolution and more about keeping the Sabbath, more about blessing each new day, especially on the seventh day.

One more -- a beautiful Cherokee morning song.

Well-Planned -- or Summoned Lives?

Should you plan your life out in your 20s, like Harvard Business School prof Clayton Christiansen advocates? Or let it happen according to circumstance? David Brooks, in today's New York Times oped piece, presents the contrast:

The person leading the Well-Planned Life emphasizes individual agency, and asks, “What should I do?” The person leading the Summoned Life emphasizes the context, and asks, “What are my circumstances asking me to do?”

Instead, I think the best answer is, like Dion says, "Both."

Reading Christiansen's lecture reveals that, when he was a Rhodes scholar, he dedicated an hour every day to "reading, thinking, and praying about why God put me on this earth." He says that a shocking number of HBS students have not contemplated their purpose in life.

People who are driven to excel have this unconscious propensity to underinvest in their families and overinvest in their careers—even though intimate and loving relationships with their families are the most powerful and enduring source of happiness.

Another Christiansen quote from this well-worth-reading essay:

If you want your kids to have strong self-esteem and confidence that they can solve hard problems, those qualities won’t magically materialize in high school. You have to design them into your family’s culture—and you have to think about this very early on. Like employees, children build self-esteem by doing things that are hard and learning what works.

Christiansen essentially teaches in parables: When people ask what I think they should do, I rarely answer their question directly. Instead, I run the question aloud through one of my models. I’ll describe how the process in the model worked its way through an industry quite different from their own. And then, more often than not, they’ll say, “OK, I get it.” And they’ll answer their own question more insightfully than I could have.

How to choose between the Well-Planned Life (which Brooks attributes to Christiansen) and the Summoned Life (a roll-with-the punches approach)? I would say you can do both. Think ahead what your moral, ethical, and religious guidelines are going to be. Then adapt and stay fast on your feet.

Bay Head and Rokeby

Bay Head -- those in our family know what Bay Head is.

Rokeby is the 43-room house on the Hudson River owned by Livingstons and Astors, now inhabitaed by impecunious descendants. Very different. But in a New York Times article today, there are a couple of points worth taking note of:

"Like most family histories, Rokeby's story is wildly subjective, and its 'truth" depends on your vantage point."

"It's the place that makes my heart sing and my head ache. But it's kind of amazing that 50 years later, Rokeby is intact, family owned, and debt free."

Here's the line we might need to heed:

"The tension...is between people needing space and the stuff needing space, because nothing can be thrown away."

Think: Attic.

Creating Sabbath Peace

Creating Sabbath Peace Amid the Noise is an article I want to ponder.