While I often sported a bikini in my pre-childbearing years, since babies came calling more than 30 years ago, I consigned the skimpy beachwear to the donation bin. A few days of people-watching on the sun-drenched beach makes me wish other people had done the same. Don't get me wrong -- I appreciate the varying sizes and shapes of bodies of all ages, but I could do with a little less skin.
Will my only gift from the sea be such a shallow revelation? Hopefully the next day or two will bring more substantive and inspiring images, but for now, my most influential life reminder of 2013 was gleaned from a side trip before the trek to Maine.
With only a bit of trepidation, Larry and I offered to take the lovely Madelyn Simone, age 3, with us as we journeyed to Maine, so we could spend a couple of days at the home of my mother in Tonawanda, New York. While there, we splashed in the pool with my sister's sons, ages 9 and 7, and planned an excursion with them to Fantasy Island, a family-oriented amusement park across the river from my hometown.
Madelyn's eyes were wide as saucers as we pulled the wagon through the park, eagerly climbing aboard every ride in Kiddieland. She wasn't keen on waiting her turn, but quickly got the hang of it as she watched the other kids at work. Her only major meltdown came when she wasn't allowed to ascend the hill of the giant roller coaster -- "I big enough, Nana."
Ah, the lessons to be learned at the amusement park, of cowardice and courage, of bravado, and of the persistent love of parents as they wave each time their child comes into sight on the merry-go-round's rotations.
But what struck me most at Fantasy Island had nothing to do with the thrill of the rides or the sweetness of cotton candy melting on my tongue. Instead, it was the reminder that because of Fantasy Island, my life changed forever. Why, you might ask? Did I kiss the love of my life in the Tunnel of Love? No, for as we watched the Wild West show outside the Golden Nugget Saloon, I remembered -- Fantasy Island was the reason I met the Salvation Army.
Here's the quick version. As a freshman, I took organ lessons from an accomplished high school musician in the hope that I could become the organist at my church someday. I loved the swelling notes that filled the sanctuary, and worked hard to master the pedal tones to accompany my more practiced hands on those early Bach preludes.
One spring day, my instructor told me of his summer job in the Golden Nugget at Fantasy Island, a first step on his career in music performance. As a result, he had a church job he couldn't keep and asked if I would be interested.
So at the breath-taking rate of $4.25 per week, I began to accompany the singing of that small congregation -- morning and evening. That was the beginning of the rest of the story, a story of great joy and sorrow that wound its way through camp, college and courtship, parked for a while in inner city Philadelphia and Cleveland, and ultimately brought me to Ashland.
In retrospect, these unexpected turns may take us by surprise, but their notes also set the course for the days and years ahead. Some call it luck, fate or happenstance, but I claim Evelyn Underhill's image instead. No coincidences -- instead, God's universe in the act of rhyming, with tones heard once again in the simple yet profound notes of the Bach prelude, the rhythmic splash of the ocean waves and the gentle laughter of my granddaughter -- enough insight for a lifetimeSee More
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