From Aunt Jenny
2021-22
December 2, 2021
Stories about Aunt Pat
Aunt Pat
Pat Owen – Mom’s (Margaret Mae Penn Elam) sister born 1/20/1926
Patsy Thompson Penn Owen married to Buzzie (MV Owen) a little before Mom and Dad (Margaret and David) got married so about 1948.
They lived in Dayton, Ohio (last address was 1975 Burnham Lane, Dayton) until they moved to Florida when I was 16, so 53 years ago. Along with Aunt Bet (Betsy Burton Penn Reichardt), I helped Pat and Buzzie move to Florida, both their Danish Christmas plate business called The Viking Import House and their home. Bet loved to lie by the swimming pool after a hard day’s work so I remember the pool.
Pat and Buzzie and Bet and Ernie (they were later divorced) and others played music. Pat played the accordion and Buzzie played an electric mandolin. I loved music so that was special time. Pat loved to feed the animals from the woods on her back patio. She always said to me, “Take in the beauty of nature and you will become beautiful.”
I was Aunt Pat’s maid before she moved to Florida. She was the most meticulous housekeeper I ever knew. If there were even a streak on the tile in the bathroom, I had to do it over. I love it that she taught me how to clean house (even if I don’t keep house like she did).
Pat and Buzzie had a boat built in Norway and from 1964-66, they sailed it across the ocean. Amazing! Not long after that is when they wanted to move to Ft. Lauderdale so they could sail their boat, called the Viking.
They moved – 2100 So Ocean Drive, Apt 17L, Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33316
An amazing condo that looks over the harbor and ocean.
After Buzzie died (he was a lot older than Pat), she started a foundation called Second Chance Society to benefit people who are homeless. That continues. Pat worked there until the pandemic.
Last week I went to Ft Lauderdale for Thanksgiving so I could see my aunt. I had not seen her in a long time. I was so glad to see her and sad too.
Jenny and Pat visit Thanksgiving week, 2021
View from Sky Harbor East
Ft Lauderdale harbor at night from Pats condo
View from Pat’s condo
The Viking
Young Aunt Pat Owen
Jenny and Aunt Pat at Thanksgiving dinner, 2021
January’s story was published in “Passing the Torch” an edited book by Chuck Fager. Chuck wanted to highlight the legacies of 11 Quakers he believed have led amazing lives. Download it here
Years ago I did not like Valentines Day. Then I decided to send love with Valentines to everyone like we did in second grade. Now I love Valentines’ Day.
I went on an art-making binge this week. The title of the collection is “Hidden Love Emerging.”
These two represent how we seek hearts of perfect love with little hearts of perfect love around us. In reality, there are bits and pieces of the love (heart) hidden in all kinds of places, emerging a little bit at a time.
The title of the whole thing is “Hidden Love Emerging.”
Transforming Trauma Using Creative Expression
(from the darkness, the Light starts to come in, until finally it shines forth; the blue sky alternates with rain, and finally, the green growth brings the new day)
The Personal Becomes the Universal, The Universal Becomes the Personal: Microcosm
HATE: Betrayal of them and me
I never felt hated, until now.
At my daddy’s memorial, his granddaughter quoted him as saying,
“I never understood hate.”
Now it is the norm across my country.
Now it is norm in my family, as microcosm.
They hate me because I am different.
They hate me because I left. Coming back doesn’t count anymore.
They hate me for my religion. Quakerism is just a mysterious evil.
They hate me for my politics. Snowflake liberal.
Supporting choice and gay rights brought the “wrath of God on our country.”
They hate me for getting educated. There’s never been a Ph.D. in THIS family.
They hate me for betraying them,
When I was following my callings.
God, I listened as best as I knew how.
Now I realize that I listened well and I did betray them.
I did betray myself too.
I changed to “get along” in a world that does not accept Appalachian people.
As the good professor said, “Now you get it from both sides.”
And that is how it is NOW, in my new family,
And that is how it is NOW, in the new America.
And that is how it is NOW, in the new world.
(end of part 1)
Out There-ness
I was targeted by HATE…HATE CRIME…TERRORISTIC THREAT…how can that be? I never hated anyone. I am traumatized.
I try to tell others….
Faces
Look back at me blankly;
Faces
Say, “But, you are not Muslim, Black, Latino, LGBT…”
Faces
Say, “But, you are privileged…”
Faces
Look back at me blankly;
Faces
Say, “I am here to HELP others – you are too much like me.”
Faces
Say, “You are telling me that it could be me.”
Faces
Say, “I have not faced that possibility.”
Voices
Change the subject, and move on with the REAL agenda.
Out there-ness…denial…win again. They CAN’T be with me. Now, I am too scary!
Respect Me Instead
When you call the police and lie so they will charge me with a felony, I am shocked; that is cruelty; you are better than that!
When you lie and tell my dad that I am swindling his money, I feel very sad that you are paranoid; that is cruelty; you are better than that!
When you lie and say I am evil and am aggressive toward me, I feel abused; that is cruelty; you are better than that!
When I watch a cancer on my mother’s beautiful face go untreated, I can’t bear it; a person is more than a diagnosis; that is cruelty; you are better than that!
When you obstruct the work I do, I feel frustrated; that is cruelty; you are better than that!
When you tell me I must leave and never come back and that you will abuse me until I do; I feel helpless; that is cruelty; you are better than that.
You make sure the house is so clean so that no one suspects the psychological cruelty that goes on; you do so many things well, you are better than that!
They lied to you when they told you that HATE represents strength and power; it does not; HATE engenders cruelty; you are better than that!
I wonder: What does LOVE look like in the face of this HATE?
The things that happen to me always happen to prepare me for service to God. I have wondered how being hated could serve. Then I realized how privileged a life I have led to be 62-years-old before I experienced unbridled HATE. There are so many others that experience this kind of HATE not for anything they have done but for who they are. I will follow the calling to serve.
You must really love me to hate me this much.
I think you hate me because I left. You are afraid I will leave again. Abuse binds me to you forever, so even though my body may leave, you make sure my spirit is with you always. This is cruelty; you are better than that!
Really, all you have to do is respect me instead.
When I stopped at the imaging center, I was on my way to get ice cream; chocolate chip with cherries, vanilla, or both…that was the big decision on my mind…
I had planned a little party for my mom’s birthday; she was 85 and didn’t get out much, so I invited people over for a special celebration. I went to town to get some last-minute things like ice cream and balloons. And I had made an appointment to get those extra mammogram images made that had been requested.
I live in Pennsylvania and was in Kentucky where my parents and most of my family lived. I grew up a farmer’s daughter. I had undiagnosed allergies and hated the constant breathing issues. I blamed it all on the farm. I committed at a very young age to going to college and NOT being a farmer. I appreciate the farm life a lot more now. At 87, my dad still farmed and I lived far away. Such conflict – can’t go back and can’t stay away. I had been there for about six weeks because Dad had been very sick. He was feeling better and I planned to go home the next day after the birthday party.
So, I found the imaging center at Central Baptist Hospital and thought I’d be there about 15 minutes, half-an-hour tops. After being there half-an-hour, they finally called me in for the images. After the images, they said, “Well, now we need to do an ultra-sound” and they had called in a doctor. I said OK and we did the ultra-sound…interesting. After the ultra-sound, they said, “Well, now we need to do a biopsy” and the doctor was starting to get serious. NEEDLES? I said, OK and we did the biopsy. Ouch, that hurt! After the biopsy, the doctor came in looking very serious and said, “OK, who do you want for your surgeon? It looks like you have cancer.” SURGEON? CANCER?? YOU WANNA CUT ME WHERE?? NOT ME!!
But, what I said out loud was, “Hole on jest a dang minute!!! Sorry, but I’m hostin’ a birthday party tonight and it’s time for me to get back to my shoppin’ for it.” And in that moment, my Southern accent came out, full force, like I rarely hear.
Three hours had gone by. The nurse said she would call me Monday with the more exact results of the biopsy. I knew they were wrong. No one in MY family has breast cancer; strokes and heart attacks yes, but not breast cancer. Monday came and you know how that story ended…or should I say began.
By the way, my Mama loved her birthday party!
Through Arts and Spirituality, the inner artist emerges. But early teachings that art is only about talent must be overcome. Creativity then can become a means of communicating with the Creator. Letting go of feelings of shame and inadequacy then learning to live up to the potential that the shame has been hiding are necessary to move confidently in the realm of Creativity. This connection with our Creator moves us out of fear and toward fearlessness. We learn to discern leadings and follow them. The experience of making art in this way can be similar to what happens in Meeting for Worship when someone stands and gives vocal ministry. For me, my soul’s hunger, and this newfound joy in co-creating with my Creator in a new way, led to my need to make hundreds of pots and paintings. Raw materials of the soul can be turned into the beauty of the Arts as the Arts become raw materials of the soul’s further growth.
Living My Potential
When I came to Pendle Hill in 1996, art had no place in my life. At least I did not know its’ place. By second grade, I had learned that I had no talent. However, as part of the PH experience, I enrolled in Sally Palmer’s class, “Explorations in Clay.” At that time, I felt like I had a black brick in my chest. At times I had trouble breathing. I knew the feeling was about not living up to my potential, but I had no idea what was needed. I remember telling someone about that black brick and referring to it as a clay brick. Each time I made a pot that term, I felt as though a piece of clay had been pinched off from the black, clay brick. The sensation of the brick disappeared by the end of my seventh art class at Pendle Hill.
Judge on the Shelf: Letting Go of Fear and Crippling Judgment
When I began that first clay class, I was crippled with fear. I knew I could not do anything related to art and had no idea what I was doing there. At a deeper level, I also knew I was exactly where I was called to be. During one of the first classes, my teacher, Sally Palmer, told us to make an image of our judges, then put the judge on the shelf. We could consult the judge if we needed to, but we were to let them sit on the shelf while we did our work. Getting perspective on the inner judge and its proper role in our lives became a lesson that enhanced my life. I often hear others talking about being shamed in their early lives and the role of the inner judge as destructive in their lives. That inner judge is tricky because we need it when we want to cross the street safely, but we also need it to learn its proper role in our lives and sit on the shelf when we are learning new and important life lessons.
Sally’s Method: Embracing Gratitude, Beauty, Joy, and Play
Sally never gave us anything but positive feedback about our work. She seemed to value any expression that came from our soul’s work. Our work was not compared to anyone else’s nor to any other external standard of perfection. The task was to find what was inside of us and know our Self as a unique and beautiful creation of God. If it seemed ugly, it was probably not finished; sometimes she encouraged us to work more on those pieces. Isn’t that a wonderful metaphor for our lives? When we have ugliness in our lives, it may just mean that we are unfinished and have more work to do. No need for shame.
The art work was also “play.” Having permission to play in this way was very new to me, and liberating! Play opened and lightened our hearts, allowing deeper exploration of ourselves and the Divine.
Body Prayer
I became aware of the relationship between movement, worship, and art in classes on Creativity and Mysticism at Pendle Hill and Friends General Conference. Although I had danced in many forms, this was my first introduction to movement as “body prayer.” I learned a beautiful body prayer with the words: “Thank you, praise you, and bless me to go out to the world in your service.” Movement of the body in worshipful dance, movement of color on the paper, and movement of the Spirit in our life’s stories, they flow together.
Energy of Spirit Flows Through
One of the most powerful exercises we did in that first “Explorations in Clay” class involved Sally asking us to write for seven minutes about God, Love, or any concept of a Higher Power in our lives. From that writing, a poem came. We were then to hold the clay and let whatever was to happen, happen. My hands formed an image. I did not know what it was. But at the end of the assignment, I knew that I had not finished what was calling. I had to keep going with another ball of clay as she talked.
When class was over, I looked at the figure and it was very clear to me that it was a pair of angel wings enfolding a head in despair. It was a very closed figure. The second figure was very open, as if Spirit energy were being invited in. (See these two figures in Co-Creation, page 13.)
This assignment was the greatest experience I had ever had of feeling Spirit energy flowing through me and creating, using my hands. The creation was not planned or directed by me. I did not have the skill to plan and execute the form as it came. My hands were again working with the Creator, just as one’s voice does when giving vocal ministry in Meeting for Worship.
This experience left me with a prayer that God would work through me in that way; this became my prayer for co-creation in all areas of my life.
Ugly to Acceptable to Beautiful: More Co-creating with My Creator
At the beginning of the first class, I was unable to tolerate looking at my own creations. They just looked too ugly. After only one term of constant validation, having it explained that this creation energy is God’s work and that I am the vessel, I came to view it as very insulting to God not to accept my work that I was given to do. In accepting myself as a vessel for God’s work, I can now see the work as beautiful co-creation with my Creator – another apt analogy for life.
Books, Poetry, and Color: From Raw and Threatening to Beautifully Human
I took a wonderful class in book making with Paulus Berensohn. From the “paste papers” as raw materials coming from the depths of us, we made beautiful books. In making books and poetry, we took the soul’s raw material and massaged it into products that were acceptable to send out to the world. Yet another important metaphor for my life emerged. Often our soul’s rawest states are not acceptable to others; we can even be seen as crazy. I learned that the soul’s rawest materials in the emotions and difficult states of mind can be massaged into that which is beautiful and human through Arts and poetry. The material becomes acceptable to others in ways that verbal expressions of the same material can be seen as crazy, and disregarded. The creative expressions are more likely to be seen in their human-ness and become less threatening to others. Through Arts, humans can talk about what cannot be spoken. Tragedy can be transformed and safely shared with others. (See these books in Containers of Soul, page 13.)
Festival Week: Creative Flower Blossoms
Pendle Hill had a resident student program for about 80 years. At the end of each term, we had an Arts show in the studio. Each student showed their creations and had a chance to talk about their work. For me, this was a place where a part of me that had never seen the light of day could safely shine forth. There was no criticism of each other’s work, only support to broaden horizons and perspectives, with appreciation.
The creative flower blossomed inside of me in that safe environment and I developed a deep desire to move out into the world. (See Flower Dedicated to My Second Grade Teacher, page 13.)
When I was little, my Mama took us to Sunday School. I particularly remember the little Methodist Church in Graefenberg, KY. Here are a lot of lessons I learned and want to pass on as legacy. I also went to Henry Clay Elementary School from 2nd to 4th grades and learned a lot during that time.
Life Lessons I Learned at a Young Age that have Served Me Well (Not that I Live Them Perfectly Nor Do You Have to Live them Perfectly to Live Them Well):
**Living with what some call “habits of thrift” have served me well. Or as my Grandma used to say, “Waste Not, Want Not.” I have read that learning “habits of thrift” and not wasting your money is the single most important lesson for those in poverty to get out. It was/is for me!
Be sure all of these have ever-changing meaning and are more than words and clichés.
A FEW YEARS AGO, on a beautiful Kentucky spring day, I went for a walk with a little girl who was three. Her name was Amy. As we walked through the woods together, she ran up to a wildflower.
Showing me small details inside the flower, Amy said, “Look, Jenny, look at that!” Then she found a rock. “Oh, Jenny, look at this!” It looked like an ordinary rock to me, but she reveled in its shape and coloring. Then she ran and pointed to a beautifully detailed piece of tree bark. With a tone of hushed awe and wonder, she looked straight into my eyes and whispered, “Oh, Jenny!”
That walk was one of the greatest gifts anyone has given me. It taught me to stand in awe of Creation. It taught me to let nature provide me with daily sustenance. Because of that walk with a three-year-old girl, my first utterance of the day is now thanks for the trees outside my window and for the birds that awaken me with their singing. And because of that walk with a three-year-old girl, I now often take walks along a nearby creek.
For eight days in a row one fall, I communed with a pair of blue herons. One day, after missing them for a few weeks, I felt drawn to a part of the creek along which I don’t usually walk, and there my heart leapt. Standing stately and still, its gray-blue feathers blending into the trunk of a tree, was one of the herons. I felt blessed to be in the presence of such style and gracefulness.
Sometimes I sit quietly on a rock by the creek. I feel the water rush by. Cares seem to float away as worries find their proper place. My energy rises. Squirrels play and fuss, rustling the leaves. My heart soars. In the water, I see the deep reflection of majestic trees—and realize that Life is all around me. As my own creative spirit begins to flow, I am thankful for Life and Creation.
I thank Amy – and all the other children in my life – for the many lessons they have taught me.
In October of 2018, I attended a political rally related to the appointment of Brett Cavanaugh to the Supreme Court. I have attended a lot of rallies in recent years for many causes. This one was different, for me.
About 25 of us stood on one corner holding various signs related to solidarity with women speaking out about sexual assault. Most of the 25 were women but 2 men also. Across the street, there were three men holding American flags and wearing hats that said, “Make America Great Again.”
The rally was held on a very busy corner just outside of Kennett Square, PA. Many cars went by. Most honked, did a thumbs up, or in some way indicated their agreement with our cause. A few cars went by, the driver gave us the finger, and yelled, “F___ you, Make America Great Again.” None of that was terribly surprising. However, what was surprising was that many of the people I was standing with responded to the profanity with similar profanities, gestures, and even tried to out-do the drivers. I knew I was clearly NOT called to be a part of that behavior – independent of positions on the cause.
I stood there for a few more minutes and was extremely uncomfortable. I KNEW I did not belong there. A feeling of helplessness overcame me. If I don’t belong here with those whose positions I agree with, where do I belong? Without much thought, I found myself crossing the street with ease and saying to the three men, “I am here to listen respectfully and would like the same in return.” That action had the quality of being called to vocal ministry in meeting. Crossing that street and saying those words was not planned. Their response to me initially was to curse and say, “We are not talking to you. Go home. You don’t belong here. Talking to you would be like talking to a brick wall.” I repeated, “I am here to listen respectfully and would like the same in return.” Two of the men continued to be very rude but one man started talking to me. He told me what I would expect: “Trump is the greatest president we have ever had” and “Kavanaugh has done nothing wrong.” It seemed like Fox News was on one corner and CNN on the other; people were repeating what the talking heads on both sides had said. There was little thinking and no listening going on.
After listening to that man talk, I went home. All the way home what went through me was the words, “Called to cross the street.” That phrase has come back many times. I have been exploring what those words might mean. Will you join me in that exploration?
What might it mean to be called to cross the street?
Hi Friends and friends!
I used to love to play softball when I was a kid. My last team that I played on when I lived in Berea was called Friends and friends. So, when I write that, I think of softball in Berea.
Happy Thanksgiving! I went to a sweet meeting at Middletown Preparative Meeting this morning – 18 people and Roscoe were present. Sweet sharing and lots of snacks, even Candace Davis’ George Fox cookies.
I want to share a story for Thanksgiving.
As I was peeling eggs last night for making deviled eggs, this thought came into my head: I wonder if I could come up with 2018 gratitudes. I focused on peeling eggs and thinking about all the many many times I have peeled eggs. My Mama always wanted deviled eggs for every occasion but she did not like to peel them and I don’t mind so I would do that. Every occasion included family birthdays, anniversaries, Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas and any other event that came along – deviled eggs. And she always wanted to make not just a few deviled eggs but 3 dozen at a time. That is a lot of deviled eggs! My friend, Audrey, watched me making them recently and said I made deviled eggs faster than anyone she has ever seen. I said, “Audrey, I have made a LOT of deviled eggs in my life.” So, I started my gratitudes with every time in my life I have peeled an egg. A good start. By the way, my Mama was adamant and did not call them deviled eggs. She and my grandma who also loved to make and eat deviled eggs always called them dressed eggs. They wanted NO DEVILS IN THEIR EGGS!
Next, I cooked some pumpkin. I love pumpkin and bought a bunch of “heirloom pumpkins” from Wolff’s that looked more like squash to me but nevertheless….I cooked a bunch of it. And I had an idea of what I was doing. I almost never cook by recipes, just never learned that way. Most of the time it works out; sometimes it doesn’t. I made a huge mess. Then I had to clean up my mess. Kinda an apt metaphor for life. So, the second step in my gratitudes was to be grateful for every single mess I have ever made and for cleaning up messes.
I went along this line of thinking for a while being grateful for all the times I took walks, went dancing, and more and more and more. But once at the stage of gratitude for messes, I clearly got beyond the intended 2018 quickly. I don’t even know what the number is that I finally got to… but a LOT of gratitudes.
AND I am so very grateful for faithful folks in my life and all the many things I do and enjoy!
Big love and blessings galore
Jennifer
