Anne and Sue: twin souls
By BILL DUNCAN
The Elder Statesman
It is funny the things you find out about your children after they become adults.
Because, she blogs, I have just now discovered something about my second daughter, Sue. She wrote:
“When I was in grade school, I used to secretly go into my parents’ bedroom and look at their things. I silently studied artifacts left on nightstands, dressers, and if I was really brave, their closets. Sometimes I read articles left unfinished on my dad’s typewriter, or I’d try on my mom’s red patent leather heels. It was in the middle of one of these forays that I found the book, “A Gift From the Sea,” by Anne Morrow Lindbergh on a nightstand in their bedroom.
“At the time I couldn’t really understand what the book was about, but as I read random pages, I remember being impressed that mere seashells could reveal truths. I rediscovered this book many years later, more deeply enjoying the lyrical words and iconic images and this time I soaked in the real purpose of the book: relationships, particularly the marriage relationship. I still marvel at the insights Anne found in the rhythms of creation.
“She talks about one of those rhythms comparing the ebb and flow of the tides to relationships in community and its polar opposite, solitude. Observing the sea, Anne realized that we swing between the two.”
It is not surprising, that Sue wrote those words since she comes from parents who are both writers, but in addition to discovering one of her secrets – actually, just being a good reporter like her parents – I got an inside view of a very talented writer.
When I told her I was going to “steal” her blog comments for a column, she e-mailed me to ask if I was upset with her sneaking into the bedroom. Absolutely not. If she found Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s classic book and got so much depth from it, what more could a parent ask from an offspring.
She continues in her blog:
“Is there not here [at the seashore] even a hint of an understanding and an acceptance of the winged life of relationships, of their eternal ebb and flow, of their inevitable intermittency? We leap at the flow of tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity — in freedom.
“Anne believed that if we accepted the tides of relationships, we would also discover the wonders found in the ebb of solitude. Speaking of the ebb-tide, Anne wrote, ‘In this crystalline moment of suspense, one has a sudden revelation of the secret kingdom at the bottom of the sea. How can one learn to live through the ebb-tides of one’s existence? How can one learn to take the trough of the wave? It is easier to understand here on the beach, where the breathlessly still ebb-tides reveal another life below the level which mortals usually reach.’”
Then Sue waxes poetically:
“Solitude, I think, disengages us from false connections to people and things, the entanglements of will – ours and others. Almost in contradiction, solitude helps us value people more, see them more clearly. It also gives us a rest from the flood of activities we swim through every day. It gives us all-important perspective and creatively revives us. It is necessary to our balance.”
Sue wraps up her blog with a final quote from Anne Morrow Lindbergh:
“Perhaps this is the most important thing for me to take back from beach-living; simply the memory that each cycle of the tide is valid; each cycle of the wave is valid; each cycle of a relationship is valid. Holding back our need for solitude or our need for community is as unnatural as holding a tide back. If that were even possible, the strength to hold it back would be exhausting. And so do we exhaust ourselves when we don’t honor our need for both community and solitude.”
No, daughter, I am not upset about your revelation. I am proud that I left you this legacy.
(Bill Duncan can be reached at bduncan@nrtoday or by writing to P.O. Box 812, Roseburg, OR 97470.)