Associations

I just came back home from three weeks on St. Croix (in the U.S. Virgin Islands), where I had a wonderful time.

The initial reason for the trip was to photograph the wedding of a friend’s daughter.

When she asked me to do it, I eagerly agreed. A week back home in the islands! Of course you could count me in! Then I figured if I was going to go for a week, might as well make it worth my while (and the cost of the plane ticket) and stay a couple of additional weeks.

I was ecstatically happy at the prospect. My jealous roommate not so much. And my very affectionate cat, who is extremely attached to me, even less so.

Because, you see, Spookie thinks he’s a dog – or maybe even a human. He comes when he’s called. He lies down on command. He runs to answer the phone when it rings. When the dogs get leashed up to go out and do their thing, he runs to join the troop and joins them on their journey.

Well, as much as he is like a dog, he also thinks he’s human. He talks to me. If he’s talking to me and I ignore him, he reaches out a paw and taps me two or three times to get my attention – just like the kids did when they were little. And if he doesn't get his way, he often will go sit on his scratch pad and actually pout.

He steals straws out of drinks - but only the red ones. And most peculiarly of all, he loves jewelry - especially sparkly, dangly things. Necklaces, dangle earrings…

When he is in a frisky mood, he gets up on the desk and reaches up to my jewelry box and scoops off anything I’ve carelessly left on top, rather than put away.

He’s even been caught trying to pull open the jewelry box drawers on occasion to get at the things within when I haven’t left anything out.

I have quite a collection of single earrings whose partners have inexplicably disappeared.

Well, he also gets into the jewelry when he’s mad at me. And he certainly showed his displeasure with my vacation while I was gone.

It started when he saw the suitcase come out. He instantly became sullen; lying inside the suitcase in hopes it would prevent me from putting things in it (on top of him.) And once it was packed, he lay on top of it, daring me to try to move it.

While I was gone, to register his protest, he got into my necklaces.

He carried one out into the living room to his favorite scratching post. He put two more in my bed, and yet another in his litter box. The rest, he just scrambled up into knots and left on the desk and the floor.

I guess he thinks of them when he thinks of me. There is a definite association in his mind. (I’ve not yet checked the rest of my jewelry for missing pieces.)

We all have certain associations we make with others: things, actions and feelings associated with them.

While in St. Croix, I attended the huge Good Hope vs. Country Day championship soccer game.

Some things never change. That was the big rivalry when I lived on the island decades ago.

It is something akin to our version of the USC vs. UCLA rivalry.

Sitting there watching the exciting game, I was surprised when my friend, Daisy, leaned over and said to me, “You see that ref – the tall one out there? That’s Mr. Frederick!”

“You mean Luke B. Frederick?” I asked, stunned.

“Yep.”

“Nuh uh!” I said. “Luke B. Frederick?”

She laughed at my denial and assured me it was.

The reason I was shocked was that Luke B. Frederick had been our 5^th grade teacher! (And our 8^th grade teacher.) Mr. Frederick, the tall, dashing teacher who demanded respect.

He expected you to have your homework done in your copy notebook.

And as he came up and down the aisle checking books, if he found an empty page where homework should have been, he was known to take the offender’s notebook and throw it out the 2^nd story window. We learned to do our homework.

If he was writing on the board and heard someone whispering in class, he sometimes would give you a verbal warning without looking back.

And other times, he would whirl around and fling his chalk at the offender with deadly aim. We learned not to talk in class.

But this man who fervently demanded respect had a heart of gold. He is the one who finally convinced the nuns to allow us girls to play interscholastic sports.

And then he provided the matching T-shirts that became our volleyball ‘uniforms,’ and provided transportation to the game for those of us who had none.

Afterward, he would take us home – even if we lived way out to the end of nowhere as I did.

So I had an incredible respect for this man. In fact, he was one of the two teachers who most influenced me.

I’d always thought it would be wonderful to be able to tell either or both of them how much they’d meant to me.

Especially after becoming a teacher myself. I still love it when my former students come back to touch base with me, or ask me the name of that book I read to them, or to share their latest news or accomplishment.

I finally ended my thirty-year search for Sister Antoinette Gallatelli (my 8^th grade homeroom teacher) not too many months ago when I finally found an obscure mention of her on line. A sole, almost too blurry to recognize, photo of her at a 50^th high school reunion in Albany, New York.

After thirty years of searching, it was such a wonderful thing for me to get in touch with her and catch up. But more importantly to thank her.

And now, completely unexpectedly and without effort, here was my chance to see the other person on my very short list of most influential teachers!

As soon as the game ended, I quickly made my way down onto the field fearful he might get away in the crowd. Wading through the revelers, I finally reached him.

“Mr. Luke B. Frederick?” I asked in my best Crucian accent.

“Yes?”

I told him I wanted to shake his hand and thank him. He looked puzzled – understandably so – and asked why.

I told him it was because he’d been my teacher 40 years ago and he’d taught me a lot about values and respect.

He was so surprised that he grabbed me and paraded me around telling everyone he knew that he’d been my teacher 40 years ago. Only once he ran out of people to tell, did he stop and ask me what my name was.

Bless his heart. I thought that was sweet of him pretending he might remember me.

And when I told him “Liz Carson,” he could have won an Oscar!

His eyes popped out and his jaw dropped. It did my heart good to see him trying to make me believed that he remembered me.

But then he startled me by exclaiming, “Oh my Lord! No!

Not little Lizzie Carson with the long, blond hair who talked too much!?”

(He also remembered that I lived out on East End, and that I loved horses. And he later mentioned that I was always one who was cautious to let people in.)

It was then my turn to have my eyes bug out and my jaw drop.

I had my picture of him. I associated him with passion and kindness and values and respect. And even after all these years, he still had his picture of me. I had long, blond hair and a big mouth! (Better to be a big mouth and be remembered than never to be remembered at all, I guess.)

Things haven’t changed all that much. I still like to talk too much, but the blond has turned brown and grey.

His fiery passion seems to have been replaced by patient commitment, but he still seems to be a kind man of values and respect.

The one association that I was surprised to find changed was the age difference.

Now this man who was a feared and admired pillar of adulthood was a charming man who was only a decade older than me.

He tried a couple of times, during the rest of my stay, to get hold of me, but to no avail.

And he finally got in touch with me two days before I left the island and said he’d love to get together for dinner or something.

So on the last night I was there, he picked me up and took me out to dinner. It was nice to talk about old times, and very briefly about the intervening years. Then to talk about our shared passion for helping others – especially children.

He still helps support children’s sports programs (much like he did when he fought for us to play volleyball.)

He just got new uniforms for the island’s AYSO soccer team that is headed to Miami next month, and is going along with them. And he has volunteered for the Special Olympics for many years.

It was interesting to me how the things with which we associated each other were so accurate - even after all this time.

We had a nice time, and he was chivalrous and charming. It is a shame we hadn't gotten together sooner and had more chance to talk.

I had such a wonderful stay on the island. And it was so nice to find that so many of the associations I had of so many former friendships were still accurate.

Luke B. Frederick is still a kind, chivalrous guy.

Jack is still boisterous and the memory keeper of the group. (Though Luke remembers at least as much, and occasionally more accurately than Jack!)

Jamie still stands, arms crossed, and observes for a while before joining in the conversation. And he still has that great laugh.

It was so good to see so many old friend, and make so many new ones.

I already miss the island terribly, and am really looking forward to a possible return trip in November or December for a book signing.

(Well, except for things from poor Spookie's point of view. And he made his feelings quite clear on the matter on this trip!)

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On Tuesday I got a friends request on Facebook from Samuel Harry Gibbens. I know a couple of Samuels, but none of them are Harrys or Gibbenses, I mused. I was about to click “ignore” when I saw that there was a message included and boy did that take me back a few decades!


Sam (as I’d known him back in 1979/80) had been one of our long-term summer campers at Cedar Falls when I was a counselor up there. Because he had been a four-week-in-a-row camper, he became very familiar with so many of the staff members and formed a special bond. He was like everybody’s kid brother. Huge smile, quick wit, and gorgeous blonde curls/waves.


It was such a kick hearing from him (despite the bitter sweet memories of being madly in love with my now former husband.) I went to his Facebook page and realized – wait! I must have confused him with somebody else! This Samuel Harry Gibbens was forty-two years old and no longer appears to have blonde curls. But there was no mistaking those eyes and that smile.


It got me thinking about how we are so often good at freezing people in our memories and making them mere two-dimensional caricatures of who they really are. Our pictures of them don’t keep up with their growth and development.


My adorable niece (or is it ex-niece if I’m divorced from her uncle?), who was the first child of my heart before I had kids of my own, turned out to be a very gifted and talented 30-something mother of a beautiful baby of her own when I located her on FB a few months ago. I had to look at the photos in her profile over and over before I could reconcile that beautiful woman with the little girl I used to play with and give piggy back rids to.


And then there are my daughters, who I’ve had to work very hard to ‘grow’ in my mind over the years of separation, keeping track of them through friends and photos. 

They are now both grown women also. I remember Erin being ever curious, always popular, very affectionate and kind of sassy. 

But who knows how that profile fits her today. As one friend reminded me recently – she was always attached to you (hanging on your arm, piggy-backing, sitting with her feet in your lap for a massage...)


And in their minds, I am apparently frozen as the woman who fought (unsuccessfully) tooth and nail to prevent them from being tormented by an abusive father. 

In their minds, I am the spiteful bitch their father portrayed. They cannot see the pain and sorrow those years caused me too. 

They don’t see me as a multi-dimensional woman who can be loving and funny and endlessly supportive. They just see me as the mean lady. 
I wish they could know who I am.


And I have to also include my older sister here. Although we have been in touch over the years, she still doesn’t ever see me for who I really am. I think that somehow, without realizing it, she’s frozen me as the helpless cry-baby I was as a child.


In a conversation a few years ago, she was surprised to hear I was on antidepressants. Though I’ve struggled with depression all my life and was finally diagnosed in my mid-thirties, this sister I’ve known for 50 years asked, “What do you need those for? You’ve never been depressed. You just cried a lot because you were a cry-baby!” I had to laugh. (And I thank God for antidepressants and the way they have changed my life dramatically and freed me to be the person I am!)


And when I begged my sister several times over the last year to read the book I was working on (which was finally published last week!) and to help me out by giving me her impressions, she refused every time. She said it was because she didn’t want to ruin it for herself. She only wanted to read it when she could read the whole thing.


I finally convinced her, just recently, to read it with all but the last chapter written. She started Saturday night and could not put it down until after 2:00 a.m. Then she read a few more chapters before Mass on Sunday morning and returned straight from church and started reading again and didn’t stop until the book was finished. She said she was floored and that I was really good at writing. To those who know me, that is not a news flash, but to my sister who refuses to see the me that really is, it was a huge shock.


Over the years, she’s also been stunned to find that I recycle, have contributed to the Audubon Society, have done volunteer work, and that I am a very spiritual person (despite not being Catholic.)


My point is that we all manage in life to put labels on others, be they friends, family, students, neighbors, or strangers we pass on the street. 

It’s a natural thing to do. We are taught to do that from a very early age.



That’s the only way our minds can process the massive amount of information that comes our way on a daily basis. 

We categorize things and group them together and label them. Sometimes we have sub-groups or have to reevaluate our categories, but subconsciously, that is what we do every day. It is a useful strategy for making sense of all the data our brain processes on a constant, ongoing basis.


But in some ways it is a curse. It sometimes keeps us from developing a realistic picture of people, or situations or events. We, as people, are always growing and changing. We cannot help but be influenced by the events and people that come into our lives. And it’s only by taking the time to invest in others that we can get to know them. The same is true with God. Not that God is changing, but that He is so multifaceted and infinite that it would take an eternity to know Him fully.


And I think probably the greatest disservice that we do God is putting Him in a box. Maybe a two-dimensional box. We try to label Him. We’ve all been taught over the years that God is love. God is holy. God is omniscient. God is faithful. All of these things are true and are wonderful. But so very finite. I think they limit our God horribly. He is so much infinitely more.


I think back to an email I got a few years back from a former student who is still like family to me. She was very upset and struggling with the thought of going to heaven. She said, “Don’t take me wrong. I want nothing more than to go to heaven. But I love my boyfriend so much and the Bible tells us that in heaven there will be no marriage nor giving in marriage. I don’t want to be somewhere where I can’t love him.”


I sat at the keyboard for quite a while pondering what to say. Finally I wrote to her saying that our minds, as humans, are so limited. God doesn’t say there won’t be love in heaven. What you will have in heaven will not preclude your loving him.


It’s just that as humans, our concept of love is so carnal and selfish. We love our boyfriends or spouses selfishly, and naturally, don’t want there to be any love interests in their lives. We are needy. Face it.


Because of the void that sin places in our hearts, we are forever trying to fill that hole. And we strive to do it with a constricted, human concept of love; to get what (or whom) we can and hold on tight to that love.


But I suggest that the void in ones heart can never be fully filled with human love. And is it not possible that that hole is there for a reason? To remind us that because of sin, life can never be perfect here on earth. We will continue to try to fill that hole with what there is to offer here on earth until we realize that only God's love can completely fill that void.


I then told her a little about the long, lonely path that led me finally to this conclusion. I told her about losing my mother at age nine and then being sent away to boarding school at age 14 and how rejected and lonely I’d been.


How I’d met my ‘long lost’ aunt (my mother’s sister) while I was in college. I even went to visit her across the country in South Carolina. It was love at first sight for both of us as we hit it off immediately. She begged me to move back to South Carolina and live with her and finish my college at Clemson University nearby.


I told her I was already committed to working at summer camp in California that summer, but I promised I would come back in the fall. But she was killed that summer in a car accident. And yet again my heart was broken. I cried for what seemed an eternity.


I met Eddie that summer and wonder if my falling in love with him wasn't an attempt, once again, to fill the terrible hole left by my Aunt Mary's passing.


I contintued, telling my friend how my heart and family had been destroyed with the abandonment by my husband. Then the further rejection and sorrow inflicted by my own daughters. All of these things she’d known, as she and her family were like family to me.


This was followed by the death years later of a man that I loved. Someone I had met years after I’d given up on ever finding love again. Then, like that, in an instant, he was taken from this world in a matter of days after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. (see previous blog)


The last thing he said to me before he died was, “Liz, promise me that you won’t close your heart down after I’m gone. Promise me you will love again.”
And I’ve learned in the years since then that one can love again. And that our concept of love is so very different of God’s concept of love. So restricting and limiting.


Loving those I’ve lost – my dad, my aunt, my husband, my daughters and John - does not take away or negate that love. And I have not lost anything.  I can forever be thankful for their love, as human and imperfect as that love was.


God’s love doesn’t cling selfishly. It’s not selfish or possessive. And I am sure that none of us can fathom the dimensions of God’s love, nor the beauty of what He has in store for us.




Liz Carson Rosas
6 November 2009




Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. 1 Corinthians 4 - 8