I’m not sure when I realized that there was something missing from my life, but I do know that when I was ten or eleven, I decided that I was compelled to go to church.  I grew up in a suburb of London, England, so the church was Church of England, (Episcopalian).  My father grew up in a Quaker family and my mother’s family was lukewarm C of E. Father was put off church at a very early age, because of the interminable silences he had to sit through at the services.  My mother just wasn’t interested.  This meant that I took the bus off to church every Sunday on my own.  I never hung around or made friends but stuck with it until I went to college. I had two older sisters, seven and nine years older than me and a brother who arrived seven years after I was born.  In many ways, I was like an only child.  Church gave me the comfort of being part of a group who sang and prayed together, and I felt secure in the familiar routine of the services.  The music was a huge part of it, but to be honest, the sermons, not so much. However, I was very aware of the presence of God.  My parents were rather bemused by my dedication but were quite happy to let me do my thing.

My Father was a wonderful artist in oils and a fine woodworker.  I spent many hours in his workshop growing up, making wooden ornaments and framing pictures, etc.  He was a very gentle soul and I loved being with him.  He would play his guitar and sing us children to sleep every night. My mother had to cope with rationing just after World War 2 and had a hard time of it.  However, she was very loving and somehow managed to keep us warm and nourished.  She also taught me to sew and knit.  As you can tell, it’s very hard to say who I am most like.  Perhaps my father because he wasn’t at all academic and hated math.  As do I.

I had an unusually mature singing voice and decided at about nine years old that my ambition was to be either a soloist at the Doyley Carte Opera Company (the original Gilbert and Sullivan company in England), or become a missionary for Eskimos.  My egotistical side and compassionate nature were already having a serious battle here.  

When I was 16, I won two scholarships to the Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London. My time at school had been rather miserable because I was unable to study music there.  College was like a miracle, I was in a magical environment where I was immersed in music, my gifts were recognized, and I was able to grow and prosper.  Although I was no longer going to church, I said ‘thank you God’, every night before going to sleep.  I knew there was something out there guiding me, but it was not quite the God I had envisioned in church.  Never mind, he/she was someone to talk to, I felt cared for.

We were now entering the swinging 60’s and although I wasn’t a hippy, I certainly enjoyed some of the less salubrious activities of the time.  I married when I was 19 and although it finished in divorce, I have two wonderful boys as a result and Colin, my first husband, remained a friend until he died in 2019.  There were some very difficult times during the early days of my marriage, and I’m afraid God was put on the back burner as I tried to muddle my way through.  My belief was sorely tried, and I sometimes wondered why I was allowed to suffer so.  I now know that coming through this period intact and managing to keep my children happy and fed plus earning my keep as a singer made me a much stronger, resilient person in the long run.  I know now that Divine Intelligence, God, was guiding our lives, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time.

I was fortunate to travel widely and sing with many opera companies and symphony orchestras in the 60’s and early 70’s.  There were certainly some barren times, but our little family managed to survive quite well on my earnings.  My belief was still there, but very amorphous and unfocussed.  Something or someone somewhere was guiding me, I knew that.

In the early 70’s, my sister Pat and her family emigrated to Vancouver BC.  I was fascinated at the thought of trying my luck on this continent and arranged auditions for the Vancouver and Seattle opera companies.  You’ve guessed it, Seattle hired me and so I just packed up all my belongings and moved to Seattle, lock, stock and barrel.  Looking back, I realize that was madness, but fifty years later, I know it was the right thing to have done.  Yes, there was also a prosperous Seattle attorney in the picture who I had known for two years.  However, despite promises to the contrary, it turned out that he had no intention of making me his wife. I was stricken, of course.  Shortly thereafter, my car was parked outside a friend’s house and a car thief careening round a corner, hotly pursued by police, crashed into my car.  It was totaled.  Two weeks later, my beloved father passed away.  I was singing the role of Cenerentola, (Cinderella) in the opera of the same name at the time and the Seattle Times picked up the story of all the misfortunes befalling this ‘poor woman’.  Martin Burton, a financial consultant in town, read it and was incensed that I didn’t get anything back from insurance and offered his help.  In fact, I had already met Martin when a matchmaking friend of mine wrangled a meeting at a party.  Something was bringing us together and I know now that Divine intervention was at work.  We were wed soon thereafter and were very happy together until he died, 37 years later.

For the first few years of my marriage, I taught voice at what was then the Cornish Institute. I had a mature student, Sally, who became, and still is, my best friend.  She is a student of metaphysics and introduced me to the works of Mary Baker Eddy and H Emilie Cady.  I was very interested but couldn’t quite embrace all the teachings. However, my mind was opened to New Thought, and much of what I read spoke to me.  Many times, when I was sick or sad, the words ‘there is no life, truth, or intelligence in matter, God is all in all’.  would calm me and bring me great comfort. This is part of a poem, which I hope I have quoted correctly.  

My children were and are a true blessing.  Although Jerry chose to stay in England, and Steve joined me here, both are constantly with me in spirit.  It’s interesting to realize that there are parts of me in both my ‘boys’.  Steve is quite introverted and quiet, which you might be surprised to hear, is also my true nature.  I spend a large amount of time happy to be alone and always have done.  Jerry, on the other hand, is very sociable and easy-going.  As you know, I enjoy being a greeter at church, but find it quite difficult to chat to people I don’t know.  I’m getting better at it, I think.  Both Steve and Jerry have been hugely supportive during the hard times in my life.  Steve also helps in many small ways with computer problems, moving heavy furniture, etc.etc.  I’m blessed.  My grandchildren and great grandson bring me enormous joy and pride.

I have had many wonderful friends throughout my life, and varied in belief, personality, and age they have been.  I love/loved them all!  I had an amazing singing partner, Barbara Coffin who was the most ebullient, charismatic soul you could ever meet.  She was a follower of a swami in India and she and her husband made as many trips to India as they could afford.  The thought of her meditating still makes me smile, because she couldn’t be still for five minutes.  However, she was an avid reader and totally committed to her faith.  We toured together many times and there was never a dull moment.  She made her transition ten years ago and I miss her very much.

Sally, on the other hand, is a Parker, (Monopoly), from Massachusetts and came from a wealthy background where one’s decorum and place in society was thought to be very important.  However, she had always wanted to sing and had the courage to leave the east coast at the age of 50, and follow her husband to Seattle, where he was working on his BA at the U of W.  She joined my young voice students at Cornish. She was rather reserved and somewhat introverted but had the courage to throw convention to the wind and push through all her inhibitions and sing.  I admired this so much.  As I have already mentioned, we became, and are, bosom buddies, although, much to my dismay, she moved back to the east coast fifteen years ago.

At Mirabella, my best friend, Ann, is a wonderful mixture of compassion and common sense.  She is honest, occasionally almost to the point of bluntness, butwould have my back whatever the situation.  We think alike on so many subjects and enjoy music and movies together.  She has a much more analytical mind than I do so our weekly dinners are always full of interesting insights on any subject ranging from the Barbie movie to a Bach concert.

Finally, I have one special quilting friend, another Carolyn, who is the most empathetic person I know.  We just seem to think the same and she’s a truly loving soul.

I’m so lucky to have these special people in my life.  Each one brings a gift of comfort, keeps me on my toes or amuses me.  All are spiritual in their own way.

My siblings, Elise Pat and Nicholas, became dearer and dearer to me as the years went by and the difference in our ages seemed to dwindle in importance. Sadly, Elise and Pat are no longer with us, and I miss them sorely. Our family has always been guided by our parents’ creed: ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’, and we were all so fortunate to know that we were loved unequivocally. The other special person in my life was Pat’s daughter, Jenni.  She had the voice of an angel and we sang together frequently.  She was a niece, friend, ‘daughter’ to me.  She did have belief in a higher being and we were soul mates in the true sense of the word.  As she lived in Vancouver, we couldn’t be together as much as we would have liked, but something bound us.  She was diagnosed with cancer in May 2018 and called me to please come up to Vancouver.  Of course I did.  (Her mother was in memory care in a home nearby), I spent most of the summer with her, but she made her transition after a truly heroic battle in October 2018. My sense of loss was profound but the memory of laughing and singing with her brings me joy.

It was only after my husband Martin died, ten years ago, that I found Seattle Unity.  Christina, Martin’s hospice chaplain, mentioned Unity to me during a visit shortly before he made his transition.  I decided that this was something that I should investigate; so, dressed in my best church-going clothes, I walked down to the church two weeks after Martin had left us.  I was bowled over by the excellent jazz trio that welcomed me in.  Sat next to a lovely bright young woman, LeeAnn Hittenberger, who asked me if I would like to go to the symphony with her as she had a spare ticket.  I was quite taken aback but said yes of course.  (That is another deep friendship that has lasted to this day). Then I noticed the warmth and enthusiasm around me as we sang the first song and went on to greet one another.  I really didn’t take in much of the spoken word that day, but the spirit of the place was captivating.  So, I kept on coming and coming.  Rev Diane’s class on the Five Principles finally gave me a solid foundation of belief and a path to the way we should strive to live.  It was pivotal in my thinking and a huge blessing.  Reverend Karen’s sermons have given me ‘aha moments’ too many to mention.  And her sense of humor is wonderful.  I’m so happy that at this late stage of my life, I have found my path to spiritual living.

I’m 85 and have to look at what happens next!  I was skeptical about reincarnation until I attended a class given by Michael Bogar, in which he described in detail, the story of a very young boy who had horrendous night terrors reliving a fatal plane crash in which he was killed.  It was confirmed beyond doubt that there was no way he could have correctly described all the details of the plane, the crash, etc.unless he had been there.  This led to accounts of countless other proofs of reincarnation which seemed conclusive to me. None of us really know what is ahead.  I like to think that my spirit will live on in some form or another.  Mary Baker Eddy said that it’s as if your loved one has just gone into the next room.  I like that!