south of San Francisco. Dad was sixty when I was born. He didn’t retire until he was sixty-nine, because most of his friends who retired earlier seemed to die too soon. Mom was eighteen years younger than Dad and still worked and commuted to San Francisco. Now that my dad was around all day, he had expectations.
We bought a big old house, much in need of repair, and while my brothers helped Dad with the electrical, plumbing, and building stuff, I became chief house painter and gardener. And what a sloppy painter and gardener I was. I heard about it every day that summer. Though I did get better at painting and gardening, returning to school was a blessed relief.
Since my mother worked, I was also chief house cleaner, ironer, and kitchen aide. Mom preferred to be chief clothes washer (we had no electric washer or dryer) and chef. Perhaps she had tried me out on these and decided it was best to do them herself. I don’t remember. But I did develop some competencies and some positive self-esteem.
When I was sixteen, my dad said, “You’re old enough to get married now without our permission. I expect you to find someone as soon as you can.” But Mom said, “You can always get married. Live your own life first.” So I did.
Dad blamed the cod-liver oil I was fed as a kid for making me as tall as he was. He really wanted me to be petite, lovely, a good pianist, a good seamstress, and married. In some ways I’m sorry I did not live up to my father’s expectations, but I’m sure I’m more me now than if I had accepted his expectations as my own.
Fortunately, at that young age, I had a pretty good idea about what was me and what was not me, so I could make the choice.
A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct of what is beautiful and awe-inspiring is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood.
Rachel Carson
FOUR
ANIMALS
Animals are here in part to grant glimpses of the grace of beauty.
Matthew Fox
Having five cats around the house helps me have no expectations. They are not goal-fulfilling creatures in any human sense. There is little one can expect of a cat.
Whenever I have a cat on my lap, I am able to look at it as a remarkable being with perfect markings, perfectly formed nose and eyes, and delightful ears, and I am always awed at such perfection even though each cat is different. Even their very strange unique characteristics seem perfect to me: six toes, lopsided coloring, scars, deafness, odiferous moments. I am satisfied and expect nothing more. Why don’t I feel this way with humans?
I do expect to get bopped by any cat that I do not pet mindfully. Each cat’s likes and dislikes are different, so mindful petting saves me a lot of scratches and bleeding. If I am not paying attention to their needs they have effective means of getting my attention. They are patient about learning my strange ways of communicating, so I try to be patient learning theirs.
At the moment, I don’t have a dog myself, yet when I see someone walking on the street with a dog, I always look at the dog. Just seeing a dog is satisfying in itself. When I drive by a field where there are any newborn animals—calves or kids or foals—I can’t help but smile and feel good. My pygmy goats have been a delight. They are full of affection and playfulness, without being aggressive or mean.
When I look at all these animals, I see Buddhists in action. They are mindful of all that is around them and of their every action. They appear to expect nothing, except for the few feeding habits I’ve forced upon them. They’ve taught me patience and love, mindfulness and compassion. They’ve taught me the value of learning as much as I can about them so that I can enjoy them even more.
There’s a cat sitting on the top of this page at this moment as I write this at the dining room table. There are muddy cat prints on several pages of this manuscript.
Animals teach us that one can be sensual and spiritual at the same time. They know that abstractions by themselves, such as money for example, are not what living and ecstasy are about.
Matthew Fox
FIVE
CATS AND BIRDS
We cannot fix the world, we cannot even fix our own life. By accepting failure we express our willingness to begin again, time after time. By recognizing failure we change, renew, adapt, listen, and grow. It is only by participating without expectation of success that we can ever truly open to the world, to suffering and to joy.
Thich Nhat Hanh
I do love cats. I love birds, too. Their markings are as amazing as those of a cat.
I have a large bird feeder atop a ten-foot metal pole. The metal pole prevents climbing creatures from climbing up to it. I do have to use a ladder to refill the feeder, but that’s kind of fun.
It is hard to have a wild kingdom in your own backyard, because not all beasts are as gentle as the goats. Cats are known to catch birds, and when they do, they usually bring them to me ...which, I guess, is a good thing.
This morning one of the gentlest of the cats brought me a beautiful cedar waxwing, and she was pretty good about letting me have it. Not all of them feel that way. But, in her tussle with the bird, it appeared that she had broken one of the bird’s wings. Usually I can release the birds after a while of rest and de-stressing, but this one couldn’t fly away.
I had no idea how to find out if it had a broken wing, except to watch it fail at flying. I had absolutely no idea what to do with a bird that had a broken wing. Sometimes I feel guilty when I am unable to solve problems in my own backyard. I expect to be able to take care of the place where I live. Well, phooey. I can’t always do that.
Fortunately my community has a wildlife center with a specialist in charge of small birds. My guilt disappeared when I left the bird with the bird lady.
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