OF CATS, CONSULTING & (DIFFICULT) CONVERSATIONS

It’s been a strange couple of weeks at Casa Showkeir, although strange becomes normal when you are dwelling in the space of dying.)

Here are the headlines, in case that is all you have time for:

   Conversation “Experts” Fail at Communication in Cat Caper

   Consulting Career Ends In A Room Filled with Dead Animals

   Dictator Rules: Jamie Won’t Be Home Alone. Ever

The Cat Caper
Some of you might have seen my facebook plea for a temporary home for our beloved Bodhi Qat, along with my Emily Litella update a few hours later: “Never Mind.” 

Bodhi is a personable and social cat who has periodic manic episodes. Jamie swears that Bodhi knows he can’t move and purposely indulges in “bad” behavior to taunt him. Jamie complained that Bodhi made his face itch (a big problem when he can no longer move his arm to scratch.) The Qat’s night roamings, including jump shots onto the hospital bed and dresser, interrupted his sleep. His tearing about the house disturbed the caregivers. After a particularly wild Qat night, I arose early and tearfully began searching for a foster home. I even had the perfect person lined up, thanks to my long-time buddy Wes.

But when I told Jamie, he was upset. Extremely upset. A difficult conversation ensued (and yes, it was authentic). I won’t bore you with details, but let's just say we both learned a few things.

Him: My intentions were pure, and I was trying to help.
Me: Don’t solve Jamie’s “problems” without discussing with him first.
Me: Jamie is way more attached to Bodhi than he sometimes lets on.
Him: Quit complaining so freaking much.
Us: We both adore Bodhi. We want him here, where he belongs.

Saying Good-bye to a Consulting Career
We thought we'd crossed the consulting finish line in November after we facilitated a retreat for the Virginia Piper Trust Fellows. Then the U.S. Forest Service called. They needed help. I thought we should say no. Jamie wanted to say yes. After several weeks of back and forth, we found the perfect solution: We would partner with our dear friend Christine Whitney-Sanchez to pull it off.

Our USFS contact, Kathy, arranged for the retreat to be here, so we didn’t have to travel. The Bass Pro Shop donated meeting space. (It was like Disneyland for people who like to shoot, hunt, camp, fish, hike — all that outdoorsy stuff. The room we worked in was riddled with animal “trophies.”  I decided to imagine they had all lived happy, full lives and died naturally in their sleep, surrounded by loved ones. As a meat eater, I can’t in good conscience be anti-hunting. On the other hand, hunting for sport…. well, if that’s your thing, I highly recommend Richard Connell’s short story titled “The Most Dangerous Game.” It’s a good read and a brilliant literary example of irony – the real kind, not Alannis Morrisette’s bastardization of the term.) 

I digress.

We were there for half of the three days, and Christine capably navigated the rest. It was good work. Great work. And when it came time to say good-bye, Jamie choked up. It was one of those emotional silences that can be hard to lean into. Someone spoke just to break the silence.

Jamie’s emotion wasn’t a surprise, but I was taken aback when I began to say adios, and suddenly, I couldn’t. I also choked up. It was another example of what has become our new normal — holding two and seemingly opposite emotions at the same time: Disappointment and relief. Satisfaction and sadness. Heartbreak and joy.

The Dictator Scores!
We’ve had a lot of back and forth about whether Jamie should be at home alone. I get why it’s a difficult issue: He enjoys his solitude and independence. And he gets my concern: Worry clings to me every time I leave the house without him.

The debate ended on Monday morning. I was in the shower, getting ready to meet Skyler for a bit of breakfast. Jamie had an appointment with the wheelchair technician, so he planned to stay home. When I emerged from the shower, I could hear him calling me, barely. I ran, dripping, to see what was going on. He had tipped sideways and forward in his chair and, unable to sit himself up, was gasping for air. After I got him upright, he was pale and shaken. We put him on the BiPAP machine so he could, quite literally, catch his breath. (Oh yeah, he uses a BiPAP now.)

So there was that phenomenon again: Frightened (he could have died!) and relieved (he was OK). Furious (Why didn't he listen to me sooner? What if I'd already left to meet Sky?) And gratified (He was listening now. I hadn't).

After Jamie’s BiPAP pranayama (yogis will get it), the dictator Jamie lives with issued the decree: Never again would he remain home alone. Ever. Ever. Ever. And maybe for the first time — ever — Jamie did not argue.

So now a new cast of characters will be flitting in and out of Casa Showkeir. For this, we are pleased. And anxious. And sad. And grateful.

Love,
Maren & Jamie

EASY LOVING

Who is easiest for you to love?

Erich Schiffmann, an internationally renowned master yoga teacher, posed the question during a weekend intensive I attended a few months ago. He quickly refined the question: It was not about who do you love the most. It is not about for whom would you do anything. Nor for whom you would die protecting.

Who is easiest for you to love?

My mind immediately snapped to the obvious answers. Well, my family, of course! My husband, my children, my grandchildren. Without a doubt they are the ones I love the most. They occupy a vast and prominent landscape in my emotional territory. Their place in my heart is assured. And though I hope I’m never put to the test, I would do anything to protect them.

But... easiest to love? Honestly? Not always. Like most human relationships, my love for family is layered with expectations — mine and theirs. Though it is usually subtle and subconscious, I struggle when they don’t do what I want them to do, or see things in the way I think they should.  I judge. We argue. I expect them to be who I think they should be, and I get disappointed when they aren’t.

My love for my family is boundless. Our tethering and the profound connection we share is bedrock. No doubt about that.

But easiest to love? Well, that would have to be Bodhi Qat.

Schiffmann describes love as the willingness to see and accept what is real in another. In other words,  truly loving someone means saying, “I see you. And I willingly choose to recognize and honor what is real and true about you.” With complete acceptance. Without expectations.

I see Bodhi. I never expect him to be anything but a cat.

When he begins to sharpen his claws on the chair in the second bedroom, I don’t explode in anger because he isn’t taking better care of the furniture. Why would I expect a cat to care about furniture? I direct him to his scratching post or trim his claws.

When he jumps on my head at 4:30 a.m. every morning, I don’t simmer with resentment because he won’t let me sleep. That’s the time he wakes up. He wants to eat, and that’s how he lets me know. Bodhi either gets fed, or I put him out and shut the door until I’m ready to feed him. Have I trained him to keep off the kitchen counters and dining room table? I have, while acknowledging that it's his nature to jump up there.

Never have I stewed over why Bodhi doesn’t sleep less and work more. When he bites my elbow while I’m trying to work, I don’t take it personally. I know he wants to play, and I throw him a toy mouse.  I never expect him to take my advice, follow my instructions, pay more attention to me, or help around the house. I never expect him to be anything but the feline creature he is.

Bodhi is easy to love because I see that a cat is all he can be.

Since that weekend, I’ve thought a lot about why it is so hard to truly see people in the same way I see Bodhi. Why do I let ego block my ability to see and recognize and honor what is real about people — the ones I hold most dear and those who pass fleetingly through my life? Why do I choose to cling to expectations and slog through a swamp of disappointment when they don’t get met? Why do I expect them to take care of the furniture, let me sleep, take my advice, and behave the way I think they should?  

Learning to love people in this way is a practice. Awareness is the first step. With intention, action, and practice, I hope some day to learn to see people as they are, not through the lens of my expectations. I want to learn to love people in the way I love Bodhi.