Obituaries

About once a week, I buy a newspaper from a street vendor. Usually I aim for Friday because of the magazine insert, but we’ve had so much snow recently that prevented vendors from making sales I decided to pull out a dollar yesterday, a Monday.

When I got home, I glanced at the front page and noted a name in the obituaries that looked familiar. I turned the page and indeed Manuela’s smile in a fine color photo greeted me.

She was a friend of a friend, an elder from Latin America, who reminded me some of my father. She could talk nonstop, mostly of laments. My father’s laments were reduced in later years to coyotes, rye in the wheat, and one other that I no longer remember. Manuela had different ones, plus her love for Jesus and the Virgin Mary. And, like with my father, I saw her deep love of life expressed in her stories. Take away the stories, and these were simply two people who had adventures and great engagement with life.

The obituary, of course, doesn’t mention the laments. It celebrates her life differently--travel, exquisite embroidery technique taught to her by the nuns in the orphanage where she was raised, the bounty of knitted goods she donated to charities, the children she helped raise in two wealthy families. And, in her own words, how she considered her “true mother” to be the Blessed Virgin.

For a few years some time back, I worried how my obituary would read. I come from a family who did things--president of this, on the board of that, organizer of these other things. Mine, I feared, would say, “She liked to garden.” Or, “She liked to read mysteries.” A sort of flat representation of a life that has been used particularly to describe women who were seen in the role of mother, aunt, sister and not much else.

I knew at the time it was a reckoning with the choices I’ve made. Have I done all that I might have done? Have I fulfilled my “potential”? Buying into that tricky concept that comes from school report cards--“not living up to his/her potential”.

I’m glad to read this sparkly representation of Manuela’s life without a long list of offices filled or organizations supported. I like to think of an orphan from Latin America who chanced to travel the world and embroidered altar cloths and claimed the Blessed Virgin as her true mother. It opens up new ways of describing a life.

Manuela died on January 1, Feast Day of the Mother of God. I’m glad to think of her gone home into the arms of the True Mother. May she, and all beings who have come and gone, rest well from a life well-lived.

Snowed In

A big storm that hit the Plains really hard dumped a lot of snow on Northern New Mexico. Some say the most in twenty years. The Farmer’s Almanac predicted record snows. At Thanksgiving, when the temperatures were in the sixities and seventies Fahrenheit, I doubted a snowing winter was on the way.

But now that it is here, it’s a record. Highways, stores, libraries, and the post office are closed. Video stores are doing a great business, as are motels for those stranded in Santa Fe.

I counted cat food cans this morning, and made sure to know where flashlights and matches are. So far, only a few flickers of lights, so perhaps we’ll not lose power along the way. My own grocery stash is in good shape.

I’ve spent the last few days trying to keep paths clear for the cats and the occasional human. Last night, when I looked out my upstairs window around midnight, I saw snow continuing to fall. By this morning, the snow was up to a window that’s about two feet from the ground.

Even though this is very light, dry snow, the broom was no longer sufficient. And no snow shovel. So the squared shovel had to do.

First, I cleared kitty paths. When I came inside for a drink of water, I noticed Tiger coming from one of the condos. Snowed in, I guess. All cozy, though. I haven’t removed the snow hats because I know they are good insulation. I think, though, he’s been in the old cardboard box that I made originally. I refer to it now as slum housing, but they all seem to still adore it, so I haven’t removed it. Tiger has other options and he’s in good fat shape for winter, so I don’t see a need to interfere.

The usual six are holed up in the studio with occasional runs and leaps outside. Mama and Rimpoche are snug in straw and an insulated box in the kitty casita aka storage shed.

So far, the temperatures haven’t dipped much below 15 F, so again the main item to track is keeping unfrozen water available.

I spent the rest of the morning with my little shovel clearing part of the driveway so the cars can get in and out. First, though, I got stuck with my SUV and had to dig it out. I had hopes I could use it as a snow plow, but the compacted snow quickly turned to slippery slush-ice. Nothing to do but shovel.

As I write this, snow is falling again. A little while ago, it seemed the sun might peek through. Everywhere is white or gray-white, with the exception of dark branches and the brown walls of houses. Snow on the parapets looks like icing on a cake to me.

It’s a magic time with the usual hazards. I feel lucky to be cozied in with lively cats, some nice food, and yarn to knit. Tomorrow, I may take advantage of the part-shoveled driveway and venture out a little to cast my eye over the landscape. Maybe I’ll see if there is a snow shovel left to buy in all of Santa Fe. Next year, I’ll pay closer attention to the Farmer’s Almanac and do a little preparation for whatever weather it predicts.

From here in snowing Santa Fe, a New Year’s wish for all: May your hearts be filled with the magic of life in the year to come.

Snow and Solstice

The long-awaited snow arrived two days before Solstice. The kitties were surprised, even the ones who have been through several winters of snow. Like me, they seemed ecstatic by the white land and bounded about for short bits. The cold on their paws kept their glee to brief times outside, but when they did venture out, it was with energetic enthusiasm.

First thing, I swept some pathways to food, water, and loose dirt that they use for litter. Before the snow came, I made a makeshift roof over one of the favored litter places. Because our snow is very dry, it doesn’t take much effort to sweep it or to keep some areas clear of it. During the first day, it kept snowing, so I kept sweeping. For the smaller cats, it must seem that there is a mountain of snow piled up--an inviting tunnel to run through.

The biggest challenge with feral cats in the winter is to keep unfrozen water available. Housing and food are the easy parts. When the water freezes within ten minutes of putting it outside, it’s unlikely they will get to it to drink. Because the group here is tamer than the wildest, I can manage. I put some in the kitty casita where several were hanging out in a clump. When I see Tiger or Trixie show up, I put out both food that is unfrozen and warmish water in a warmed bowl without fear of their running away.

This year, they are all fat. And I know they have good places to hole up during the worst of the weather. Our storms usually don’t last more than a day. By the second day, we have sun, which means there are some warm spots and water melting.

I suppose the greatest challenge for them is what to do with their built-up energy. Hence the running and leaping outside, one over the top of the other, a snow leap-cat. Watching their antics, seeing their gorgeous winter coats against the snow, and feeling the freedom of their play--this is the finest Solstice celebration.

From me and from these fine felines, we wish for you all great freedom of play and leaps of celebration is the coming year!

Quiet

In the current configuration of cats here, there is no noticeable drama. I like these quiet periods, but I note I also feel nervous about what might come.

This is a lifelong habit. My father, in particular, had this style of thinking deeply imbedded. Perhaps it’s the tendency of capitalist farmers and ranchers. The weather might be excellent right now, but it could change any minute. And then future profits will tank. Or other horrible things will happen.

I carry this worry-mind on the upper back. It’s like a cloud that’s heavily seeded. In a recent I Ching consult, the oracle said, “The source of sorrows dissolves.” Now this is one future I would like to come to pass.

In the Nonviolent Communication model, we talk about the importance of regularly celebrating and mourning. In relationships, in friendships, in organizations, the attention to how our needs have been met and haven’t been met can have a profound effect on the aliveness of communication and connection. When we avoid paying attention to unmet needs (universal) or when we fail to express appreciation for how others did or said things that met our needs (universal), we are more likely to fall into confusion and resistance.

It’s my experience that this way of paying attention to sorrow leads to a deep peace and, therefore, a celebration. Perhaps a new word would help: celebrouning; mourbrating; mourcelaning. Maybe better to borrow a word.... I’m sure in many languages there is a word for this combination that points to engaging in the whole catastrophe of life fully.

As usual, the cats aren’t expressing concern about future changes. They are fat for winter, playful with toys and trees, and alert to where the sun makes warm spots on these winter days. They like their new cat tree which was generously donated by a friend, and they like the big box I left for them on the floor.

Zo-Zo is learning to open cabinet doors. Rossie’s right front paw has been bothering him, but seems to be healing on its own. Puffer Vasu sticks to her apartments and hisses when others come to check things out. Thumper continues to love everyone, including Puffer Vasu. Oh-Oh comes and goes on his own schedule; Roo loves the new brush I bought; Felicitito is quiet and alert and mostly outside; Rimpoche and Mamacita have surprisingly put on weight and seem to stick to staying on this property. Harley is here most of the time; Beemer comes and goes as do the other three Golden Girl Guys. Tiger and Trixie show up for food. Occasionally I see Tia, Spantada, and a visitor from across the street.

For now, it’s a quiet season. May worry rest in this quiet.

Lover Girl

Thumper-Rina loves everyone, as far as I can tell. And she seems to do it with equal measure. She snuggles against anyone willing to let her, greets each one with a nose kiss, rubs against whoever will accept her affection.

She arrived here from the neighbors about the time Chata and Vespa did. For a while, it looked as if she and Beemer were going to take a job in a barn, but the owner of the barn changed his mind. So Thumper came in to be a studio cat instead and Beemer continues trying to organize everyone with his strength. Hopefully we’ll find another job for him so he can relax a bit about trying to bat the gang into his idea of shape.

Thumper has a sweetness about her that reminds me of Monkey Gurl, but Monkey loved her solitude and wasn’t very interested in physical affection. Although she’s not really pet-able, Thumper does love to do the leg weave. When I’m in the kitchen making food, she frequently comes to rub against my legs. Zo-Zo rubs against her, so when I look down, there is a curvy movement of dark and light. I figure this is as close as Zo-Zo will get to rubbing up against me.

Thumper likes to talk, too. When she comes in, when she goes out, she makes a little conversation. I think she enjoys the stories of the gang. She watches, reports back, or reports to herself. When I’m doing something she’s interested in, she comes near me and meows as if to say, “Whatcha doin’? Can I do it too?”

Her air of contentment is infectious. I gaze at her and find myself saying “yes” to receptive curiosity and delight. No worries there, no stories about how the future might bring difficulties to plan for or how the past brought tragedy that are sad, sad, sad. Her direct engagement with life is a fine teaching for me. Eat, poop, play, rest, get curious, love one another. Simple and elegant.

Curious Happiness

For some time I’ve been having a curious happiness come over me. It comes unbidden, lies quietly in the background. Or, more accurately, in the foreground. As if a shy star coming forward to be seen in its still beauty.

In the last week I’ve been inquiring daily into happiness. When it appears to be gone, where is it? I suppose another way of describing this happiness is love. There are no accurate words. As Pema Chodron said about compassion, it isn’t what you think it is.

In my morning meditation recently, I sat wondering about this. Where does it go? And then, what is surely obvious to many, I “saw” it is everywhere. It is the curtains expressing curtain-ness, the bed expressing bed-ness, Puffer Vasu expressing cat-ness, the sun expressing sun-ness. It doesn’t go anywhere. It is everywhere.

Worry, on the other hand, seems to me to be a constellated energy, like a handful of clay. How easily my attention can go to what seems more solid, more “real” than something as diffuse as all-love/happiness. Nothing wrong with that. Attention is engaged in the dance of life. When my focus is “out there”, I am more likely to be caught up in what appears most dense to my perception. When I rest back into the vastness, happiness-that-permeates-everything comes to the fore.

“Love is the dissolver of everything. It’s the great solvent,” Pamela said in satsang recently.

I continue to wake each morning with fretting. This is a life-long habit, maybe a many-lives-long habit. I note I want to quickly welcome fretting, give it tea, and then have it dissolve, never to rise up again. A kind of tough love, as if I know what is good for it. Really, it is that I don’t want fretting, have trouble seeing the use of it, and am weary to the bone of these mind games that try to organize the future for happiness.

This love, this happiness, that is in everything isn’t a doer. It has no stake in whether or not fretting dissolves, whether or not fretting recognizes its true nature.

For now, I don’t clearly see the source of resistance to this daily morning visitor. As much as possible, I bring tenderness to its nudging me awake into the day. And then I get up, get tea, sit with Puffer Vasu, meditate a little, feed the cats, and trust that this curious happiness knows the way.

Tails Up

I’m sure if I did some research, researchers would confidently inform me the “meaning” of the tails-up position for cats. I’ve become lazy about research and doubtful about the human imposed view of why animals do the things they do, so I’ll just give my own particular view just for the fun of it.

I take it as a friendly gesture, a let’s-play-and-hang-out-gesture.

I’ve been trying for some weeks to get good photos of the tails up greeting, but my little camera doesn’t do action so well. The cats are usually on the move when it happens. Sometimes there are three with tails wrapped at various angles and the cats practically falling over one another to get close.

Last week, when I walked back from the Farmer’s Market, I left the studio door open a cat’s width while I took my goodies into the kitchen. When I turned, four cats were following in a line with tails up. I laughed out loud. Maybe that was what they wanted.

I’ve only lived with one bushy tailed cat before. The tails are so much more noticeable to me when they fluff out and even more striking when there are a number of them, so this gesture has come into my awareness.

I admit I did try to find something out about the tails up gesture in a book given to me about cats and secrets, but I stumbled over a page that said research shows that cats don’t like to be petted. Or maybe it said it’s not natural to be petted. To my mind, this is the sort of gross analysis that gives human thinking way too much authority about what this universe is up to.

I don’t know if cats naturally like human hands on them or not, but I’ve certainly known a number who seek out petting. Within this group, most don’t. Most of them spend a lot of time next to each other, which I take to mean they like contact. There are a few, like Trixie, who seem to prefer solitude. Oh-Oh likes to be petted by me and by my neighbor, but shies from other humans and doesn’t like to snuggle with cousins. TangaRoo and I make “Roo time” each day in which I sit on a stuffed chair and she half crawls onto my lap. I pet with my hand, she pets with her tongue. If I’ve missed doing it, she comes looking for me in the evening.

Puffer Vasu has never been a snuggle cat, but she certainly likes to get on my lap and purr and have some petting. Her choice, though. None of this picking-up-lovey-dovey stuff, thank you. Nor does she have her tail up much these days. The body is aging and not so comfortable. But as a young cat, it was a prelude to play.

Whatever the meaning, to cats or others, tails up seems a happy gesture, an expression of joy in life. The petting I leave up to them. Monkey Gurl taught me that we don’t need to touch physically when we touch so intimately on the inside. I’ve taken that lesson to heart because I find it softens the edges of separation quite nicely.

Again and again, I offer full prostrations of gratitude to these gorgeous four-legged and tailed beings for their generosity and patience in teaching this particular human to just relax and enjoy life in all its not-knowingness.