THE BEST WE CAN

In early spring, before yards need mowing, grass grows clumpy with bare spots here and there. Time flies and before you know it, little yellow flowers start popping up. So you tune up the mower and sharpen blades, welcome the change of seasons. The flowers are pesky weeds but still, you welcome them. Too soon, those little flowers have stretched their necks up and the yellow petals have given way a frizzy, fuzzy wig of gray dandelion seeds that gradually sail away, carried off one by one on even the gentlest breeze. 

Sixty years ago, (OMG that sounds like such a long time,) my high school classmates and I were wispy little dandelion seeds, fresh launched from the blossom, drifting like little parachutes through chain link fences, across streets, looking for a place to take root. You land somewhere and people don’t care where you came from, just, what are you doing here? We were only a few weeks into our great adventure; sixty years ago. Yesterday a small group of us got together to mark that milestone. There were 9 of us from the tornado class of ’57; a tornado destroyed our school the night before graduation. Include a friend from the class of ‘58, loved ones and one faculty member, now 96, she was our librarian and psychology teacher. Nobody at the reunion/picnic had to drive more than an hour or two to get there. They are all regulars or frequent drop-ins at our monthly lunch-bunch. There must have been 15 or 16 in the shade of the shelter house.

Without metaphors I don’t think I could describe or explain anything. I need them to model patterns and systems: it’s about me and the way my mind works. So the dandelion metaphor is spot on. From the way our hair turns gray and falls out, to the folly of thinking you can please everybody; life carries us along like wind blown seeds and we do the best we can.

I recently saw a program on PBS about a man in Kenya who nurtured an orphan lion cub. He kept the cub for over a year but his job and the needs of the animal required both return to the world they were born to. Then, 5 or 6 years later, the man came back to the wild life refuge and wondered how his lion-child had fared. With more hope than confidence, he drove out into the bush to see if he could find her. There were several different lion prides in the park that the young lion could have joined. He camped in his land rover and searched each pride's territory. He found a lion he thought might be his. She had two cubs. Approaching her would be risky so he called out to her from the vehicle and she turned at the sound of her name. Long story short, she recognized him; they wrestled and played like they had when she was his baby. She brought her cubs and clearly presented them to him. They played together all day, then went back to the way of life that had chosen them. 

Another metaphor I suppose: in our little group, nobody cares about your religion or politics. Like the man and his lion, we can set aside our instincts and priorities for a few hours, mindfully attached to another time, when the journey was new and unpredictable, before hard knocks had taken their toll. I replied to an email from a friend in the class of ’58. He participates in our class news letter and we keep him on our radar. I told him it may sound corny but the reason we keep-on keeping-on is that we actually care about each other. After all the years and the baggage we bear, we remind each other; we care. Even if we weren't the best of friends then, that was then and this is now. The psychology is pretty simple. You can’t go back, probably wouldn’t if you could. But lunch with well wishing litter mates who remember when, who only want from you what you are happy to share; it closes a circle and we all take some comfort there. 

It comes up occasionally, why more of our classmates don’t chose to come around. Once I was apologizing for not living up to someone else's expectation and they let me off the hook with, "No problem, something else must have been more important." I think that's the simple truth and it's not a problem. There must have been something more important. All I want from it is simply to know that you’ve made it. Knowing that you’ve made it is important. We break bread together and so far, the worst thing to come from that is I over eat and may have to skip dinner.