Gains and Losses

In my mother’s last weeks with cancer my sister and I once met the lady manager of our apartment building. She enquired us about our mom and then said:

‘Your mother is blessed to have both daughters beside her!’

At that moment I was mostly impressed by the American way of finding good sides to any situation (Russian compassion would be typically expressed in graver terms).   

Later, however, the direct meaning of the remark caught my attention: indeed, those of us, who in the end are surrounded by the loving family, are lucky. Even if you have it to the last day, your siblings may be far away and head-over-heels busy.

But there is more to this picture than reassuring smiles and kind words. This is from the book I am currently reading:

 ‘…She took down extra pillow and quilts from the shelves, shoved the bed up to the window, and propped Eva where she could see the doings in the yard. She went back, put one syringe in the water, finished up the pies and put them in the oven, then brought a little tepid water in a cup for Eva to drink. She did drink, which was good, and her color was up. Her eyes brighter.’

‘The Master Butcher Singing Club’, by Luise Erdrich

Eva is a German immigrant, a butcher’s wife in the Prohibition era, who is dying of cancer.  ‘She’ – is her friend and neighbor, a younger woman without a profession, a high school dropout and daughter of a small town drunkard.  The woman earns her living by helping in the butcher shop. She also nurses Eva out of love and respect.

What is important, both these women are, in modern terms, ‘uneducated’. All their skills are limited to meeting household needs and taking care of others.

Frontier woman

The female characters in the book (as well as some women of the older generation, we know) are remarkable experts in what they do, but on the modern social scale their skills are evaluated very humble.  A woman today that stays at home and has no career aspirations is often considered not very bright, or lazy. She is almost expected to explain herself, and I know a few who feel inferior even for a temporary break in corporate career.   

On the other hand, the prestige of many professions, as well as their financial worth, notably devalues just because too many women are now pursuing them. 

Another sad social paradox. 

But there is a third side to the situation that bothers me most: what we have lost by persistently disengaging women with humble family matters.

…Those bright and creative, who a century ago channeled their natural observance and smarts into making life around them comfortable and dignified…

…Those strong and daring, who kept their loved ones safe and, by their own everyday example, taught children to face life challenges and to persevere…

Now, when we need a fraction of their domestic expertise we go to specialists.

Well, to do what an uneducated neighbor in the extract above did for Eva, we would need the services of:

A certified nurse (preferably, 24-7)

A personal chef (specifically instructed to make everything from scratch)

A skillful housekeeper - to maintain things that poor Eva could not do anymore for her family of five

But even if one has money to pay for all the above, a certain ingredient would still be missing – that is, the whole-hearted care.

It just cannot be bought!

This is not so, because there are good and bad nurses, or good and bad housekeepers, but because development of ‘thick skin’ is an unavoidable stage of professional maturity. You either suffer with every client of yours, destroying your mental and physical health, or you figure out the ways of protecting yourself during your job and - of getting over it, as soon as the job is done. 

This genuine care is not even a component, but rather the binding agent that turns detached impersonal services with all their ‘9-to-5’ limitations, lack of ‘current knowledge’  and ‘honest human mistakes’ into the adjusted to a tee, living and breathing supporting system.

It makes mother a better doctor than a member of the medical academy and - a better cook than French chef.       

Quietly women did it for centuries turning wilderness into civilization and chaos – into live. But the appreciation of society was elsewhere, and in search for this appreciation many started seeking more respected roles, leaving traditional occupations behind or delegating them to machines and services.

Now we take a pill for every ailment and battle child obesity.

Besides other, more material reasons, this is also the price we pay for the deeply rooted in modern culture look down on clothes mending, floor scrubbing and lullaby singing. 

Victorian Lady

While our other cat, Max had already been a character of several emotionally charged posts of mine, Masia seems to never evoke any commotion and, consequently, gives no reason to rejoice when a dramatic event is over. 

She is more like a quiet, steady glow that brings you warmth so reliably - you start expecting it and, to be honest, take it for granted.   

In this respect Masia reminds me of a Victorian-era lady, who was supposed to be talked about only twice in her life: when she was getting married and when she died.  

And like a Victorian lady, Masia is essentially feminine – practical, cautious and eloquently verbal for a cat.

She smartly spreads our attentions through the day – sitting on my husband’s lap through most of his working hours and sleeping at my shoulder at night. She jumps on my side of the bed in the middle of the night, smelling of fresh outdoor air, fir tree needles and grass (or snow in winter). And if this did not wake me up, she produces a short assertive ‘murk’-like sound to let me know that she has arrived and is ready for being hugged and stroked.  

As much as I do not like to be abruptly wakened up, I am never irritated by her maneuvers, as the very next moment my face is immersed in soft and fuzzy roundness of her belly. It purrs and vibrates, and I have a completely scientifically-unfounded feeling that listening to a cat’s purr through its belly is particularly therapeutic.

Another lovely trick of hers – to place the pads of her front paws on my face. They feel like tiny leather cushions. My husband saw us many times fast asleep together, with two little paws neatly pressed against my cheeks.  And though I am well aware of the sharp claws hiding inside those cute cushions, which she might unleash in panic (and panicky she gets easily from any abrupt or unfamiliar sound), I take the risk. A couple of scratches could hardly  damage much a 57-year-old face.

It is in Masia’s nature to trust no one, and I mean - NO ONE. Each and every situation she must explore herself and make her own conclusions, as to how safe the things are.

Only selected few of our family and friends have actually seen her.

When an outsider enters our house she is already in deep hiding. But we have noticed that through the years she made a huge progress toward accepting new people. For example, lately she started appearing in front of certain guests, if they were fairly quiet and after they have been in our house for couple of hours.

Each time this happens we feel proud that in our care she became so brave and worldly (from a wild and scared kitten she had been). We usually rush to explain to the lucky guest, what a transformation is witnessed here, though not always our excitement is shared.

We also shower the particular guest with sincere complements on his/her goodness, because we believe that Masia would never show herself to a person of questionable qualities.

 I suspect, though, that some of our visitors think of us as little-bit cat-crazy.  

As I said, Masia is remarkably vocal. To us she speaks in practically every other way but words. According to her shelter record Masia is a mud described as ‘black DLH’, where LH – probably stand for ’long hair’ and D – I have no idea for. But my theory is that she resembles Angora cats, which are renowned communicators.

Anyway, Angora or not, her intonations are so unmistakably clear that made me thinking of words as slightly overrated. We also noticed that Max who had used to silently tap on the window when wanted us to open it, eventually started supporting his demand with a meow.  Apparently this more efficient way of grabbing our attention  he learned from Masia.

There are skeptics who say that pets are easy to love, because they are primitive and we do not have high expectations of them.

Well yes, they teach us to be more accepting and less judgmental.

But the longer I observe my cats, the more I am convinced that in a stride to perfection they are way ahead of us: they have better sense of balance and danger, they see in the dark, they do not need to cloth themselves and their saliva is antibacterial. The list can be continued.   

Still we love them not for their perfections but rather for their vulnerabilities. It grants us the privilege of being their protectors.

Maybe God loves us the same way - simply because we are fragile.