Go with the Flow, Lemuria-style

            Gravel Gertie’s cottage was just big enough for Gertie and her pets.  She had two cats, “Here” and “Now”, and a little beagle named “Whynot”, which Gertie told me was short for one her life philosophies, “Why the hell not?”  When she opened the back door, all the animals came streaming out, a knee-high but determined speeding train of cat hair, dog slobber, and rambunctious good will.  “Do you business, and get back inside,” Gertie commanded.  The pets obediently ran and emptied their bladders, but they were not ready to go back in the house right away.  Gertie called them, “Come, Here!  Come, Now!  Whynot!?!”  The dog did a few freedom laps and the cats ignored us, until Gertie yelled, “Come, Here, Now!” and finally, the parade returned and we all went inside.

            The back door opened to Gertie’s tiny kitchen, a small room painted sunshine yellow, with red gingham curtains on the windows and overflowing herb pots on the sills.  “Sit down, I’ll put the kettle on,” Gertie said, lighting her little gas stove.  I sat at the aluminum and red formica-topped table, no retro chic remake, but an original from the 1950s.  My chair was covered with red vinyl, rubbed white in spots from years of wear.  What meals had been served, what intriguing conversations had taken place at this old table?

            “Here you go, good old Lipton tea,” said Gertie, setting two white mugs on the table.  “Oatmeal cookies?  They’re a little stale, I don’t get out much,” she apologized.

            I sipped my tea and nibbled at the hard cookie.  “Thank you.  Everything is wonderful.  You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

            “It’s my pleasure.  A toast:  Here’s to Kezza, and her trusty Were Pen, and whatever adventures lie ahead!  May your days be interesting and your nights be safe!”  We clinked our cups.

            “But, Gertie, I am a little worried.  I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go, or how I’m supposed to get there, or what I’m supposed to do.  I want an itinerary, a program ,or an outline.  What’s the A, B, & C of all this?”

            “No one ever gets their lives mapped out for them,” said Gertie.  “I try to live in the Here and Now, I remind myself of that every time I see the kitties.  They live from one sunbath to the next.  We could learn from them.  We should be flexible, go with the flow, you know…”

            “I hate not knowing what’s coming next!  I can deal with something if I know it’s coming.  I can plan for it, study up, get ready, prepare myself.”

            “And how often do you get to live life that way?  Almost never.  No, it’s better to embrace the unknown, not fear it!  ‘Nothing more constant than change.’”

            “But what if something bad is coming?”

            “What if something good is on the way?  You don’t know.  You might miss a good opportunity because you’re afraid it will be something you won’t like.”

            “I can handle what I know; I don’t know if I can handle what I don’t know.”

            “You don’t know you can’t handle something new until you try it.  You don’t know your own strength, until you have to use it.  Then it’s like adrenalin – you can lift a mini-van off a child.”

            “I don’t know…”

            “It’s not easy, but we can choose to say yes to life, whether good or bad, or live in a hidey-hole and hope everyone leaves us alone.  I don’t know about you, but I need room to grow.”

            “But what if I fail?”

            “So?  What if you do?  Then you try again.  You think these silly cats of mine give up because I stop them from running out the door once or twice?  No – they just wait till their next chance, and then they try something sneaky.  Sometimes the cats win, sometimes I do.  It’s a game – the important thing is to keep playing, win or lose.”

            “But I’ve failed before.”

            “You and everyone else.  You just keep trying.  Don’t live in the past.  Respect where you’ve come from,  but move on.  Look over there.”  Gertie pointed to three plates that hung in a scrolled ironwork holder.  The top said “Honor the past”; the middle read, “Cherish the now”; the bottom plate, “Create the future.”

            “Whynot,” Gertie crooned, calling her pooch.

            “OK, OK.  Past, present, future.  Balance.  I’ve got it.  But it still doesn’t tell me where I’m going.”

            “Does the destination matter as much as the journey?”

            “I don’t know, Gertie!  I was taught you always started out with a plan.”

            “Plans aren’t bad – it’s just that sometimes they change.  The trick is knowing when to stay the course and when to go with the flow…Let’s take a walk outside, Kezza.”  We went out the back door, accompanied by the happy petting zoo.   I followed Gertie over to the clothesline.  “These homemade quilts are so beautiful!  The colors – the designs – the fabrics!” I exclaimed.

            Gertie touched the quilts gently, like the dear old friends they were.  “I could show you the slip-ups I made on each one – there are so many – but I learned from each and every mistake.  The important thing is I kept on sewing, learning, growing.  Stitch after stitch, till my eyes watered and my fingers ached.  Sometimes I had an idea in mind and sometimes I didn’t.  Sometimes I started out doing one pattern, but it didn’t look right, no matter how hard I tried.  So I quit forcing it, let the work have its own way, and then things flowed – turned out better than I could have ever planned myself!  Often we just have to get out of our own ways, and let things happen, let the creative force flow its natural course.  If it turns out, great!  If it doesn’t, we start over again, tired, maybe, but smarter, we hope.”

            I fingered the soft cotton quilts.  Maybe there were a few tiny flaws, if you looked very close, but overall, they were phenomenal.  “Gertie, these are wonderful, just the way they are.  When you see the whole picture, the whole quilt, it looks as though you planned every scrap, every stitch.”

            “But I didn’t.  I did my best, made adjustments along the way, and it all worked out, more or less.”           

             “The results are beautiful,” I agreed.

            Gertie smiled.  “Thank you.  I think these are dry now.  How about you help me take them down, fold them, and bring them in?”

            Gertie and I folded the quilts and lay them in her wicker basket.  “Time to go,” she called.  “Come, Here! Come, Now!  Whynot!”  I picked up the basket and followed her back inside.

 

© 2008 Kerry Vincent