The Scooter Orchid
I’ve always had an environmental bent: my best emotions and all my spiritual inclinations have occurred in the great outdoors. Perhaps Howard Gardner would consider me a good candidate for one of the newer multiple intelligences: Naturalistic. It also explains why all my career surveys suggested I be a forest ranger (the closest I came was being a Knott’s Berry Farm Ride Operator in Kamp Snoopy – remember the outfit?)
I grew up in a small town in Arizona with lots of space, lots of fruit and nut trees , and lots of animals. My cousins and I never came home for lunch; we just grazed on the pomegranate, pecan, mulberry, and date trees up and down the street. I envied the spirituality of the large community of Native Americans in our town, so at age 7 I took a vow to become “blood sisters” with the tree in my front yard. When perched high amongst its branches, I imagined I was invisible from the outside world.
Cycling and hiking later became my hobbies, and meditative walks and sweat lodges substituted for my religion. I married my husband under an oak and we had our first dance under the stars.
Almost five years ago, I lost a dear familiar – a cat named Scooter. He had been with me through a transcendent period in my life and we had one of those special connections that “animal people” talk about. But at the age of only 10, he developed a form of feline lymphoma and despite what seemed to be positive results from kitty chemo, his heart wasn’t strong enough. Three months after my father’s debilitating stroke, and one month before my wedding day, Scooter passed.
At the time, I was teaching a summer college course at night and under quite a bit of stress. During one class in particular, being stoic wasn’t in the cards and a sweet student brought a small, white and violet orchid to class, which became part of our “Scooter Memorial” at home. I made a vow that I would nurture that orchid so that it would never die and always be there to remind us of our furry buddy. Sounds dramatic? I know. It’s a cat. But remember, that’s how I’m wired.
Flash forward 6 months. A cancer diagnosis. Surgery. As I suppose most people do when hearing their doctor say the “C” word, I looked for signs of hope. I found it in the Scooter Orchid. It seemed to me at the time, that Scooter had taught me something about cancer, but so had my vow to keep that orchid alive in his name. Exactly on cue, and after 6 months of dormancy, that little white orchid bloomed again, just in time for my birthday, and The Surgery 5 day later.
I was lucky. I healed and life went on. The orchid bloomed about once a year or twice a year and we still remembered Scooter. We have a new, young, black cat and a new dog that Scooter never met. We live in a different house (Scooter would have loved all the windows!).
The last 8 months have been busy. I have new work responsibilities and am involved with many projects and it’s been difficult balancing all the segments of my life. Various orchids have shown up as gifts or “rescues” and at one point I had over 25. I’ve paired down, but I still have several. And like many parts of my life (mostly the environmentally bent ones) some of them withered. Some didn’t make it. Others have various ailments. The Scooter Orchid, after years of special treatment, is also succumbing to some dastardly vermin.
I’ve looked at it with guilt and shame and a knot in my stomach. I haven’t protected it well, like I promised I would: I want to, but I don’t know how. The process feels almost too familiar. Sadly, the vow I made to this orchid feels like a burden, which of course makes me feel guiltier. I’ve considered giving up, discarding it, and focusing on the healthy orchids, but oh, what betrayal!
Another part of me is considering that life is about flexibility, change, inevitability. Maybe this is the lesson that nature teaches us: everything is impermanent and fleeting, and that is not a negative, but a reason for gratitude. It is the process by which we learn life’s true value.
I hope that I can save the Scooter Orchid. But mostly, I am so thankful for the insights it’s given me.
I grew up in a small town in Arizona with lots of space, lots of fruit and nut trees , and lots of animals. My cousins and I never came home for lunch; we just grazed on the pomegranate, pecan, mulberry, and date trees up and down the street. I envied the spirituality of the large community of Native Americans in our town, so at age 7 I took a vow to become “blood sisters” with the tree in my front yard. When perched high amongst its branches, I imagined I was invisible from the outside world.
Cycling and hiking later became my hobbies, and meditative walks and sweat lodges substituted for my religion. I married my husband under an oak and we had our first dance under the stars.
Almost five years ago, I lost a dear familiar – a cat named Scooter. He had been with me through a transcendent period in my life and we had one of those special connections that “animal people” talk about. But at the age of only 10, he developed a form of feline lymphoma and despite what seemed to be positive results from kitty chemo, his heart wasn’t strong enough. Three months after my father’s debilitating stroke, and one month before my wedding day, Scooter passed.
At the time, I was teaching a summer college course at night and under quite a bit of stress. During one class in particular, being stoic wasn’t in the cards and a sweet student brought a small, white and violet orchid to class, which became part of our “Scooter Memorial” at home. I made a vow that I would nurture that orchid so that it would never die and always be there to remind us of our furry buddy. Sounds dramatic? I know. It’s a cat. But remember, that’s how I’m wired.
Flash forward 6 months. A cancer diagnosis. Surgery. As I suppose most people do when hearing their doctor say the “C” word, I looked for signs of hope. I found it in the Scooter Orchid. It seemed to me at the time, that Scooter had taught me something about cancer, but so had my vow to keep that orchid alive in his name. Exactly on cue, and after 6 months of dormancy, that little white orchid bloomed again, just in time for my birthday, and The Surgery 5 day later.
I was lucky. I healed and life went on. The orchid bloomed about once a year or twice a year and we still remembered Scooter. We have a new, young, black cat and a new dog that Scooter never met. We live in a different house (Scooter would have loved all the windows!).
The last 8 months have been busy. I have new work responsibilities and am involved with many projects and it’s been difficult balancing all the segments of my life. Various orchids have shown up as gifts or “rescues” and at one point I had over 25. I’ve paired down, but I still have several. And like many parts of my life (mostly the environmentally bent ones) some of them withered. Some didn’t make it. Others have various ailments. The Scooter Orchid, after years of special treatment, is also succumbing to some dastardly vermin.
I’ve looked at it with guilt and shame and a knot in my stomach. I haven’t protected it well, like I promised I would: I want to, but I don’t know how. The process feels almost too familiar. Sadly, the vow I made to this orchid feels like a burden, which of course makes me feel guiltier. I’ve considered giving up, discarding it, and focusing on the healthy orchids, but oh, what betrayal!
Another part of me is considering that life is about flexibility, change, inevitability. Maybe this is the lesson that nature teaches us: everything is impermanent and fleeting, and that is not a negative, but a reason for gratitude. It is the process by which we learn life’s true value.
I hope that I can save the Scooter Orchid. But mostly, I am so thankful for the insights it’s given me.
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