Side by Side, by Martha Thomases – Brilliant Disguise

May 28, 2011 Martha Thomases 10 Comments

In Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut created the religion of Bokonism, which postulated that we are each part of a karass, which is  “a group of people who, often unknowingly, are working together to do God’s will.”  It’s an appealing idea, that there are people who one may never meet who are still involved in one’s life.  It provides order.  Like all religions, it makes one feel important and secure.

I’ve often wondered who would be in my karass.  I wonder about the people one meets at random, and how they differ from the people one meets on purpose, or through a routine.  For example, most of the people who are my friends share my political perspective, since the anti-war movement is an important part of my life.  Or they have kids the same age as I do, because when one is an insecure new parent, one seeks out advice.  Or maybe they knit.  Or maybe they live in the neighborhood.  Or maybe they’re in publishing, or other kinds of media.

And then there are people who just appear.  They don’t have anything in common with me, at first, so they add excitement and unpredictable experiences to my life.  Are they part of some cosmic plan?  Or do I just like serendipity?

My recent trip to Barcelona brought this home to me.  One would expect that one would have an affinity with other Americans with an interest in going to Spain.  That I’d get along with the people on the airplane, or at my hotel.  And yet, when we went to the Park Guell, instead of being encouraged that there were so many people who wanted to enjoy this awe-inspiring fusion of natural and man-made beauty, I was appalled.  I felt claustrophobic in the open space.

Our next stop that day was to a yarn store I found online.  The blogger talked about how great it was, how they made their own yarn, how the owner was so friendly.  I was eager to experience the international community of knitters.  At Gotta Knit, we welcomed knitters from all over the world.

This, too, was horrible.  The store was hot (as were we, from walking), but Spain is hot.  The selection of yarns was not great, but there were some pretty samples, and I was eager to learn.  The staff, however, ignored us.  They were talking to customers who arrived before us (as they should), but they couldn’t be bothered to say “Hola.”  After a few minutes of trying to make sense of their wares, we left.

Other places that we went, that I didn’t especially expect to enjoy (the compromises of traveling with one’s husband, and also the advantages), were much more fun.  I had fun looking at the site of the Olympics.  The tourists there were much more quiet, and didn’t push.  There were school groups running around, but the kids were energetic, not rowdy.  We found lenticular postcards.  It was great fun.

It’s a lesson I need to learn.  It’s easy to define myself in certain ways (feminist, 58, Jewish, white, urban, progressive, comic book geek) and forget that no one is just a sum of these adjectives.   People who can’t be described by these words can make my life better.  Randomness rules!

Nothing proves this more than my experience with cats.  I’ve owned three cats in my life (not counting the ones on the commune).  Toots was my college cat, brought to me by a friend when my first serious boyfriend dumped me for another girl.  I thought I’d dump all my emotions on a cat, instead of the first guy who said, “Hello” to me.  Being a cat, Toots ignored my attempts at affection, and I adored her even more, a pattern for my life.

Toots eventually tolerated me, and we had 17 years together.

We got Trixie and Midnight a few months after Toots died.  They were sisters, and we got them from a rescue group.  One evening, they brought the kittens to our place for our mutual approval (if the cats didn’t like us, the group wouldn’t let us have them), and we clicked.  Trixie was outgoing and affectionate, a veritable dog of a cat in her attempt to please us.  Midnight was timid.  She came out of her shell when Trixie died at 16.  Maybe it was because she didn’t have to fight for her share of the food anymore, or maybe it was because she lost her hearing, but she became much more outgoing.

Midnight died this week, at 22 years of age.

All three of these cats were completely random.  I didn’t look over a bunch of cats and pick the ones I liked.  And yet, each was awesome in her own way.

As are you, constant reader.  As am I.  As are those we don’t yet know, and probably won’t.  Let’s base a religion on that.

Martha Thomases, Media Goddess, reserves the right to be cranky again next week.).