This morning I received a quote from BestInspiration.com written by Betty Smith, who wrote the classic book “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” which was published in 1943. For some reason, as I was going through my morning inspirational email, I found myself really thinking about this quote for more than the few seconds I usually do as I move on to the next post.
Here’s the quote:
“Look at everthing as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time. Then your time on earth will be filled with glory.”
Throughout the morning my mind wandered to the quote and as happens more and more with each passing birthday, I felt a twinge of anxiety along with this niggling thought that someday I will disappear just like the clouds passing by my window.
On my afternoon break, I took a walk through the canyon. Everything seemed in slow motion. A two foot snake, lazing in the sand, surprised me and slithered off only as I brushed the end of its tail before I knew it was there. A few leaps forward, I almost stepped on a foot-long lizard frozen in my path. I stooped down to see if it was alive. The only thing that moved was its eyes. I picked it up and held it in my hand, wondering if it was old and dying. I was so amazed that I took out my cell phone and snapped a photo. I thought about that quote again.
“Look at everthing as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time. Then your time on earth will be filled with glory.”
I gently placed the lizard back in the sand and felt delight when I watched it scurry off. “Thank you Lizard,” I thought, for reminding me to slow down and appreciate what is in front of me and around me before I rush off into a future that will be here too soon.
When I came up from the canyon and stood at the highest point of the Torrey Pine Bluffs that looks out on the Pacific Ocean, I thought about that quote again…
“Look at everthing as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time. Then your time on earth will be filled with glory.”
The sun was so bright and the ocean shimmered. I looked out at the water and then up at the sky and watched ribbons of clouds float by. I imagined it was the first time I came upon that incredible view and suddenly I felt my energy spark and my eyes widen and the most magnificent wave of wonder wash through my body.
As that glory rushed through my heart and down to my feet, I took a deep breath and looked down at the red earth. Then I looked upward again and imagined that it was the last time I’d ever see the sky and the clouds. I stood there trying to open every pore and every sensing organ as wide as possible and soak in the exquisite beauty of the moment. As I took a deep breath, again, a wave of energy - this time, gratitude - pulsed through me.
As I continued on my walk, everything seemed more magical and precious. When I reached the crossroads where I can choose one of three hilly streets to climb my way back home, I paused and asked within. “That way,” I heard, “there are more people that way today.”
Up I puffed for three blocks with not a soul to exchange a smile. Where is everyone?!
Rounding a corner I expected to see this ubiquitous and big, and I mean really big, almost dog-sized, long-haired orange tabby cat walking the edge of a driveway. Instead I found a silver-haired, wrinkle-faced man in torn dungarees, dirty sweatshirt and workboots sitting on the ground and leaning up against an old truck. A big bag of raisins and a yellowing tattered phonebook lay next to him. I didn’t know him by name, as on previous walks, I’d only seen him occasionally, from a distance, and usually only his feet, as he was always working on one of the multitude of cars in the yard.
I slowed down and said, “Hi, how are you?” expecting a friendly hello. He said, “Not good at all,” and began to weep.”
“Oh my, what’s the matter?,” I said as I crouched down on my knees to meet him at eye level.
More tears. “My Furry was hit by a car and died on Sunday.”
“That big beautiful ball of orange fluff that’s always at the driveway’s edge?”
He nodded yes. “It was hit and run. Furry was just laying there in a pool of blood. I picked him and he was still warm and I just held him as long as I could. The man continued to weep.
“I was determined to find out who did it. No one who gathered said they saw a car. I walked the neighborhood and rang every doorbell. Finally, I got to one door and the woman who answered said, ‘I hit your cat. I thought it was a bunny. It just jumped in front of me.’ That was all she said. Nothing else.
“Yesterday, a little neighbor girl who is six knocked on the door with her mother. She asked, ‘Is Furry here? I want to give him a cookie.’ I told her ‘Furry isn’t here anymore.’ She asked, ‘Where did he go?’ ‘He’s in heaven now,’ I told her. She began to cry and said, ‘I love Furry.’ And then she threw arms around my legs and hugged me and wouldn’t let go. It was one of the best days of my life. I miss him so much. He was the only thing I had left after my wife died of cancer six months ago.
“He was a stray I took in when I was visiting my daughter in Los Angeles. His littermates were all killed by a car. He made it that time. And then there was the time he was attacked by a coyote. But he made it again. After that I only let him out with me. I taught him how to walk the perimeter of the yard and he never went outside of it. He was only eight years old. He shouldn’t have died.
“Furry was such a good cat. I made a little casket for him and buried him in the yard. We put a note inside telling him how much we loved him and then put flowers on top of the casket. Three times already I’ve dug him up just to hold him and tell him how much I love him and that I just want to be with him.”
“I”m so sorry,” I said. “Furry was an amazing cat and had a great life with you. You took really good care of him. I wish I had something more helpful to say to you because it must be so hard to lose your beloved wife and Furry.”
He nodded through his tears and said, “I can’t stop crying.”
“It’s okay. My name’s Mary. What’s yours?” He told me, and calling him by name, I said, “To me, your tears are a sign of how much you have loved. You really love Furry and I could tell how much he loved you whenever I saw the two of you out in the yard.”
He nodded again.
A neighbor saw us talking and came over. “Furry was a good cat. Our family really liked him. What’s a happy memory you have of Furry?”
The tears continued to flow as he said, “Furry loved to rub up against my side and when I’d pet his back all the way to the end of his tail, every time I’d finish, he’d turn his head back around and look up at me and smile.”
“Look at everthing as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time. Then your time on earth will be filled with glory.”
Thank you Betty Smith. Thank you Furry. Thank you Life.
Whoever came up with the “cats-have-9-lives” theory was on to something. My cat Francie (photo to left) is 10 years old and has used up more than a few. She’s been with me since I adopted her at the 
Francie surprised us all with her resilience. Outside of occasional stress colds and allergies, and a little extra sensitivity to sounds, which makes her a great watch-cat, she is a sweet, little 9 pound smiling purrbox who makes me laugh every day and brings everyone who meets her a smile.
Horses have always amazed and delighted me. The few times I’ve galloped on a horse, and the many times I’ve watched them run free in an open field, their power and speed has left me breathless.
