Are You Guys Brothers?

     A beautiful bluebird was perched on a limb of our Tamarisk tree the morning of our thirty-third anniversary. Ray and I were both thrilled because Ray had never seen a bluebird and I hadn’t since I was a child. We experienced it as a very special gift from the plump little bird to us on our special day – a much-welcomed and appreciated guest for the briefest moment in our lives.

     More and more, it is apparent to Ray and to me that all things and experiences in our lives are guests and gifts to be welcomed and appreciated. The humpback whale and its calf that make an occasional appearance in the harbor, the yellow finches at the bird feeder and the robin in the bird bath, the trillium that returns to the garden briefly each spring, the red Bartlett pear that is enjoyed at breakfast, the green leather arm chairs in which we read the newspaper, the sand dunes that frame our morning walk, the house to which we return eagerly because it is filled with treasured objects that remind us that we are safe in familiar surroundings, the friends who come over for dinner and cards, the television programs we watch with joy, the good novels we read on our Kindles in bed, and the kiss we share before turning out the lights are all gifts that are temporarily ours to enjoy and to care for, but not to think of as our own. They are all guests which will leave us one day and visit others with the hope of being appreciated.

     We are caretakers of the bluebird, the finch, and the robin. We plant trees in which they might perch, fill the feeders so that they might eat, and refresh the water in the birdbath daily so that they might drink and preen, but we don’t own the birds, and someday, after we’re gone, someone else will trim the trees, fill the feeder, and change the water in the birdbath for them.

     We have purchased our home, renovated it, decorated it, and insured it, but there have been many occupants of the house since it was built in 1850 and there will be many after us who will have the opportunity to enjoy and appreciate it. All of us are caretakers, temporarily responsible for the structure, the artwork, the antiques, and the furniture which may or may not stay together as a unit. For us to think of an oil painting as “ours” is as foolish as us thinking of the bluebird as ours. It’s a guest to be welcomed and appreciated – a gift of this life to be handled with care.

     Though we have been together as a couple for thirty-three years, I don’t own Ray nor does he own me, anymore than we own our friends, or parents own their children. We are gifts to each other to be appreciated. Before we came together as partners, we each had previous lovers, roommates, and friends. Before that, we lived with our parents. Before that, it’s anyone’s guess where we were, if we were. The same is true after we die. Neither of us believes in a tangible afterlife but if there is one, we don’t imagine ourselves roaming eternity together. This union is temporary. We are guests in each other’s lives, like the bluebird.

     Given this understanding, it shocks us both to read of mothers drowning their children, fathers shooting their families, husbands beating their wives, and parents molesting their offspring, as if they owned the other and had full rights to do whatever they wished with them. People who beat their pets must think similarly – “I own you. I’ll damn well do with you what I please.” We may have a bill of sale, just as plantation owners did for the human beings they bought as slaves, but the truth is, the pets and the slaves are really extraordinarily abused guests.

     There’s a local, moneyed, married couple that has the reputation for being great champions of social justice. They rightfully want us all to vigorously protect the lives of other human beings. Yet, they live in one of the most beautiful old Victorian homes in town that is also the one most in need of paint and attention. Their message, I feel, is undermined by the lack of concern they show for the great, old house in which they live. They are poor custodians.

     Environmentalism is a movement that seeks to remind us that we are expected to be good caretakers of the earth on which we have temporary residence. Everything we do to the earth has a consequence. When we plant a tree, turn off the water while shaving or brushing our teeth, throw our litter into a trash can rather than on the ground, recycle our newspapers, bottles and cans, we are showing gratitude for the gift of the space that we are using for the short time we have physical form. When we treat the earth with disdain, as if we owned it, we’re like the person who abuses his or her spouse or who fires a shot at the bluebird perched on the Tamarisk tree.

     Sometimes it takes us a long while to see beyond ourselves and to find our place in the great scheme of things. It is easy to be fearful of insignificance and to want to dominate everything around us. Maybe we need to go through the stage in which we destroy in order to be shamed into awareness of our communion with all things which simply seek to feel safe and valued. One of the gifts of age – another guest to be welcomed – is the joy that comes with understanding that all of life is ours to enjoy as long as we take good care of it.