My brother, the cat (redux)

Dear Feastlings,

Long have I compared my brother to a cat- dropped from any height, without warning even, he has always, from my vantage point, landed on his feet. Today I write to say that nearly fifty-seven years into it, I’m learning from him. His secret, I think, is that from a very young age, he’s been aware that whatever is going to happen in the world is just going to happen. It’s not under his control, and he’s accepted it, whereas I’ve spent the majority of my existence concerned with how fair it is or isn’t that the universe dishes out to me what it chooses to. For this, I’ve suffered, mostly needlessly.

Yesterday and today have shown me- or more accurately, the past three years have shown me- that the more I accept the fact that things are going to happen, the more I’ll land on my feet, like a cat, or my brother. Will a brand new person simply not show up, on the heels of someone who’s been here for months and simply stopped showing up? These days, I’d suggest to myself to simply expect it. Will someone else come in to excitedly share that she’s starting a food truck and leaving next month? Yep. Will our produce order show up incomplete? Will our insurance company refuse to include the Federal Courthouse as an additional insured for a catered event? Will someone throw one of our three power switches during the night? Yes, yes, and yes. And you know what? Now that I pretty much expect it all, or at least that it’s now par for the course to have three to five disasters a day, it’s really not so bad anymore.

I don’t say this facetiously. I’ve just needed for years to learn to embrace hoping for the best while truly expecting the worst, and now that I’m learning it, I can go on about my existence with less anxiety and fear.

Every day lately has been like letting go of one trapeze partner only to have another one swing in just as a needed them to offer a pair of wrists for me to grab, and before you know it, I’m up on a platform, acting like I knew the whole time I’d land there.

So here I go, about my business. I’m just acting like I’ll land on the platform high above an audience, and even if I don’t stick the landing, I’m at least not dashed on the floor of the circus tent. This week, my business is thus:

We’ll have a wine tasting on Saturday, just like normal, and with any luck, everyone who needs to show up to make that happen will do so,

Bringing something to the table

On Monday, we’ll host our second benefit dinner for Sister Jose Women’s Center, and again, whomever we’re in need of that day will arrive, along with whatever food needs to arrive, and whatever guests- there’s room for five or ten more of you if you’re looking for a Monday night treat that helps women experiencing homelessness in Tucson.

The good kind of sellout

And then next week, we’ll have a new menu come Tuesday, a Sunday of being fleetingly open for Easter, then shut again until I’m ready to believe that it’s normal for everyone and everything that’s scheduled to come in- well, to come in.

In the meantime, I’ll wish good luck to every truck I see with a “now hiring experienced technicians” sign slapped onto it- two this morning- and every business with a “now hiring” sign in the window- three this morning- and I’ll hope that it works out for us as well. And I’ll hope that exactly enough of you will come in to eat or drink or shop- enough to keep the doors open without overwhelming whichever of the staff have come in that day. And I’ll be thankful for it, landing neatly on my feet, walking away with a pause to lick my paw.

Your cat in training,


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