Coastline Pilot/LA TIMES

October 29, 2004

 

Chasing the Muse

Catharine Cooper

 

What do lobsters and politics and have in common? 

 

Hushed whispers echo through the neighborhood, passed from house to house, “Local lobsters have arrived at Café Zoolu.”  Proprietors, Michael and Toni, noted for nabbing the largest of the catch, prepare a remarkable meal.  Time for reservations!

 

My lifelong friend Cate is in town for her annual Laguna fix.  A transplant to Washington state, she and I go back in time to one of abundant local abalone and a Main Beach boardwalk that ran behind the gas station, the french fry/burger spot, and Bill Thomas’ camera store.  She’s “done” the beach, the massage, the shopping, but what’s left on her list?  Lobster.  Steve makes the call for four.

 

Zulu’s is warm against the on-coming storm. Already at the counter, Linda and Mike, on a sort-of farewell dinner, push the remains of their meal aside.  They have reluctantly sold their Laguna home and are moving north to St. Helena.  I’ve already pasted their name above my guest room door, and hope they remember to make good use of it.

 

Emma arrives with rain mist on her shoulders, and the feast is on.  Artichokes to start, salads and warm bread.  Of course, what’s not going to happen, is me eating lobster.  I have an odd emotional relationship with food, i.e., I choose not to eat things that I am not comfortable killing.  I’m occasionally okay with fish (which means I can bait a hook and reel one in), but that’s pretty much the end of it. No hooves, claws, paws or webs.  The live lobster in the boiling water gig is, for me, not a pleasant culinary adventure.

 

The appearance of a fully headed crustacean on my friend Cate’s plate brings up a vivid memory.

 

I was on a weekly shopping jaunt at Von’s market, filling my cart with un-live foods, such as cheese, tortillas, fruit and vegetables.  A woman standing at the lobster tank had made her selection, and beckoned the butcher to pull her choice from the water.  The young man weighed the lobster, and then set him on the counter while he prepared materials in which to wrap him.  The red skeletal covering shimmered in the fluorescent light of the store, and with great glee, I watched as the lobster pranced across the counter, even with his beautiful large claw awkwardly clamped shut by a rubber band.  The butcher gently stopped the lobster’s afternoon stroll, carefully picked him up and wrapped him in white paper.  He gingerly handed the package to the female shopper, who unceremoniously threw the package into the bottom of her cart.  I burst into tears.

 

I’m not suggesting my response was logical, only that there was something in her lack of compassion that relates directly to politics, which is where I began this conversation.  Compassion, it seems, is the missing link in this late season/last minute mud-slinging campaign.  

 

Over dinner, the onslaught of political mailers, whose smear efforts have taken the heart out of Laguna politics, consumed our conversation.  The ever-amplifying accusations seem intent on destroying the foundation and character of those who have both devoted their time and energies into caretaking our city and those who have applied for an opportunity to do so.

 

Cast as evildoers, with mal-intentions, the man and women portrayed in these oversized cards are hardly the same individuals with whom I’ve shared conversations and exchanged ideas.  These are not the real people who have stood in forums and discussed issues that daily affect life in Laguna.  I refuse to believe that any one of the candidates holds less in their hearts than a desire to ensure a future in which Laguna thrives.

 

Compassion is a simple tool we can employ in all our actions and communications.  It doesn’t cost a thing to embrace kindness and consideration as a foundation for our personal, business and community interactions, and it broadens our potential to clearly communicate with one another.

 

I understand fully the power of issues to ignite negative feelings.  Arguments within my own family have the ability to ruin an otherwise informative exchange.  I continue to challenge myself to apply deliberation and thoughtfulness to the words I choose, in order that their impact is beneficial to all parties. 

 

Our Zoolu meal comes to an end as Cate finishes her cherished lobster, and realized she cannot look at it’s “ribs”.  Suddenly, her meal is no longer food, but again, a lobster, playing out across a counter on its short stubby legs.  Compassion comes full circle.

 

Catharine Cooper continues her pursuit of expanded awareness.  She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net.