The Nature Lesson: Butterflies

I cringed when she opened the package. It was my daughter Kelsey's 10th birthday, and she'd received a butterfly kit from a well-intentioned relative.

Well, at least it wasn't a chemistry set. The little booklet made it seem like a pretty easy lesson about nature, I thought, as we filled out the enclosed form to request the caterpillars.

Waiting for the little critters to show up in the mail, I pictured my family of five all hovering around the plastic cage, observing this lesson as we watched Mother Nature at work.

These painted lady butterflies would be brief and interesting visitors, unlike the long-term commitments of the Golden Retriever we'd brought home from the SPCA and our Blackie cat we were still mourning. We also had recently brought a new rescue kitty, Chloe, into our home, and she'd promptly established herself on Kelsey's desk. 

When the caterpillars showed up, we were ready to begin the lesson. We moved Chloe off of the desk and out of the bedroom, and we set up the habitat. As the caterpillars crawled around and eventually spun themselves into their little chrysalises, I regretted my initial unease. I know I tend to be the family fun-sucker. I worry. That's my job.

But this was kind of fun. And interesting. And educational. Moms like simple lessons about life. We all enjoyed the anticipation of opening the bedroom door to peak in at Mother Nature's progress. And as we secured the door again, we'd wonder what would be next in this lesson of observation.

The next part of the lesson was that of patience. It would take a little over a week for the pupae to transform themselves during the metamorphosis stage.

At last, right on schedule, they emerged. Painted lady butterflies! Bright orange and speckled, they were beautiful!!

Having the miracle of metamorphosis display itself right before our eyes was amazing. They rested magnificently inside their plastic habitat as their wings hardened.

We planned to release the butterflies into the yard as part of the lesson. We hoped that they would stick around during their brief two-weeks of remaining life expectancy.

But the next part of the lesson turned out to be the most difficult, as one day Kelsey walked up the stairs to her room and was surprised to find the door ajar. And just inside, crouched on the floor, was Chloe, happily eating a butterfly. The lesson had become a butterfly massacre.

The habitat was knocked over, and the bedroom was covered with shredded butterflies. Most were dead. A couple quivered their torn, spotted wings. Not a single one was unscathed.

We gathered up the survivors and took them outside to the garden. And the lesson of Mother Nature came to an end.

The Mensch

Mensch: A decent, upright person. In vernalacular, a truly good person.

Do you know that person? Every family should have at least one.

During the second week of October, 1971, I sat in the lobby of the Panorama City Kaiser Permanente hospital while my family went upstairs to say goodbye to my grandpa. I wasn't allowed upstairs. I remember the loneliness of sitting downstairs. Waiting for someone to keep me company.  Not being allowed to take part in the family togetherness.

My cousin Leonard came and picked me up. I don't recall a lot of the details,  but I remember that he took me home with him. He tucked me into bed that night along with his own daughter who was my age.  He took us to a baseball game,  the Dodgers vs. the Astros. Of course, I was still sad, but I felt so much less alone.

Years later when my own dad was in that same hospital, I flew down to southern California. I was plenty old enough to rent a car and get myself to the hospital,  but Leonard insisted upon picking me up.

That's the kind of person Leonard is: a mensch.

I wonder sometimes how Leonard came to be the person we thought to call when we needed someone there. But he is the one who has been called first by several different cousins when there's been need to rally the family. As the executive director of a very large organization, he certainly didn't have the type of job that made it easy to get away, yet he managed. 

When my dad passed away, Leonard broke away from an important business meeting to take my call, and he and his wife made the three-hour drive to be with my mom. He sat with her until I could get there,  only to turn right around and make a late-night return trip in order to be back at work the next morning.

It's not always the bad stuff. My mom's 80th birthday? He was there. My film project being screened at a film festival? He was there. 

I'm grateful that our family has this man, this mensch, to show us what being decent and upright is all about.

A Long Conversation

"I like to start my notes to you as if we’re already in the middle of a conversation."

That's part of a line from one of my favorite movies, You've Got Mail. It has always resonated with me because that is exactly how I feel about my text messages.

As phones have become more computer-like, and computers have become more mobile, I've gotten into the habit of considering each person's preferred communication method when I want to get in touch with someone. Is he using his tablet. Is it too late to text? Does she understand the little red notification message at the top of the screen?

Email, Facebook, text message, land line, cell phone. Everyone has his preference and will adamantly argue why his is the best choice.

"I'm on the computer all day at work and don't want to look at it at home." "I don't text." "I don't answer my home phone." "I'm not on Facebook because I don't care what people are having for lunch." At least one of these applies to you, right?

If you want to reach me, use whichever method you prefer. I'll answer...well, maybe not the house phone.

Personally, I cringe at the thought of talking on the telephone, any telephone. I've never mastered the art of interpreting people's emotions or figuring out when it's my turn to speak on the phone. My brain doesn't stay focused well enough to follow along for more than a few minutes before I start thinking about the dishes in the sink or wondering what type of cookies are in the cupboard.

Email and Facebook have their usefulness, but I'll pick up my cell phone and send a text whenever I can. My text messages are parts of long conversations. I like being able to scroll through previous texts to remind myself of those words of encouragement, snippets of gossip, and advice offered or received.

When I replaced my phone in the fall, I sadly visualized all of those long conversations disappearing. I even considered trying to save them, but I didn't want the guy at the store to think I was silly.

And so I started building new conversations that I look forward to continuing.

Indignation

Let's play a game. I'll list some names, and you tell me how you feel about them.

Bashar al-Assad

Jane Fonda

Michael Jackson

Roman Polanski

Joseph Stalin

Donald Sterling

Michael Vick

Joffrey Baratheon (All right. I know he's not real, but I'm glad the old bat did him in.)

It's so strange to me where society does and does not decide to jump into the frenzy. One may be splayed and skewered while another is practically ignored.

Donald Sterling's private comments show him to be pathetic and small-minded. As far as I'm concerned, however, that's as far is it should go. Ordinarily I wouldn't put any more thought into the situation because I certainly don't follow the entertainment genre of professional sports. Unfortunately, it's nearly impossible to avoid the barrage of "news" about it.

I'm bothered by the capriciousness of public indignation.

Some of the names on my list may mean nothing to you, and others might make you feel sick right down to your core. Entertainers usually get a free pass because, after all, they're artists. Or, if we really like their movies, it doesn't matter what they've done. And then there are the opinions that they've never been found guilty in a court of law or that they've paid their time.

Again, I go back to Donald Sterling. I don't see a secretly recorded private conversation going very far in a courtroom.

My original intention in writing about the baffling habit of punishing some bad behaviors while ignoring others was to draw a conclusion about which groups of people are most likely to be found guilty in the court of public opinion. As I ponder this question, I'm still utterly baffled.