The lobster and the lesson on compassion

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 Cafe Zulu.” 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 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 OK with fish (which means I

can bait a hook and reel one in), but that’s pretty much the end of

it. No hoofs, 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 Vons 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 Zulu meal comes to an end as Cate finishes her cherished

lobster, and realized she cannot look at its “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.