Smoothing, Softening, Mellowing, and Blending

Daughter and grandchildren at 2013 Boston Marathon

From the screened porch where we were eating, I could see our rough grass and scrub oaks and pines, and along the sand road, the undergrowth of bayberry bushes where gray-blue berries were at last visible.

Suddenly, a mewling, scrawny black cat with white under the chin leaped into view, putting its claws through the mesh—startling us into turning our eyes to it and then to the hot chicken on our plates. I looked at my husband. We paused. Our older daughter already had a rescued cat. And now Mellow, inexplicably named as such by our younger daughter, became hers.

As my counseling practice grew, I experienced more deeply the pain people brought. Then, one day, I heard as a thought, smoothing, softening, mellowing, and blending, feeling myself to be "smoothed, softened, mellowed, and blended" in that moment. I have kept those words with an effort to be them, as best as I can, in my effect on others—and also kept a curious wondering about a black and white cat, from years ago, named Mellow.

This year, twelve years since I heard those four words, my daughter, the one who named Mellow, has qualified for the Boston Marathon. I’d told her if she ever qualified for that race, I’d come from India. My brother, who once ran the race himself, said I could stay at his home as long as I liked—provided that I blended in. Smiling, I wrote him back the other three words.

My realization is, "The words we choose to define ourselves with may be wind at our back—helping."