The pet door out to the back deck needed to be altered; its dog-sized, weighted flap being too heavy for my energetic but middle-aged cat, Ruby. With all my builder/handy-person friends either carrying their own full plates or on vacation, I decided with some trepidation to initiate the project myself.
I appreciate the practical, grounded-ness of hands-on activities. Especially gardening and cooking and practicing karate with the bo staff. Indeed I find that interaction with material things invites entrance into a creative zone, beyond the rational mind. A creative space where human and material intelligence mingle and unite to build elegant solutions, especially when the “know it all” ego can be set aside.
Some might call this intermingling communing with the devas or creating with the nature spirits or simply being intuitive and attuned to out-of-the-box possibilities. I call it one of the great gifts of being alive.
Playing with the same matter over time — be it a particular garden space, a personal musical instrument, tool, etc — can build a deeply artful, welcoming rapport that radiates beauty, joy, surprise, and inspiration. What personal stories do you have of this profound creative cooperation?
On the surface I lacked this deep rapport with the pet door renovation project. For starters it was a one time event. In addition, I didn’t have the officially required tools. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have known how to use many of them.
What I did have was 1) a great desire for Ruby to be able to enjoy being on the back deck while I am working during the day and 2) my neighbor, Sharon, who was kind enough to stop by with a Phillips screwdriver and her good humor.
The renovation started well: existing pet door with heavy flap easily removed. Check.
Then I hit the snag. Although I’m usually quite attentive to detail, I neglected to notice that the replacement pet door I had ordered, while having a wonderfully light-weight flap, and being the proper length and height, was not actually the proper width. Too wide by about 1.5 centimeters. Darn.
Not wanting to abandon the project, I sat on the floor with the Phillips screwdriver and the cardboard packaging, and the hole in the door, and mosquitoes flitting in and out, while Ruby and Sharon looked on. I considered what resources I could put my hands on and thought about how much Ruby likes to be outside. I waited.
Then it came. The “elegant” solution. Cardboard. Scissors. Duct Tape. Perfect shims. Perfect fit.
Now my builder friends will laugh when they see this creation. They’ll consider it too “Arkansan” in the derogatory sense and will probably insist on installing it all properly. I laugh too, because the lines are neat and straight, the door works, and Ruby’s enjoying the late summer sun. Thanks intuition. Thanks devas.