And yet more about expectations

I've been thinking about expectations, and how they shape our perception of—well, of everything.

(I touched on expectations here once before. Here I go again.)

We spent a long weekend in Cape May, NJ, and arrived home this past Sunday evening. It was nice to get away, the town was as beautiful as always, we climbed lighthouse steps and rode in a horse-drawn carriage and visited a Civil War village and ate far too much food that someone else had prepared and consequently cleaned up. It was fun.

But the weather mostly stunk. We knew, thanks to internet weather reports, that an unseasonable cold snap was expected, both here and there. We packed jackets, and rain coats, and umbrellas. And we didn't use them the whole time, but we did use them a significant portion of the time. We squeezed in some beach fun, but we also spent time looking longingly, through mist and raindrops and wind, at the nearly inhospitable shore. I fumed a bit on the drive home, felt sorry for myself, composed various blog posts with silly titles such as 'Scuse Me while I Curse the Sky... (I kid you not.)

Yet, the weekend was nice, and relaxing, and trouble-free. Even the rides there and back weren't bad. The newly purchased used car ran like a champ, we saw mountains, and Amish buggies, and rolling hills with barns tucked neatly within. We neatly avoided Philly at rush hour. Whew.

So what was lacking? Not much. Some sunshine, some warmer temperatures, I guess—I was expecting air temps to match the water temps (upper 70s) as they normally do in mid-September. (The water was great; the air, not so.) And there's the problem word: expecting. I was anticipating a certain type of visit, and we didn't have it. So now I feel disenchanted, disappointed, cheated of what should have been a warm, balmy weekend. But why? We're all humans living on this changeable orb. We know, by now, that weather is not a sure thing in any direction. We know that it isn't always sunny at the beach. Yet still, there's this pervasive feeling of discontentment in my gut.

Expectations can get us into trouble emotionally. If I'm learning any lesson consistently and repeatedly, it's that I need to expect less from life. I need to stop expecting good weather, uncomplicated days, and excellent health. I need to stop expecting people to be good, and thoughtful, and unselfish. I need to remember which world I'm currently inhabiting, and start living with more appreciation for the many times when things actually do go well and I ride the wave of relative ease of living. Truly, for most of us these days, life is pretty easy. We have so many gadgets, countless conveniences, comforts, and abundance, that it seems we've lost sight of the harsh reality that there's still so much we can't control.

Like the weather at the beach.

So, I need to turn my foolish little expectations on their heads. Let's see what that looks like:

I'm so glad that a hurricane didn't hit land while we were there! I'm so thankful that our tire didn't fall off en route and roll down a mountainside. I'm so happy that the horse pulling our Cape May carriage was obedient and stopped at the light instead of rolling through the busy intersection or charging a pedestrian. I'm really delighted that Marcus's slight cold didn't turn into a full-fledged illness with fever and chills. I'm very relieved that no one mugged me because this was one of the few times each year when I actually had cash in my purse. I'm thankful that I was blessed enough to have my own great little family to accompany me on this drizzly escapade.

There. That wasn't so hard, was it? No. It wasn't. We aren't perfect. Life isn't perfect. It's good, but not perfect. And that's okay. I can hope for better weather next time, but I need to steer clear of "why, why, woe unto us."

It was fun. And the last positive spin? All that cold wetness made it much easier to depart on the final day. Here's to realistic expectations, and nurturing a grateful heart.

The Lion in Winter (and the giraffe and the bear)

Some exotic backsides especially for you! Which leads me to my post...

Watching the weather this past weekend, I could see that Monday was shaping up to be a potential winter zoo visitation day. Come Monday morning, the predictions were oddly still correct, and the day dawned rather gray but dry, and somewhat cool but unseasonably warm for February. I made one last scan of radar on the Weather Channel, packed the kid’s bag with unmessy edibles, and off we went to the Pittsburgh Zoo and Aquarium.

It wasn’t our first visit, but it was our first winter visit. We missed a few of the warm-weather animals that were either hidden or on hiatus ‘til spring. The huge, disgusting Komodo Dragon was absent, as were those cute, tiny crocs (or are they alligators?), and Kids Kingdom was roped off—so no petting tame deer or crossing bridges over the otters and their buddies. But most of the other animals were happy to see us, or so it seemed. The tigers were up and about, and as one of them eyed me hungrily from across a steep crevasse, I recalled with a shudder the recent escape of and attack by one of these fierce beasts in another zoo. Alas, this one stayed in his designated area, and we exchanged looks before walking on to see the lions (both lounging on their big lookout rock), giraffes, zebras, elephants, and ostrich. No gazelles, though—perhaps it was too cold for them?

The rainforest (monkey house) was not quite as horrifically pungent as it is in warmer months. We witnessed lots of varieties lounging and nit-picking, and were lucky enough to get a great, swinging view of a baby orangutan. I couldn’t linger by the gorilla’s area, though—three big adults were sitting quite near to the glass, and although their sheer size is rather frightening, the worst part of all is the absolutely human expressions on their faces. I can’t help thinking that they understand their situation completely and would never choose such a fate. I actually felt guilty taking a couple of pictures, even though the opportunity was golden, because it honestly was like looking in the window of someone’s home and photographing him as he sat listlessly on his couch, utterly resigned to his doom.

On a happier note, the wild dogs were scampering about. And the bears were out, mostly sleeping, but one (whom I respectfully did not photograph) was completely absorbed with a certain part of his body. I’ll leave the details up to you, but suffice it to say I don’t think he even noticed us. Thankfully, Marcus didn’t put the pieces together so I didn’t have to explain that one. Then came the aquarium; we made our way around it more quickly than I’d like (Marcus gets a little freaky in all the dark areas, even back by the penguins, where I could spend many minutes); then we parked our gear and ourselves in front of the giant two-story tank, munched our lunch, and watched the fish dancing to new age music. (I’m not a huge fan, but for this purpose, the synth-heavy sounds were perfect.)

Then the polar bears, which were delightful, plus a flirtatious peacock and his unimpressed amour, and the ever-playful sea lions, and the domesticated animals (llama, camel, reindeer, sheep, goats), and that was about it. The best part of all was that there were no crowds, no huge lines of classrooms taking up the viewing area, no sweat dripping from our brow, and no over-heated animals hiding in the bushes. Plus, the price is a smidge lower in winter months—and lower prices are always a good thing!

What I’m trying to say is that it was a really enjoyable few hours, and the shame of it was that we practically had the place to ourselves. If the temperature’s going to top 50, think about a little trip to the zoo. It really is a great asset to our city, and although limited in size, it keeps getting better and better. Spending a good part of the day outdoors is also soul-lifting, as is watching God’s beautiful living creations pacing, prancing, and napping right before your eyes. Until I can afford safari or rainforest exploration, this is as close as I’ll get to most of these critters—and I’m surely thankful to have had the opportunity to see them, even in captivity. The fish alone could make you cry; so amazing, all so unique, moving with such fluid grace… I could get positively weepy sitting in front of that big tank of miracles.

Next time we experience an unseasonable warming trend, take a hooky day if you can, slow down, and gaze with appreciation at some awesome creatures. I counted only 24 cars in the lot when we were leaving; I hope that next time we visit, that number is much higher—and that your car is among them.