Originally posted ca. 10/29; taken down 11/01/06; revised, reposted 11/05/06
Dear Reader,
Lots to talk about; really tired. There are so many things going on now; one of my cats, Winky, has died, new clients, apartment upheaval, being discarded yet again.
I was “dumped” for the second time by a man I’d been seeing, sort of, for the last few months. The problem is that I feel a lot (obviously too much) for this man; I know he’s at many levels a good guy, and I thought we had a lot to share with one another. No, we didn’t have everything in common, but enough points to work from and we each have our own things to work on.
The first time he dumped me, he said we were “not a good fit.” I had no idea what he meant. Interestingly, in this first go round, prior to telling me I “wasn’t a good fit” for him, he was talking about how he had to upgrade his entire office staff (he has his own business). It was as if he were dismissing me at the same time he was dismissive of his employees. All I can infer from this is that he thought I was somehow lacking; I know I should not think that way, but it’s where my head goes.
In our second go-round, he asked me out (I was stunned, frankly), and took the initiative to restart our physical relationship. He seemed involved and interested; he talked about things he wanted us to do together, he said he wouldn’t bug out again, and he told me about his “real” girlfriend. I was saddened to find out that I was only the “other woman,” but was willing to take on the role, because I thought he was worth it. I tried to be attentive, flexible, open, undemanding and caring. Not good enough.
I got the classic “I don’t have romantic feelings for you,” as if these feelings develop instantly. He reiterated that he didn’t have “those feelings” for me, nor would he. He also let me know that none of the conversations we had had meant enough to him to even remember them, and I've gotten the feeling that any emails I sent were pretty much ignored. I know I tend to go on too much, and I know he was really busy all of the time, but it would have been nice if he had at least listened to me in some form. I apparently was not worth the effort, which makes me feel worth less. So, I’m alone again. This is terribly hard for me, but it seemed so easy for him. No big deal; can we be friends?
I don’t understand how some people can move so easily from one type of relating to another; how can someone move from being in a lovely, intimate interaction to being “pals” (or more sadly, enemies) with seemingly no difficulty? All I can conclude is that the intimacy meant little when it happened, which I thought was something not possible with this individual. I thought I was dealing with a self-aware, open, mature man, for whom intimacy was a meaningful and important part of relating. Apparently it was, just not with me. I feel bad, and cheapened, and less than I did before, and I hate feeling like this.
I have tried for years to not dwell on negative emotions. Recently, I have felt them all: anger, hate, self-doubt, jealousy, frustration, you name it. I have not been able to quash them and many of these have been turned inward, with the commensurate self-hating and depressive behaviors. I thought I had grown out of these things, but clearly not yet. And, all of this takes so much energy out of me; I am completely exhausted all of the time. Anger and hate are the worst. I truly don't like to feel these things; I know I'm making bad karmic causes, but I can't help myself.
The other blow from this episode is that I might have to stay away from my chorus until I feel better. It just hurts too much to see him, and not be able to talk or interact. And it feels bad to be just “one of the folks.” I communicated with him after he sang in a concert with the rest of our chorus men, as well as about 100 other guys, because I was so pleased to see what a good time he was having. He replied, and the result of this communication is that all of my hurt feelings have been re-activated. Oh, well, the chorus will survive for a while without me.
The one upside to this whole chapter has been that I have lost over 20 pounds in the last 4 months. This was weight that I could certainly spare, and wanted to lose, but I wish that I had lost it through increased activity of certain kinds, and not by way of having no appetite because I feel so bad all of the time. I suppose I should thank him for this.
It’s not as if there is nothing else going on in my life, either. I have been having a few medical issues; Winky has died; I’ve got work, my chorus work (I’m the treasurer), my gardens and other things to keep up with; but all have been overwhelmed by this situation with this man, which I can’t seem to process and get past.
This is so hard, and I have not figured out how to feel better.
More cheerful and interesting stuff soon, I promise!
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Monday, October 30, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Relationship? Huh? What? Maybe? Nope!
Dear Reader,
A while ago, a friend of mine asked me what I expected from a relationship. He was, of course, talking about the type of RELATIONSHIP between a man and a woman. The dicey part of answering this question was that he was the man and I was the woman, so I don't think he asked me this simply out of idle curiosity. Or, considering subsequent actions on his part, maybe he did. He dumped me, for the second time, a week ago, so at least in this case, the question of RELATIONSHIP is moot.
At the time though, I said truthfully that I simply didn't know. I had not thought about a RELATIONSHIP for so many years, I really didn't know what I wanted anymore. I'm not sure, frankly, if I ever knew what I wanted, which may be the reason none of my RELATIONSHIPS ever lasted for any length of time.
I have spent the last several weeks considering this question and trying to formulate an honest, thorough and meaningful answer. I've thought about the kind of man I would like to be in a RELATIONSHIP with; see my earlier entry entitled “Relationship? Huh? What?” from October 14.
So, here is the answer to this incredibly loaded question: First and foremost, I want to like the person I am in a RELATIONSHIP with. Not love, LIKE. As in, I LIKE being around this person for any length of time, and I LIKE seeing him again after we’ve been apart, and I LIKE the way he is with me, and I LIKE the way he thinks. I believe people frequently fall in LOVE with folks they don’t particularly LIKE, or who don’t really LIKE them. I hope to avoid this.
Then, there are the qualities that apply to all relationships, listed in my previous entry: honesty, mutuality, respect, openness, communication, unconditionality. Next, the other more obvious aspects, I suppose: companionship, good talking, comfortableness, ease, some mutual interests (covered in the “MAN” section of my previous post), generosity, physical interaction at all levels; honesty, again, especially about feelings for one another; support in difficult times and joy in happy times.
More esoteric, I guess: a bit of “nudge-nudge, wink-wink,” in public; sharing problems and trying to solve them together, or at least offering suggestions; love, at some point, along with LIKE; down the road, exclusivity; later on perhaps, commitment, happily; security; understanding that there are needs, no matter how independent we want to portray ourselves as being; letting one another know as needs change, and working to accommodate and grow; understanding that people do change over time, and working to understand those changes in each other; hoping that this fosters a long-term, maybe lifelong relationship, which need only be acknowledged by the two people involved.
Here is what I wrote as the “Homily” when I officiated at my sister’s wedding in 1996 (long story; I’ll elaborate in another entry, if anyone is interested); I’ve substituted the word “relationship” for the word “marriage” (it WAS a wedding, after all):
Relationships sometimes begin with love, and are built on it, but are not built only of love.
In many ways, a relationship is like a house. It provides comfort and shelter to its occupants.
To maintain it in good condition, chores must be done; sweeping, cleaning, taking out the trash, keeping the lines of communication in working order.
Sometimes, you must make repairs when things age or break: fix a leak in the roof, or add extra insulation to keep the house comfortable during cold spells.
As time goes on, you may need to add an extra room, or put on a porch. And once in a while, to keep a house standing, you have to shore up the whole foundation.
The relationship is not an end in itself; like the house the people live in, it's a shared work in progress.
The following also beautifully describes RELATIONSHIPS; it's from "The Prophet," by Kahlil Gibran:
And he answered, saying: You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
These are probably the best expressions of what I hope to find in a “RELATIONSHIP” that I can enunciate. Feel free to use them for your wedding/committment/other ceremonies. Let me know if you do, so I can wish you well in your RELATIONSHIP.
It’s not all that complicated, now that I think about it. Sadly, it seems to become very complicated for me. I'm back to looking for that man I described in my earlier entry, in hopes of having a RELATIONSHIP. Oh, well, back to the drawing board, I suppose. I have to get over my hurt first; I'm still working on that.
More later, to be sure,
Catbird
A while ago, a friend of mine asked me what I expected from a relationship. He was, of course, talking about the type of RELATIONSHIP between a man and a woman. The dicey part of answering this question was that he was the man and I was the woman, so I don't think he asked me this simply out of idle curiosity. Or, considering subsequent actions on his part, maybe he did. He dumped me, for the second time, a week ago, so at least in this case, the question of RELATIONSHIP is moot.
At the time though, I said truthfully that I simply didn't know. I had not thought about a RELATIONSHIP for so many years, I really didn't know what I wanted anymore. I'm not sure, frankly, if I ever knew what I wanted, which may be the reason none of my RELATIONSHIPS ever lasted for any length of time.
I have spent the last several weeks considering this question and trying to formulate an honest, thorough and meaningful answer. I've thought about the kind of man I would like to be in a RELATIONSHIP with; see my earlier entry entitled “Relationship? Huh? What?” from October 14.
So, here is the answer to this incredibly loaded question: First and foremost, I want to like the person I am in a RELATIONSHIP with. Not love, LIKE. As in, I LIKE being around this person for any length of time, and I LIKE seeing him again after we’ve been apart, and I LIKE the way he is with me, and I LIKE the way he thinks. I believe people frequently fall in LOVE with folks they don’t particularly LIKE, or who don’t really LIKE them. I hope to avoid this.
Then, there are the qualities that apply to all relationships, listed in my previous entry: honesty, mutuality, respect, openness, communication, unconditionality. Next, the other more obvious aspects, I suppose: companionship, good talking, comfortableness, ease, some mutual interests (covered in the “MAN” section of my previous post), generosity, physical interaction at all levels; honesty, again, especially about feelings for one another; support in difficult times and joy in happy times.
More esoteric, I guess: a bit of “nudge-nudge, wink-wink,” in public; sharing problems and trying to solve them together, or at least offering suggestions; love, at some point, along with LIKE; down the road, exclusivity; later on perhaps, commitment, happily; security; understanding that there are needs, no matter how independent we want to portray ourselves as being; letting one another know as needs change, and working to accommodate and grow; understanding that people do change over time, and working to understand those changes in each other; hoping that this fosters a long-term, maybe lifelong relationship, which need only be acknowledged by the two people involved.
Here is what I wrote as the “Homily” when I officiated at my sister’s wedding in 1996 (long story; I’ll elaborate in another entry, if anyone is interested); I’ve substituted the word “relationship” for the word “marriage” (it WAS a wedding, after all):
Relationships sometimes begin with love, and are built on it, but are not built only of love.
In many ways, a relationship is like a house. It provides comfort and shelter to its occupants.
To maintain it in good condition, chores must be done; sweeping, cleaning, taking out the trash, keeping the lines of communication in working order.
Sometimes, you must make repairs when things age or break: fix a leak in the roof, or add extra insulation to keep the house comfortable during cold spells.
As time goes on, you may need to add an extra room, or put on a porch. And once in a while, to keep a house standing, you have to shore up the whole foundation.
The relationship is not an end in itself; like the house the people live in, it's a shared work in progress.
The following also beautifully describes RELATIONSHIPS; it's from "The Prophet," by Kahlil Gibran:
And he answered, saying: You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
These are probably the best expressions of what I hope to find in a “RELATIONSHIP” that I can enunciate. Feel free to use them for your wedding/committment/other ceremonies. Let me know if you do, so I can wish you well in your RELATIONSHIP.
It’s not all that complicated, now that I think about it. Sadly, it seems to become very complicated for me. I'm back to looking for that man I described in my earlier entry, in hopes of having a RELATIONSHIP. Oh, well, back to the drawing board, I suppose. I have to get over my hurt first; I'm still working on that.
More later, to be sure,
Catbird
Friday, October 27, 2006
Requiem for a Winkenbein
Dear Reader,
In an earlier post, entitled "Winkenbein" (http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2006/10/winkenbein.html), I briefly described the condition of one of my cats, Winky. She was battling an aggressive form of abdominal cancer. Yesterday, at about 11:20 AM, Winky lost the fight, and died. I was there with her. Feeling one of your pets die, on their own without help, is a very poignant and wrenching moment.
Winky was one of the most joyful animals I have ever known. Despite the facts that her life started in a place where the desire for her presence was conditional, and that when I came into possession of her she was fearful of certain things (raised hands, for example), she blossomed into a beautiful and generally happy cat. She would chase anything that moved: flies, moths, feet, fingers, tails (her own and others), even letters falling down the hallway mail chute. Then, she would keep watch for future offenders. She spent much time guarding the mail chute, waiting for another letter to come rushing down so that she could try and catch it.
She became known as the “Mayor of the Third Floor,” because of her penchant for waiting by the elevators for neighbors to appear and say hello. Although I wasn’t supposed to let the cats out into the hallway, the majority of my neighbors were happy to see her. She sometimes had conflicted reactions to certain people, especially those of the male persuasion, but I chalked that up to her early upbringing before she came to live with me.
Winky was the only cat my veterinarians had ever seen who presented with a dislocation of the tail. I came home from work one evening to find her almost normal, but her tail was hanging in a very odd way. When I tried to touch it, I got a pained yowl and a great swat. On further examination, I realized there was something seriously wrong with her back end. I took her to the emergency vets, who could not treat her because she was so wild from the pain she was in. They gave me pain meds, and told me to take her to my regular vet first thing in the morning.
Upon wheedling an emergency visit, I took her in to my trusted vets, still angry and in agony. Again, this vet looked at her, at the way her tail presented, and had no idea what was wrong. After she was sedated, an x-ray was taken, and the problem became apparent; she had two dislocated bones in her tail. In case you don’t know, the cat’s tail is simply an extension of the spine: more little vertebrae extending down to the tip. In this case, two of those little bones were out of line; one a lot, the other a little. The vet had never seen this. His first suggested treatment was possible amputation; I put the kibosh on that immediately. He then called a veterinary orthopedic specialist, and the consensus treatment was splinting and hoping the bones realigned. So, Winky had the embarrassment of a bound, splinted tail for six weeks, until it was determined that the bones had indeed realigned, and she could keep her magnificent tail, with full mobility. The mystery of how this injury happened has never been solved; neither Winky nor her fellow cats ever gave up what happened. All I know is, when I've mentioned "dislocated tail," I get looks of indignation and disbelief from cats and humans alike.
Her tail frequently expressed her joy (and irritation). Her leaping, jumping and running did, too. It broke my heart to watch her lose all of her beautiful body, and become reduced to a skeleton by the cancer that consumed her. I know she didn’t like to be seen that way, which is one reason I think she decided to go yesterday.
I think I tried to do all I could to care for her, but I still go through the litany of what I may have done wrong, or how I waited too long to take her to the vet in the first place (I thought she had hyperthyroidism; she was losing weight, but eating well and was otherwise asymptomatic); how I waited too long to have her surgery (see my previous entry); how I waited too long to get her started on meds (I could not afford, nor did I think chemo was the right course, but we tried steroids). I have been through long-term, wasting illnesses with all of my cats (my luck!), and have gone through this litany with each one. I’ve really worked hard with each one to get them the treatment I could, and give them the treatment I could (meds, sub-cutaneous fluids, insulin, etc.), but it never feels like it’s enough when they die.
Winky’s death yesterday was very peaceful. It was just us; Big Guy slept close by for a while, but then went to the other end of the bed when it was clear things were happening. Kootie kept her distance; she has issues.
I fell asleep with my hand on Winky’s chest, feeling her breathing. I woke up a few hours later, and readjusted her so she was on the towel I had for her. Another few hours after that, I woke to find her breathing heavily, but the breaths were irregular and jagged. I knew something had changed, and I listened as her breathing went through various changes. When it became apparent to me that she was going, I told her it was okay to go. It took a while for me to convince her (stubborn as ever!), but she finally rested. Her breathing stopped, but her good heart kept on beating for some time afterwards; nearly two minutes. I was told later by the vet that this was normal, although I want to attribute it to her joy in life and her stubbornness of character.
What a wonderful friend she was; I will miss her crumbly purr, her silky fur, and her insisting on sitting in my lap no matter what else I was doing. She was my Big Beauty, my Winkenbein, Winky.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
In an earlier post, entitled "Winkenbein" (http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2006/10/winkenbein.html), I briefly described the condition of one of my cats, Winky. She was battling an aggressive form of abdominal cancer. Yesterday, at about 11:20 AM, Winky lost the fight, and died. I was there with her. Feeling one of your pets die, on their own without help, is a very poignant and wrenching moment.
Winky was one of the most joyful animals I have ever known. Despite the facts that her life started in a place where the desire for her presence was conditional, and that when I came into possession of her she was fearful of certain things (raised hands, for example), she blossomed into a beautiful and generally happy cat. She would chase anything that moved: flies, moths, feet, fingers, tails (her own and others), even letters falling down the hallway mail chute. Then, she would keep watch for future offenders. She spent much time guarding the mail chute, waiting for another letter to come rushing down so that she could try and catch it.
She became known as the “Mayor of the Third Floor,” because of her penchant for waiting by the elevators for neighbors to appear and say hello. Although I wasn’t supposed to let the cats out into the hallway, the majority of my neighbors were happy to see her. She sometimes had conflicted reactions to certain people, especially those of the male persuasion, but I chalked that up to her early upbringing before she came to live with me.
Winky was the only cat my veterinarians had ever seen who presented with a dislocation of the tail. I came home from work one evening to find her almost normal, but her tail was hanging in a very odd way. When I tried to touch it, I got a pained yowl and a great swat. On further examination, I realized there was something seriously wrong with her back end. I took her to the emergency vets, who could not treat her because she was so wild from the pain she was in. They gave me pain meds, and told me to take her to my regular vet first thing in the morning.
Upon wheedling an emergency visit, I took her in to my trusted vets, still angry and in agony. Again, this vet looked at her, at the way her tail presented, and had no idea what was wrong. After she was sedated, an x-ray was taken, and the problem became apparent; she had two dislocated bones in her tail. In case you don’t know, the cat’s tail is simply an extension of the spine: more little vertebrae extending down to the tip. In this case, two of those little bones were out of line; one a lot, the other a little. The vet had never seen this. His first suggested treatment was possible amputation; I put the kibosh on that immediately. He then called a veterinary orthopedic specialist, and the consensus treatment was splinting and hoping the bones realigned. So, Winky had the embarrassment of a bound, splinted tail for six weeks, until it was determined that the bones had indeed realigned, and she could keep her magnificent tail, with full mobility. The mystery of how this injury happened has never been solved; neither Winky nor her fellow cats ever gave up what happened. All I know is, when I've mentioned "dislocated tail," I get looks of indignation and disbelief from cats and humans alike.
Her tail frequently expressed her joy (and irritation). Her leaping, jumping and running did, too. It broke my heart to watch her lose all of her beautiful body, and become reduced to a skeleton by the cancer that consumed her. I know she didn’t like to be seen that way, which is one reason I think she decided to go yesterday.
I think I tried to do all I could to care for her, but I still go through the litany of what I may have done wrong, or how I waited too long to take her to the vet in the first place (I thought she had hyperthyroidism; she was losing weight, but eating well and was otherwise asymptomatic); how I waited too long to have her surgery (see my previous entry); how I waited too long to get her started on meds (I could not afford, nor did I think chemo was the right course, but we tried steroids). I have been through long-term, wasting illnesses with all of my cats (my luck!), and have gone through this litany with each one. I’ve really worked hard with each one to get them the treatment I could, and give them the treatment I could (meds, sub-cutaneous fluids, insulin, etc.), but it never feels like it’s enough when they die.
Winky’s death yesterday was very peaceful. It was just us; Big Guy slept close by for a while, but then went to the other end of the bed when it was clear things were happening. Kootie kept her distance; she has issues.
I fell asleep with my hand on Winky’s chest, feeling her breathing. I woke up a few hours later, and readjusted her so she was on the towel I had for her. Another few hours after that, I woke to find her breathing heavily, but the breaths were irregular and jagged. I knew something had changed, and I listened as her breathing went through various changes. When it became apparent to me that she was going, I told her it was okay to go. It took a while for me to convince her (stubborn as ever!), but she finally rested. Her breathing stopped, but her good heart kept on beating for some time afterwards; nearly two minutes. I was told later by the vet that this was normal, although I want to attribute it to her joy in life and her stubbornness of character.
What a wonderful friend she was; I will miss her crumbly purr, her silky fur, and her insisting on sitting in my lap no matter what else I was doing. She was my Big Beauty, my Winkenbein, Winky.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Family History? Yikes!
Dear Reader,
I have a terribly embarrassing secret, especially and remarkably for someone who lives in New York City, in the post 9/11 era, or any time for that matter.
My grandparents, on my father’s side, were members of the Ku Klux Klan for a short while in the 1920's.
How did this happen? How is it possible that my dad had a career as a well respected lawyer and judge for the US Navy and the US Coast Guard (more on this later; suffice it to say he served as an Appeals Court justice for both services, and served at the top of the US Naval trial judiciary), and never gave any hint of this? How was it that my mom came and lived, studied and worked for several years in the ‘40’s in New York City and never gave a hint of it either, although she did know that her in-laws had been Klan members?
And how have I ended up as a fairly typical New York City, Ivy-league-educated liberal, and have grandparents who were KKK members?
History is fascinating. How do I know my grandfolks were Klan members? Well, not only do we have a photo, but we have the robes and hoods. Yes, my Grandma’s robe is the really short one (she was about 5’2”), and Grandad’s is the really long one (he was tall, 6’). And hoods. In fact, when we found these artifacts, my sister’s husband (at the time; they have since divorced), who is Jewish, moved to try on one of the hoods. My sister and I both snatched it away from him, fearful of spontaneous combustion. Jokingly, but not totally so,
Is there any way I can accept this as part of my heritage historically, and still feel that I’m legitimate in the studies I've done of the Holocaust and Nazi Germany? This is a topic I have been working on since high school; it was my sub-major in college. I know more about the actual Holocaust than many Jews my age or younger, and I know much more about the circumstances and history which led to it. But, as a “shiksa,” my knowledge is often looked upon as just a bit of passing interest, nothing scholarly. I have a couple of book ideas, but I haven’t had the time or resources to pursue them, which is frustrating.
Why did my grandparents become KKK members, especially given the isolated corner of West Virginia they lived in (and where we still own property)? Frankly, there were none of the people against whom the Klan generally operates; there was no black population, no Jews, very few Catholics, no Irish. These were pretty much the only noticable ethnic groups in America in those days, although on the west coast there were Chinese and Mexicans. There were several reasons, in the decade from 1918 or so, until 1929, that many middle class people joined societies which ostensibly promoted Christian moralism, purity of family and locale, and a general xenophobia. These people had just been through what was at that time referred to as the “Great War,” World War I. These days, we hardly recognize this as a war, but it was a watershed event in the history of the US.
With its involvement in World War I, from 1917 to November 11, 1918, America for the first time demonstrated its true power to the rest of the world, as an amalgam of peoples and cultures. This was when the USA became a “world power,” though at the time, still a reluctant one. It’s always about war, isn’t it? But, in reaction to the country 's involvement in the war, a huge movement grew up that was against any further "foreign entanglements." Groups like the Klan fed on this fear of the outside world.
In addition to WW I, the United States had sustained a huge influx of immigrants from about 1890 to 1920 or so. In the immediate area of this inflow, New York City (yes, good old New York City, the easy target for the rest of the country!), the immigrants generally got along, but as they spread out across the country, other communities were not as open or enlightened as New York, or other coastal American cities were to these new residents. There was still the huge base of people who felt that, because they were born in this country, they had more right to the place than others.
Founded shortly after the end of the Civil War as a reaction to the South's loss, the membership and influence of the Ku Klux Klan waxed and waned over the years. The rise of the KKK in the 1920’s was really in response to this fear of a “de-Americanization” or perhaps the “de-Anglicization” of the USA. It also had much to do with the fear of the outside world that was fostered by America's involvement in WW I. Frankly, it’s not so much different from some of what’s going on now, with the Minutemen on the Mexican border, and a lot of the other anti-immigrant ranters being publicly and happily supported. The only things many of the current anti-immigrationists lack are the robes and hoods. I can share my little piece of history with them, if they want.
I have a terribly embarrassing secret, especially and remarkably for someone who lives in New York City, in the post 9/11 era, or any time for that matter.
My grandparents, on my father’s side, were members of the Ku Klux Klan for a short while in the 1920's.
How did this happen? How is it possible that my dad had a career as a well respected lawyer and judge for the US Navy and the US Coast Guard (more on this later; suffice it to say he served as an Appeals Court justice for both services, and served at the top of the US Naval trial judiciary), and never gave any hint of this? How was it that my mom came and lived, studied and worked for several years in the ‘40’s in New York City and never gave a hint of it either, although she did know that her in-laws had been Klan members?
And how have I ended up as a fairly typical New York City, Ivy-league-educated liberal, and have grandparents who were KKK members?
History is fascinating. How do I know my grandfolks were Klan members? Well, not only do we have a photo, but we have the robes and hoods. Yes, my Grandma’s robe is the really short one (she was about 5’2”), and Grandad’s is the really long one (he was tall, 6’). And hoods. In fact, when we found these artifacts, my sister’s husband (at the time; they have since divorced), who is Jewish, moved to try on one of the hoods. My sister and I both snatched it away from him, fearful of spontaneous combustion. Jokingly, but not totally so,
Is there any way I can accept this as part of my heritage historically, and still feel that I’m legitimate in the studies I've done of the Holocaust and Nazi Germany? This is a topic I have been working on since high school; it was my sub-major in college. I know more about the actual Holocaust than many Jews my age or younger, and I know much more about the circumstances and history which led to it. But, as a “shiksa,” my knowledge is often looked upon as just a bit of passing interest, nothing scholarly. I have a couple of book ideas, but I haven’t had the time or resources to pursue them, which is frustrating.
Why did my grandparents become KKK members, especially given the isolated corner of West Virginia they lived in (and where we still own property)? Frankly, there were none of the people against whom the Klan generally operates; there was no black population, no Jews, very few Catholics, no Irish. These were pretty much the only noticable ethnic groups in America in those days, although on the west coast there were Chinese and Mexicans. There were several reasons, in the decade from 1918 or so, until 1929, that many middle class people joined societies which ostensibly promoted Christian moralism, purity of family and locale, and a general xenophobia. These people had just been through what was at that time referred to as the “Great War,” World War I. These days, we hardly recognize this as a war, but it was a watershed event in the history of the US.
With its involvement in World War I, from 1917 to November 11, 1918, America for the first time demonstrated its true power to the rest of the world, as an amalgam of peoples and cultures. This was when the USA became a “world power,” though at the time, still a reluctant one. It’s always about war, isn’t it? But, in reaction to the country 's involvement in the war, a huge movement grew up that was against any further "foreign entanglements." Groups like the Klan fed on this fear of the outside world.
In addition to WW I, the United States had sustained a huge influx of immigrants from about 1890 to 1920 or so. In the immediate area of this inflow, New York City (yes, good old New York City, the easy target for the rest of the country!), the immigrants generally got along, but as they spread out across the country, other communities were not as open or enlightened as New York, or other coastal American cities were to these new residents. There was still the huge base of people who felt that, because they were born in this country, they had more right to the place than others.
Founded shortly after the end of the Civil War as a reaction to the South's loss, the membership and influence of the Ku Klux Klan waxed and waned over the years. The rise of the KKK in the 1920’s was really in response to this fear of a “de-Americanization” or perhaps the “de-Anglicization” of the USA. It also had much to do with the fear of the outside world that was fostered by America's involvement in WW I. Frankly, it’s not so much different from some of what’s going on now, with the Minutemen on the Mexican border, and a lot of the other anti-immigrant ranters being publicly and happily supported. The only things many of the current anti-immigrationists lack are the robes and hoods. I can share my little piece of history with them, if they want.
I will say in my grandparents' defense that in all of the time I knew them, I never heard a racist remark or anything said that was derogatory about anyone who was not a "WASP." The Klan membership was short-lived, and in America in general at the time, the Klan began to whither fairly rapidly after explosive growth in the early '20's.
My grandfolks were good, hardworking people, who really did try to live as they believed. My grandmother helped people who lived back up in the "hollers," with shoes and clothes for their kids so they could go to school, and even soap to get them cleaned up. She taught herself to play piano, then gave lessons. She and Grandad were gospel singers, and had a quartet that performed on the radio sometimes and went to tent revivals. Grandad had been a coal miner (it was West Virginia, after all) and also worked as a farmer. He had a wonderful strawberry patch, and was "King" of the Buckhannon, WV Strawberry Festival one year. I am not trying to excuse their KKK connection, but I don't think that was who they really WERE.
I readily acknowledge this association they had, but I choose to remember Grandma and Grandad as the loving, caring people they always were to me.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Home Improvements?
Dear Reader,
I am currently in the throes of what is a major restructuring of my living space, my little studio apartment. I have lived in this apartment since July, 1981; yes, 25 years, 1/2 of my life. Whoa!
There are several reasons for this stasis, not the least of which is the fact that, in New York City lingo, I am rent-stabilized. This means that my rent can only be raised incrementally, and the increments are determined annually by a huge fight at the Rent Stabilization Board, during which the various parties argue that whatever decision is made will either make 1/3 of NY City apartment dwellers homeless (against increases), or that all of the landlords will be forced to sell off their buildings to the highest bidder (for increases). The rent increases ultimately decided upon are always much below the market, and supposedly not enough to support the expenses of the landlords, although they aren’t going out of business that fast.
In any case, my current rent remains well below that of the market rate for my apartment, by about 40-50%. Part of the reason, aside from “rent stabilization,” is that my landlord took my building COOP in the mid-‘80’s. As part of this step, the “sponsor” tried to demonstrate that all of the people living in the building at the time were “hotel guests,” not rent-paying tenants. So, there were a couple of years of litigation, during which the rents in the building were frozen. When things were finally settled, rents began to increase again, but only within the boundaries of the Rent Stabilization Board. So, I got a couple of years of rent control, which has kept me below market.
But, why else would I stay in my apartment for so long, when I’ve obviously outgrown it, at least materially?
Well, basically, I love it. It’s in a pre-WW II building, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. This is the most desirable neighborhood in NYC at the moment. It’s always been a great neighborhood, although when I moved here in 1981 it still had a pretty large “funk” factor. The problem with the area at that time was that it was too far south of Columbia University (at 116th St.) to have much of that influence trickle down, and too far north of 96th St., the last major stop on the No. 1 subway line, to be part of that area. My immediate area on 102nd St. was sort of a no-man’s land. We do have a subway stop on the next block, but back in those days it was pretty much a homeless shelter and drug supermarket. But at the time, it was the only apartment I could afford, so I took it. It was a doorman building (still is), had a 24-hour laundry in the basement, was close to the subway, was on Broadway, which I love, and the layout wasn’t too bad. So, what's not to love? If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would keep my apartment, and continue to use it as an office or pied a terre, even as I bought other apartments in my building to live in. But that’s only if I win the lottery!
Over the years, I have developed very deep roots in this neighborhood. In addition to being within walking distance of Barnard/Columbia, where I went to school, I am also within blocks of the woman with whom I have worked for the last 22 years. I have worked in various volunteer gardening roles in the neighborhood, including in the medians of Broadway for 12 years, and currently in Riverside Park, which is 2 cross-town blocks (longer than avenue blocks) away from me. I’ve made many friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood, from the paper guy at 101st St. to the “boys” who hang out at the Broadway Restaurant, which is also the only place I know where one can get grits for breakfast.
So, I love the neighborhood, the price is right, the apartment, though small, is a good one for one person. Why move?
The problem with not moving, of course, is the inevitable accumulation of stuff over time. Moving can provide that incentive to shed things; to decide if you really want to bring those books you didn’t read in college with you, or whether you really will ever wear those platform shoes again. I come from a family who moved fairly regularly, at least when I was a kid. During those moves, I have to admit, my parents pretty much brought everything, and didn’t make too many of those decisions. When we moved from New Mexico to Rhode Island (look it up; that’s quite a move!), we even brought our cat! When we moved to Europe we took almost everything, but some items did stay behind in storage. Very little was actually shed. So, as you might surmise, I have a problem with getting rid of things. Hence, the attempted restructuring that’s happening now.
But first, I’ve had to work on the actual physical plant. I did an extensive re-surfacing, repainting and making improvements in 1990, but have done little since. I needed new appliances in the kitchen, and the apartment ceiling needs painting desperately. Got the new stove, but the new fridge didn’t work, so went back to the old one. Kitchen still needs work, really a paint job, which I may do next summer. And a Deep Cleaning, hopefully before the painting. The main room ceiling painting is scheduled, but what I have to do to prepare for the painters seems nearly impossible at this point. I’ll do my best; certainly, I’ll do all the taping, because I know if I don’t they will ruin my detailing. I don’t know how I’m going to make the place accessible to the painters, but I’ll figure something out. The problem is, of course, that I simply have too much stuff in the apartment to be able to make room for a paint crew. I wish I could do this myself, but I just don’t have the time or energy at this point. It will be a challenge in space-making; I hope I’m up to it.
Over the last 15 years I’ve accumulated a garage load of gardening tools, equipment and paraphernalia, which I need to find a way of storing in the apartment. I do use the tools pretty regularly so they can’t go to storage. I’ve also accumulated the requisite papers; business, news and other. I tend to save papers; souvenirs of concerts and events; papers from my choruses; materials from my clients and former clients (not work related); and all of the standard financial, banking, other stuff. I also like to save articles from the newspaper. I know I could get them on-line, but I like the tactile-ness of the printed page. I cut out recipes, articles about nature, parks and space, stuff that interests me. Frequently I have read them through and decide I want them for my “archive,” but just as frequently I cut them out with the idea that I’ll read them “later,” whenever later turns out to be. I also keep the NY Times magazines, until I have a chance to leaf through them, and I am working on doing the Sunday crosswords, but it takes a lot of time. Anyway, too many things I like to keep, too little space, and I am working on culling stuff and finally parting with some of it.
Another issue in my apartment is my cats. I have had 3-4 cats for most of the time I have lived here. This makes for a lot of shed hair and general messiness. Although cats are fastidious about their immediate persons, they don’t pick up or sweep after themselves. Add to this that I am just not a very good housekeeper, at least of my own house, and this adds up to long periods where I simply don’t vacuum/dust/mop, etc.
I am trying to get my house in order so that I can have friends in my place without my being completely embarrassed, or their being completely uncomfortable. I’m concerned that at the moment, the place is so disorderly and crowded, that folks would not be at ease, but be looking to run for the door. I am hoping to avoid this.
This process is difficult for me, but I hope my friends will understand that I am doing this so that I can have them in my home, and they will be comfortable. Yes, I am afraid of judgmentalism, but I’m more afraid of people being unhappy, and I am striving to avoid that. I’m hoping to be able to have folks in before Thanksgiving, or certainly before Christmas. We’ll see.
Any suggestions?
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
I am currently in the throes of what is a major restructuring of my living space, my little studio apartment. I have lived in this apartment since July, 1981; yes, 25 years, 1/2 of my life. Whoa!
There are several reasons for this stasis, not the least of which is the fact that, in New York City lingo, I am rent-stabilized. This means that my rent can only be raised incrementally, and the increments are determined annually by a huge fight at the Rent Stabilization Board, during which the various parties argue that whatever decision is made will either make 1/3 of NY City apartment dwellers homeless (against increases), or that all of the landlords will be forced to sell off their buildings to the highest bidder (for increases). The rent increases ultimately decided upon are always much below the market, and supposedly not enough to support the expenses of the landlords, although they aren’t going out of business that fast.
In any case, my current rent remains well below that of the market rate for my apartment, by about 40-50%. Part of the reason, aside from “rent stabilization,” is that my landlord took my building COOP in the mid-‘80’s. As part of this step, the “sponsor” tried to demonstrate that all of the people living in the building at the time were “hotel guests,” not rent-paying tenants. So, there were a couple of years of litigation, during which the rents in the building were frozen. When things were finally settled, rents began to increase again, but only within the boundaries of the Rent Stabilization Board. So, I got a couple of years of rent control, which has kept me below market.
But, why else would I stay in my apartment for so long, when I’ve obviously outgrown it, at least materially?
Well, basically, I love it. It’s in a pre-WW II building, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. This is the most desirable neighborhood in NYC at the moment. It’s always been a great neighborhood, although when I moved here in 1981 it still had a pretty large “funk” factor. The problem with the area at that time was that it was too far south of Columbia University (at 116th St.) to have much of that influence trickle down, and too far north of 96th St., the last major stop on the No. 1 subway line, to be part of that area. My immediate area on 102nd St. was sort of a no-man’s land. We do have a subway stop on the next block, but back in those days it was pretty much a homeless shelter and drug supermarket. But at the time, it was the only apartment I could afford, so I took it. It was a doorman building (still is), had a 24-hour laundry in the basement, was close to the subway, was on Broadway, which I love, and the layout wasn’t too bad. So, what's not to love? If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would keep my apartment, and continue to use it as an office or pied a terre, even as I bought other apartments in my building to live in. But that’s only if I win the lottery!
Over the years, I have developed very deep roots in this neighborhood. In addition to being within walking distance of Barnard/Columbia, where I went to school, I am also within blocks of the woman with whom I have worked for the last 22 years. I have worked in various volunteer gardening roles in the neighborhood, including in the medians of Broadway for 12 years, and currently in Riverside Park, which is 2 cross-town blocks (longer than avenue blocks) away from me. I’ve made many friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood, from the paper guy at 101st St. to the “boys” who hang out at the Broadway Restaurant, which is also the only place I know where one can get grits for breakfast.
So, I love the neighborhood, the price is right, the apartment, though small, is a good one for one person. Why move?
The problem with not moving, of course, is the inevitable accumulation of stuff over time. Moving can provide that incentive to shed things; to decide if you really want to bring those books you didn’t read in college with you, or whether you really will ever wear those platform shoes again. I come from a family who moved fairly regularly, at least when I was a kid. During those moves, I have to admit, my parents pretty much brought everything, and didn’t make too many of those decisions. When we moved from New Mexico to Rhode Island (look it up; that’s quite a move!), we even brought our cat! When we moved to Europe we took almost everything, but some items did stay behind in storage. Very little was actually shed. So, as you might surmise, I have a problem with getting rid of things. Hence, the attempted restructuring that’s happening now.
But first, I’ve had to work on the actual physical plant. I did an extensive re-surfacing, repainting and making improvements in 1990, but have done little since. I needed new appliances in the kitchen, and the apartment ceiling needs painting desperately. Got the new stove, but the new fridge didn’t work, so went back to the old one. Kitchen still needs work, really a paint job, which I may do next summer. And a Deep Cleaning, hopefully before the painting. The main room ceiling painting is scheduled, but what I have to do to prepare for the painters seems nearly impossible at this point. I’ll do my best; certainly, I’ll do all the taping, because I know if I don’t they will ruin my detailing. I don’t know how I’m going to make the place accessible to the painters, but I’ll figure something out. The problem is, of course, that I simply have too much stuff in the apartment to be able to make room for a paint crew. I wish I could do this myself, but I just don’t have the time or energy at this point. It will be a challenge in space-making; I hope I’m up to it.
Over the last 15 years I’ve accumulated a garage load of gardening tools, equipment and paraphernalia, which I need to find a way of storing in the apartment. I do use the tools pretty regularly so they can’t go to storage. I’ve also accumulated the requisite papers; business, news and other. I tend to save papers; souvenirs of concerts and events; papers from my choruses; materials from my clients and former clients (not work related); and all of the standard financial, banking, other stuff. I also like to save articles from the newspaper. I know I could get them on-line, but I like the tactile-ness of the printed page. I cut out recipes, articles about nature, parks and space, stuff that interests me. Frequently I have read them through and decide I want them for my “archive,” but just as frequently I cut them out with the idea that I’ll read them “later,” whenever later turns out to be. I also keep the NY Times magazines, until I have a chance to leaf through them, and I am working on doing the Sunday crosswords, but it takes a lot of time. Anyway, too many things I like to keep, too little space, and I am working on culling stuff and finally parting with some of it.
Another issue in my apartment is my cats. I have had 3-4 cats for most of the time I have lived here. This makes for a lot of shed hair and general messiness. Although cats are fastidious about their immediate persons, they don’t pick up or sweep after themselves. Add to this that I am just not a very good housekeeper, at least of my own house, and this adds up to long periods where I simply don’t vacuum/dust/mop, etc.
I am trying to get my house in order so that I can have friends in my place without my being completely embarrassed, or their being completely uncomfortable. I’m concerned that at the moment, the place is so disorderly and crowded, that folks would not be at ease, but be looking to run for the door. I am hoping to avoid this.
This process is difficult for me, but I hope my friends will understand that I am doing this so that I can have them in my home, and they will be comfortable. Yes, I am afraid of judgmentalism, but I’m more afraid of people being unhappy, and I am striving to avoid that. I’m hoping to be able to have folks in before Thanksgiving, or certainly before Christmas. We’ll see.
Any suggestions?
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Monday, October 16, 2006
Klaatu Barada Nikto, Redux!
Dear Readers,
Okay, no takers as of 10/15/06, so the offer has been extended:
Klaatu Barada Nikto. You name the reference, I'll buy you a drink: for the first 5 correct answers in NYC only, to 11/15/06.
Come on, people!
Have fun,
Catbird
Okay, no takers as of 10/15/06, so the offer has been extended:
Klaatu Barada Nikto. You name the reference, I'll buy you a drink: for the first 5 correct answers in NYC only, to 11/15/06.
Come on, people!
Have fun,
Catbird
Saturday, October 14, 2006
RELATIONSHIP? HUH? WHAT?
Dear Reader,
A friend of mine asked me the other night what I was looking for in a relationship. Of course, what he meant was the kind of relationship that the word “RELATIONSHIP” can only mean, that is, the kind between a man and a woman, who would be me. I answered, honestly, that at that time, I had no real idea what I was looking for.
Over the years I’ve pretty much determined what I want in my relationships with friends, coworkers, clients, family, and others. My circle of relationships of these types is fairly extensive. Primary are honesty, mutuality, respect, openness, communication, and for many of these relationships, unconditionality. I know that in the real world this last quality is really only available from my cats and the dogs I know out in the Park I work in, but I at least hope that my family and closest friends feel some sort of unconditional affection for me, as I do, or try to do, for them.
But, what I want from a RELATIONSHIP is something I haven’t thought about for nearly 15 years. I pretty much gave up on ever having a RELATIONSHIP back then, after the last big breakup, which inspired a major meltdown on my part. It took me a long time to recover from this, but I decided that I was simply not going to go through that process again. It was just too risky and potentially painful, and like flying, I could choose whether or not I wanted to participate. I chose not to.
I took a great risk about 7 years ago with a man I had known in college, and it ended in utter disaster for me. My resolve on this topic became steeled; I was not going to do this again. I worked on making myself as unavailable as possible: kept a bunch of weight on, dressed sexlessly, hardened my exterior as much as I could, and generally desocialized. I gave up on the idea that I would ever meet a man with whom the feelings were mutual. I decided this was simply never going to happen, and I was not going to deal with men in that way, or make myself in any way available for them to deal with me. Now, to be clear, I never had any other type of interaction; women simply do not interest me in that way at all. I have many female friends, but it never occurred to me to have a RELATIONSHIP with a woman. I gave up on the concept of RELATIONSHIP entirely.
I don’t know quite when or how things changed in me to get me in a situation where I have been posed this question, “What do I want from a RELATIONSHIP?” But they did, about 6 months or so ago.
I can fairly easily describe the traits I would like in a man: very intelligent, funny, verbal, wry, articulate, open, in touch with his emotions even if he won’t admit it (yeah, I know it’s corny), musical, strong, open-minded, non-judgmental (at least of me), spontaneous, but not dangerously so, worldly, expressive, physical, sexual, generous. I would add “likes to be outdoors at least some of the time,” active, interests other than work but enjoys his work/career and is good at it, has friends other than me, is happy with me having friends other than him, lets me do my own things, shows at least some passing interest in them, shows me his and lets me decide if I want to join in, likes cats and possibly dogs, space allowing, doesn’t run screaming into the night if he meets my family. I’m sure there’s more, but these are the basics. Oh, yeah, and lives in and loves New York City.
But this doesn’t address the question of what I want from a RELATIONSHIP with this theoretical man. This is much more difficult, because although I have met many men who incorporate at least some of my “wish-list,” and some who incorporate most of it, I have never had a successful interaction with any of them.
With this in mind, I need to ponder the question for a while longer before I formulate and post an answer in this forum. If you have any ideas, please let me know.
All the best,
Catbird
A friend of mine asked me the other night what I was looking for in a relationship. Of course, what he meant was the kind of relationship that the word “RELATIONSHIP” can only mean, that is, the kind between a man and a woman, who would be me. I answered, honestly, that at that time, I had no real idea what I was looking for.
Over the years I’ve pretty much determined what I want in my relationships with friends, coworkers, clients, family, and others. My circle of relationships of these types is fairly extensive. Primary are honesty, mutuality, respect, openness, communication, and for many of these relationships, unconditionality. I know that in the real world this last quality is really only available from my cats and the dogs I know out in the Park I work in, but I at least hope that my family and closest friends feel some sort of unconditional affection for me, as I do, or try to do, for them.
But, what I want from a RELATIONSHIP is something I haven’t thought about for nearly 15 years. I pretty much gave up on ever having a RELATIONSHIP back then, after the last big breakup, which inspired a major meltdown on my part. It took me a long time to recover from this, but I decided that I was simply not going to go through that process again. It was just too risky and potentially painful, and like flying, I could choose whether or not I wanted to participate. I chose not to.
I took a great risk about 7 years ago with a man I had known in college, and it ended in utter disaster for me. My resolve on this topic became steeled; I was not going to do this again. I worked on making myself as unavailable as possible: kept a bunch of weight on, dressed sexlessly, hardened my exterior as much as I could, and generally desocialized. I gave up on the idea that I would ever meet a man with whom the feelings were mutual. I decided this was simply never going to happen, and I was not going to deal with men in that way, or make myself in any way available for them to deal with me. Now, to be clear, I never had any other type of interaction; women simply do not interest me in that way at all. I have many female friends, but it never occurred to me to have a RELATIONSHIP with a woman. I gave up on the concept of RELATIONSHIP entirely.
I don’t know quite when or how things changed in me to get me in a situation where I have been posed this question, “What do I want from a RELATIONSHIP?” But they did, about 6 months or so ago.
I can fairly easily describe the traits I would like in a man: very intelligent, funny, verbal, wry, articulate, open, in touch with his emotions even if he won’t admit it (yeah, I know it’s corny), musical, strong, open-minded, non-judgmental (at least of me), spontaneous, but not dangerously so, worldly, expressive, physical, sexual, generous. I would add “likes to be outdoors at least some of the time,” active, interests other than work but enjoys his work/career and is good at it, has friends other than me, is happy with me having friends other than him, lets me do my own things, shows at least some passing interest in them, shows me his and lets me decide if I want to join in, likes cats and possibly dogs, space allowing, doesn’t run screaming into the night if he meets my family. I’m sure there’s more, but these are the basics. Oh, yeah, and lives in and loves New York City.
But this doesn’t address the question of what I want from a RELATIONSHIP with this theoretical man. This is much more difficult, because although I have met many men who incorporate at least some of my “wish-list,” and some who incorporate most of it, I have never had a successful interaction with any of them.
With this in mind, I need to ponder the question for a while longer before I formulate and post an answer in this forum. If you have any ideas, please let me know.
All the best,
Catbird
Friday, October 06, 2006
3 Guesses
Dear Reader,
Confirm you know who the author of this column is, and I’ll buy you dinner, or maybe we can make a lovely repast together. Fair?
All My Best,
Catbird
Confirm you know who the author of this column is, and I’ll buy you dinner, or maybe we can make a lovely repast together. Fair?
All My Best,
Catbird
Thursday, October 05, 2006
WINKENBEIN
Dear Reader,
I still don’t know the purpose of this blog: reportage, diary, essay, lecture, current events? Not sure yet. For the moment, I’ll go with diary and a touch of reportage.
As I’ve noted in previous entries, I have three cats living with me in my little studio apartment. The three I have at the moment are all great cats; I have been extremely lucky in that, no matter the circumstances of acquisition, I have ended up with excellent cats. I don’t like to call them “pets,” because sometimes I think they own me as much as I own them. The difference, of course, is that when one of them gets sick, it’s my responsibility to make sure they get the best and proper care.
I have been through terrible years of aging, sick and dying cats. The ‘90’s for me were an awful decade; I had my old “crew” of three cats die between the years of 1993 and 1998. These were hard losses, each one. I had gotten all of these cats separately as very young kittens in 1980, and hand raised them all; each of them went through long, extended illnesses, and their deaths were each devastating to me.
My current crew of three cats only intersected in part with my old crew of three, including a solo intersector who was also a great cat, in her own way. The only one of my current cats who was in direct contact with any of my old crew is Winky, who is now very ill, and having surgery today. She is relatively young in cat years; only 11. However, the prognosis is not good; the vet has practically told me that she has a cancerous mass in her abdomen, which may not be operable. The surgery is to take a biopsy, and determine if the mass is operable. My vet is a great healer, but even he sounded morose when we spoke.
I delayed Winky’s surgery for a week because she was so weak on the original date that I simply felt she would not survive it. In the ensuing time, I have been making sure she is eating something, anything, contrary to doctor’s orders, and I have been administering sub-cutaneous fluids to keep her hydrated. The hydration has helped the eating, and in the week, she seems stronger and I think she will survive the surgery today.
Each of my cats has several names. Many of the alternate names come from songs I sing to them. Winky’s other names are: Winken; Winkenbein, (loosely translated from German: “beckoning/flirtatious leg”); Boob; Biggy Boob; Boogy; Boogyboo; Boogalyboob; Beautiful Boob. Many of these names are simply homophonic, I suppose, although Winky has a beautiful chest and ruff, and frequently looks as if she is wearing one of those Elizabethan collars. The “winken” name comes from a Brahms choral work, one of the “Zigeunerlieder:” “Schatzelein, du bist mein.” I substituted “Winkenbein” in the phrase.
I have been very distracted in the last few weeks, so have not mourned Winky yet. I am hoping that, now that I’m more focused, I won’t have to, but given my vet’s outlook, I’m not very hopeful. I may have plenty of time to mourn her as I care for her in her last few weeks; we’ll see. In the interim, I’ll compile a list of the things she does that I will miss, write down the story of her life (so far) and try to prepare myself for her not being with me. My other two cats know something is up, and interestingly, are being nicer to one another. Who says animals don’t have emotions??!!
Thanks for reading and I’ll keep you apprised,
Catbird
I still don’t know the purpose of this blog: reportage, diary, essay, lecture, current events? Not sure yet. For the moment, I’ll go with diary and a touch of reportage.
As I’ve noted in previous entries, I have three cats living with me in my little studio apartment. The three I have at the moment are all great cats; I have been extremely lucky in that, no matter the circumstances of acquisition, I have ended up with excellent cats. I don’t like to call them “pets,” because sometimes I think they own me as much as I own them. The difference, of course, is that when one of them gets sick, it’s my responsibility to make sure they get the best and proper care.
I have been through terrible years of aging, sick and dying cats. The ‘90’s for me were an awful decade; I had my old “crew” of three cats die between the years of 1993 and 1998. These were hard losses, each one. I had gotten all of these cats separately as very young kittens in 1980, and hand raised them all; each of them went through long, extended illnesses, and their deaths were each devastating to me.
My current crew of three cats only intersected in part with my old crew of three, including a solo intersector who was also a great cat, in her own way. The only one of my current cats who was in direct contact with any of my old crew is Winky, who is now very ill, and having surgery today. She is relatively young in cat years; only 11. However, the prognosis is not good; the vet has practically told me that she has a cancerous mass in her abdomen, which may not be operable. The surgery is to take a biopsy, and determine if the mass is operable. My vet is a great healer, but even he sounded morose when we spoke.
I delayed Winky’s surgery for a week because she was so weak on the original date that I simply felt she would not survive it. In the ensuing time, I have been making sure she is eating something, anything, contrary to doctor’s orders, and I have been administering sub-cutaneous fluids to keep her hydrated. The hydration has helped the eating, and in the week, she seems stronger and I think she will survive the surgery today.
Each of my cats has several names. Many of the alternate names come from songs I sing to them. Winky’s other names are: Winken; Winkenbein, (loosely translated from German: “beckoning/flirtatious leg”); Boob; Biggy Boob; Boogy; Boogyboo; Boogalyboob; Beautiful Boob. Many of these names are simply homophonic, I suppose, although Winky has a beautiful chest and ruff, and frequently looks as if she is wearing one of those Elizabethan collars. The “winken” name comes from a Brahms choral work, one of the “Zigeunerlieder:” “Schatzelein, du bist mein.” I substituted “Winkenbein” in the phrase.
I have been very distracted in the last few weeks, so have not mourned Winky yet. I am hoping that, now that I’m more focused, I won’t have to, but given my vet’s outlook, I’m not very hopeful. I may have plenty of time to mourn her as I care for her in her last few weeks; we’ll see. In the interim, I’ll compile a list of the things she does that I will miss, write down the story of her life (so far) and try to prepare myself for her not being with me. My other two cats know something is up, and interestingly, are being nicer to one another. Who says animals don’t have emotions??!!
Thanks for reading and I’ll keep you apprised,
Catbird
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
NEW BUSINESS
Dear Reader,
I have had the new experience of spending a goodly amount of the past two days in religious observances. I was not there as a performer or part of the staff, although I did help out as needed. I went there to experience the work that my client, Storahtelling, does, and to experience, in their way, the High Holy Day observances. It was a telling and interesting experience.
I am not traditionally religious. I gave up on any involvement in organized religion when I was a teenager, after I was made too clearly aware of the hypocrisy of it, and that of many of the people involved. I also have never believed in the standard issue “God.” I have always had problems with authority figures, and certainly, a big man on a cloud would qualify as one of those; not for me, thanks. A woman running things from above is no better.
Over the years I have developed my own mystical views. These primarily involve karmic ideas: you get what you give; if you make a good cause, you’ll get a good effect, bad cause, bad effect; treat others the way you want to be treated; all living things are connected and animals and plants have life forces that impact all of us; everyone and everything is part of a greater whole, that reaches out beyond this planet.
I have been interested in Judaism from the time I came to New York City for college, however. I had never been exposed to it before. We had a “token” Jewish family in my neighborhood in northern Virginia, where I lived for a few years prior to college, but we had no connections with them and no idea how or if they observed any “Jewish” holidays. Although I doubt I would ever become a practicing, if converted, Jewish woman, there are aspects of Judaism that I find helpful and accessible.
Primary of these is that much of the regular observance of the religion is done in the home, by the family and/or people nearby. The important aspects of observances many times are the ones done by the individuals involved, and not by the “big man” at the front of the “big building,” kneeling to a “big god,” but rather by the people in the house, to a more personal-seeming god. I may be blaspheming at this point, but that’s how it feels to me.
It had also seemed to me that many things in the observances were subject to individual or local interpretation; this was confirmed to me as I went through the Storahtelling sessions. The artistic director of the organization is also a rabbi, and he led the observances. He clearly led the group, but he was open to suggestion and new input.
In some ways, the sessions themselves reminded me of the “folk masses” that the Catholic and other Christian denominations tried to use to attract young people back to the fold in the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. The difference was that the people coming to these observances were there of their own accord; this was not their local congregation that was trying something new. I was quite surprised by the diversity (yeah, I hate that word, too), age differences, and general variety of the folks who came in.
I was also quite amazed at and enthralled with the rabbi’s work. I have seen this man in his business offices at Storahtelling, as just himself: Amichai Lau-Lavie, dealing with budget, programming or contributor issues. In this observant milieu, he was a true rabbi; a leader and teacher, who gave us different ways of looking at things; different ways of reading the verses that are the bases of Yom Kippur and the High Holy Days. I felt that I learned something even as I was waiting, and waiting and waiting and waiting for the chants to finish and the band to finish, so I could get something to eat!
I had fasted, although I took the exemption of drinking water. The medications I take make my mouth so dry that it’s hard for me to not drink water, but I only drank seltzer. Maybe next year I’ll be able to get through it without water; this year I did manage to go without coffee, which is a miracle in and of itself!
Lots of thought going on. I had been feeling terrible for the last several weeks. I wish I could say that this experience was the only reason I was feeling better, but it’s not. I need to work to separate the various things going on, and try to determine which have made me feel better, and how.
More soon, to be sure,
Catbird
I have had the new experience of spending a goodly amount of the past two days in religious observances. I was not there as a performer or part of the staff, although I did help out as needed. I went there to experience the work that my client, Storahtelling, does, and to experience, in their way, the High Holy Day observances. It was a telling and interesting experience.
I am not traditionally religious. I gave up on any involvement in organized religion when I was a teenager, after I was made too clearly aware of the hypocrisy of it, and that of many of the people involved. I also have never believed in the standard issue “God.” I have always had problems with authority figures, and certainly, a big man on a cloud would qualify as one of those; not for me, thanks. A woman running things from above is no better.
Over the years I have developed my own mystical views. These primarily involve karmic ideas: you get what you give; if you make a good cause, you’ll get a good effect, bad cause, bad effect; treat others the way you want to be treated; all living things are connected and animals and plants have life forces that impact all of us; everyone and everything is part of a greater whole, that reaches out beyond this planet.
I have been interested in Judaism from the time I came to New York City for college, however. I had never been exposed to it before. We had a “token” Jewish family in my neighborhood in northern Virginia, where I lived for a few years prior to college, but we had no connections with them and no idea how or if they observed any “Jewish” holidays. Although I doubt I would ever become a practicing, if converted, Jewish woman, there are aspects of Judaism that I find helpful and accessible.
Primary of these is that much of the regular observance of the religion is done in the home, by the family and/or people nearby. The important aspects of observances many times are the ones done by the individuals involved, and not by the “big man” at the front of the “big building,” kneeling to a “big god,” but rather by the people in the house, to a more personal-seeming god. I may be blaspheming at this point, but that’s how it feels to me.
It had also seemed to me that many things in the observances were subject to individual or local interpretation; this was confirmed to me as I went through the Storahtelling sessions. The artistic director of the organization is also a rabbi, and he led the observances. He clearly led the group, but he was open to suggestion and new input.
In some ways, the sessions themselves reminded me of the “folk masses” that the Catholic and other Christian denominations tried to use to attract young people back to the fold in the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. The difference was that the people coming to these observances were there of their own accord; this was not their local congregation that was trying something new. I was quite surprised by the diversity (yeah, I hate that word, too), age differences, and general variety of the folks who came in.
I was also quite amazed at and enthralled with the rabbi’s work. I have seen this man in his business offices at Storahtelling, as just himself: Amichai Lau-Lavie, dealing with budget, programming or contributor issues. In this observant milieu, he was a true rabbi; a leader and teacher, who gave us different ways of looking at things; different ways of reading the verses that are the bases of Yom Kippur and the High Holy Days. I felt that I learned something even as I was waiting, and waiting and waiting and waiting for the chants to finish and the band to finish, so I could get something to eat!
I had fasted, although I took the exemption of drinking water. The medications I take make my mouth so dry that it’s hard for me to not drink water, but I only drank seltzer. Maybe next year I’ll be able to get through it without water; this year I did manage to go without coffee, which is a miracle in and of itself!
Lots of thought going on. I had been feeling terrible for the last several weeks. I wish I could say that this experience was the only reason I was feeling better, but it’s not. I need to work to separate the various things going on, and try to determine which have made me feel better, and how.
More soon, to be sure,
Catbird
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
