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
Monday, October 16, 2006
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
Friday, September 29, 2006
SUICIDE IS(N’T) PAINLESS
Dear Reader,
Recently, an acquaintance of mine posted a blog entry discussing the suicide of a friend. This made me very sad; not only in the way it affected my acquaintance, but in general, as suicide is such a sad thing, at least in many cases.
In most cases, taking one’s life, or making the determination that one’s life should or must be ended in a particular circumstance, is a right of the individual that I defend wholeheartedly. Certainly, if I were ever in the condition where I was completely disabled, unable to care for myself and my own bodily functions, completely dependent on others for life-sustaining support and intervention, I would rather be dead. If this serves as my Living Will, so be it; I have been delinquent in preparing the proper paperwork to make sure I don’t end up like Terry Schiavo.
But, on the other hand, taking one’s life while one is still able to continue to live it is something I question. This is not from a self-righteous vista, or a religious point of view; this is from having been on that brink several times during my life so far, and being able to pull back, and re-assess.
There are times when things in life seem so hopeless, so heavy, so intransigent, just simply so impossible, that it is not possible to see how one can get through it. There is no one to help; there is no one to tell the problems to who can understand; there is nothing to be done to make things better. There is no way to continue; nothing will get better; there is no hope. Even shrinks and meds don’t help; living is just unbearable.
I have been at this point several times in my life. Fortunately (or not) I have been able to pull back from the edge. Frequently, my own lack of courage has been the reason I am still with us. Fear of failure (“I haven’t been able to do anything else right; how will I manage to do this right.....” ); fear of failure, again (“What if I miss and end up a quadriplegic....”); unavailability of a gun or other serious implement of death; not enough drugs on hand, and plain old cowardice.
Then afterwards of course, there is that feeling of utter failure: “I don’t even have the courage or ability to kill myself.”
None of this is facetious. If I had been able to, I would have. Certainly, if I’d had a gun on hand, I would not be typing this now. But, I have also been fortunate that I have somehow been able to short-circuit these desires in one way or another.
When I started to think about suicide, at about age 14 or so, I simply had no idea what I could possibly do. All I knew was that my life, as it was panning out, was so unhappy I didn’t think I had anything to look forward to. When my suicidal ideations (shrink-speak) were pointed out to my parents, they were simply unable to comprehend how I could feel that way. Not a lot I could convey to let them know what was going on; they just got me my own shrink and hoped that would do the trick. No, that’s really not fair: they got me my own shrink, and let me know what a failure I was because I was “crazy.” But that one, and the subsequent “Band-Aid” shrinks at least kept me alive.
Most of the suicidal thoughts in college were kept at bay with alcohol and marijuana. There were a few efforts to simply drink myself away, none successful, obviously. After that, mostly just alcohol, although there were episodes where self-injury substituted for actual suicide attempts.
As I have gotten older, there have been more reasons to not die. Mostly, at this point, it is because I know the harm my suicide would do to my family and friends. My family members are distant at best, and inattentive at worst, but I somehow know that they care for me, or at least my dad does. He’s the one I’m most concerned about; I hope he continues to live for a good long time, and I don’t want to do anything to impinge on his continued long life. I am fortunate to know, after all these years (50, to be exact) that he really does care for me, and I want to keep living if for no other reason than to keep in touch with my dad. As things are progressing, he will probably outlive us all, naturally!
I am fortunate that I have been able to assemble a circle of friends in various areas, and although none of them is a “best” friend, many of them qualify as someone I can contact if I am feeling really terrible. I am grateful for that.
With all of this, I am not diminishing my acquaintance’s friend’s death, by any means. I understand those overwhelming feelings that engulf you, and sweep you to that abyss. I hope what this can do is to make someone else think for a moment; just think about your family, no matter how distant, dumb or unloving they seem; think about your friends, old, new, distant, close; there may be one of them you can call or email, and WAIT for that response; think even about the pros you know: your shrink or counselor, AA sponsor or rehab buddy; anyone you may have been through some kind of treatment with, even someone you were in group with. Or maybe someone from work, or some other thing you do; there has to be someone you have been in contact with. These days, people have to work REALLY HARD to be isolated; there must be someone you can call/email/even write a letter, and just WAIT for that answer. Just wait. Read the following, by a brilliant writer, and JUST WAIT, please.
RESUME
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
----Dorothy Parker
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Recently, an acquaintance of mine posted a blog entry discussing the suicide of a friend. This made me very sad; not only in the way it affected my acquaintance, but in general, as suicide is such a sad thing, at least in many cases.
In most cases, taking one’s life, or making the determination that one’s life should or must be ended in a particular circumstance, is a right of the individual that I defend wholeheartedly. Certainly, if I were ever in the condition where I was completely disabled, unable to care for myself and my own bodily functions, completely dependent on others for life-sustaining support and intervention, I would rather be dead. If this serves as my Living Will, so be it; I have been delinquent in preparing the proper paperwork to make sure I don’t end up like Terry Schiavo.
But, on the other hand, taking one’s life while one is still able to continue to live it is something I question. This is not from a self-righteous vista, or a religious point of view; this is from having been on that brink several times during my life so far, and being able to pull back, and re-assess.
There are times when things in life seem so hopeless, so heavy, so intransigent, just simply so impossible, that it is not possible to see how one can get through it. There is no one to help; there is no one to tell the problems to who can understand; there is nothing to be done to make things better. There is no way to continue; nothing will get better; there is no hope. Even shrinks and meds don’t help; living is just unbearable.
I have been at this point several times in my life. Fortunately (or not) I have been able to pull back from the edge. Frequently, my own lack of courage has been the reason I am still with us. Fear of failure (“I haven’t been able to do anything else right; how will I manage to do this right.....” ); fear of failure, again (“What if I miss and end up a quadriplegic....”); unavailability of a gun or other serious implement of death; not enough drugs on hand, and plain old cowardice.
Then afterwards of course, there is that feeling of utter failure: “I don’t even have the courage or ability to kill myself.”
None of this is facetious. If I had been able to, I would have. Certainly, if I’d had a gun on hand, I would not be typing this now. But, I have also been fortunate that I have somehow been able to short-circuit these desires in one way or another.
When I started to think about suicide, at about age 14 or so, I simply had no idea what I could possibly do. All I knew was that my life, as it was panning out, was so unhappy I didn’t think I had anything to look forward to. When my suicidal ideations (shrink-speak) were pointed out to my parents, they were simply unable to comprehend how I could feel that way. Not a lot I could convey to let them know what was going on; they just got me my own shrink and hoped that would do the trick. No, that’s really not fair: they got me my own shrink, and let me know what a failure I was because I was “crazy.” But that one, and the subsequent “Band-Aid” shrinks at least kept me alive.
Most of the suicidal thoughts in college were kept at bay with alcohol and marijuana. There were a few efforts to simply drink myself away, none successful, obviously. After that, mostly just alcohol, although there were episodes where self-injury substituted for actual suicide attempts.
As I have gotten older, there have been more reasons to not die. Mostly, at this point, it is because I know the harm my suicide would do to my family and friends. My family members are distant at best, and inattentive at worst, but I somehow know that they care for me, or at least my dad does. He’s the one I’m most concerned about; I hope he continues to live for a good long time, and I don’t want to do anything to impinge on his continued long life. I am fortunate to know, after all these years (50, to be exact) that he really does care for me, and I want to keep living if for no other reason than to keep in touch with my dad. As things are progressing, he will probably outlive us all, naturally!
I am fortunate that I have been able to assemble a circle of friends in various areas, and although none of them is a “best” friend, many of them qualify as someone I can contact if I am feeling really terrible. I am grateful for that.
With all of this, I am not diminishing my acquaintance’s friend’s death, by any means. I understand those overwhelming feelings that engulf you, and sweep you to that abyss. I hope what this can do is to make someone else think for a moment; just think about your family, no matter how distant, dumb or unloving they seem; think about your friends, old, new, distant, close; there may be one of them you can call or email, and WAIT for that response; think even about the pros you know: your shrink or counselor, AA sponsor or rehab buddy; anyone you may have been through some kind of treatment with, even someone you were in group with. Or maybe someone from work, or some other thing you do; there has to be someone you have been in contact with. These days, people have to work REALLY HARD to be isolated; there must be someone you can call/email/even write a letter, and just WAIT for that answer. Just wait. Read the following, by a brilliant writer, and JUST WAIT, please.
RESUME
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
----Dorothy Parker
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Monday, September 25, 2006
Tashlich
Dear Reader,
It’s interesting: I opened this blog for no particular reason, and now I have an overflow of topics I want to write about. I am not sure which came first, the blog or the ideas I’d like to express.
Right now, we are in the midst of the Jewish High Holy Days. This past Saturday was Rosh Hashana, the New Year. I spent part of the day taking in the work of one of my clients, a Jewish theatrical and educational organization called Storahtelling. First there was a short play about the scapegoat, and the re-formation of that ritual into the practice of Tashlich, the shedding.
The word “scapegoat” is one we are all familiar with; many of us have been one on multiple occasions. This is the all too human practice of blaming one individual for all of the immediate problems the group is having. It derives from the ancient practice of designating a scapegoat at the New Year; literally, a goat, upon whom all of the sins, ills and general malaise of the community were theoretically cast. Then, the laden goat was sacrificed, and this killed or took away the many burdens that had been attached to the poor goat by the community, at least for that year.
Of course, as time went on, goats increased in value, and chucking one out for no more than representative reasons made less sense. So, the revised idea was to make bread, or leftover New Year challah, the recipient of the sins/burdens/problems. How, though, to sacrifice this in a way that was still representative of taking away the negatives? Toss it on moving waters; the waters cleanse, they were one of G-d’s first efforts; what would be more appropriate?
So, after the play and narrative about the scapegoat, we went on a walk/march through Hell’s Kitchen in NYC, to the dock of the aircraft carrier Intrepid, which is a floating museum on the Hudson River. En route, some of us were carrying banners; I don’t know how I ended up on that detail, but I was in the thick of it. As one of the very few obvious gentiles in the group, I was worried that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one else seemed to notice. We got to the walkways that cross 12th Avenue to the Intrepid dock and marched across, leaving our banners, which proclaimed “Happy Jew New Year,” and “Honk for Peace,” among other slogans, attached to the sides of the walkway, so that at least for a few hours our presence would continue to be felt. There was much honking!
I went over with everyone and took my bread out of my pocket to toss. Prior to this, I had been aware of this ceremony, but had never participated in it. Usually it’s something one sees seemingly very religious Jewish people doing; not a “motley crew” of people, some in costumes (including the aforementioned goats), some with instruments playing klezmer/jazz; certainly not “shiksas” or “goyim.” I tried to focus my hurt and anger of the past few weeks on my little wad of bread, and tossed away.
Fortunately, there were chunks of bread, and leftover bagels all over the place, so I took a few more pieces and tried to toss away each problem and transgression as I thought of it. Again, the sadness of the last few weeks came up, and I tossed again. I did my best to get that out.
I thanked my clients for welcoming me into their group, and they were so lovely to me that I came away thinking they were actually glad I was there. I plan on spending at least part of Yom Kippur with them, and learning more about the background and practice of the Day of Atonement. And yes, I am going to fast.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
It’s interesting: I opened this blog for no particular reason, and now I have an overflow of topics I want to write about. I am not sure which came first, the blog or the ideas I’d like to express.
Right now, we are in the midst of the Jewish High Holy Days. This past Saturday was Rosh Hashana, the New Year. I spent part of the day taking in the work of one of my clients, a Jewish theatrical and educational organization called Storahtelling. First there was a short play about the scapegoat, and the re-formation of that ritual into the practice of Tashlich, the shedding.
The word “scapegoat” is one we are all familiar with; many of us have been one on multiple occasions. This is the all too human practice of blaming one individual for all of the immediate problems the group is having. It derives from the ancient practice of designating a scapegoat at the New Year; literally, a goat, upon whom all of the sins, ills and general malaise of the community were theoretically cast. Then, the laden goat was sacrificed, and this killed or took away the many burdens that had been attached to the poor goat by the community, at least for that year.
Of course, as time went on, goats increased in value, and chucking one out for no more than representative reasons made less sense. So, the revised idea was to make bread, or leftover New Year challah, the recipient of the sins/burdens/problems. How, though, to sacrifice this in a way that was still representative of taking away the negatives? Toss it on moving waters; the waters cleanse, they were one of G-d’s first efforts; what would be more appropriate?
So, after the play and narrative about the scapegoat, we went on a walk/march through Hell’s Kitchen in NYC, to the dock of the aircraft carrier Intrepid, which is a floating museum on the Hudson River. En route, some of us were carrying banners; I don’t know how I ended up on that detail, but I was in the thick of it. As one of the very few obvious gentiles in the group, I was worried that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one else seemed to notice. We got to the walkways that cross 12th Avenue to the Intrepid dock and marched across, leaving our banners, which proclaimed “Happy Jew New Year,” and “Honk for Peace,” among other slogans, attached to the sides of the walkway, so that at least for a few hours our presence would continue to be felt. There was much honking!
I went over with everyone and took my bread out of my pocket to toss. Prior to this, I had been aware of this ceremony, but had never participated in it. Usually it’s something one sees seemingly very religious Jewish people doing; not a “motley crew” of people, some in costumes (including the aforementioned goats), some with instruments playing klezmer/jazz; certainly not “shiksas” or “goyim.” I tried to focus my hurt and anger of the past few weeks on my little wad of bread, and tossed away.
Fortunately, there were chunks of bread, and leftover bagels all over the place, so I took a few more pieces and tried to toss away each problem and transgression as I thought of it. Again, the sadness of the last few weeks came up, and I tossed again. I did my best to get that out.
I thanked my clients for welcoming me into their group, and they were so lovely to me that I came away thinking they were actually glad I was there. I plan on spending at least part of Yom Kippur with them, and learning more about the background and practice of the Day of Atonement. And yes, I am going to fast.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
WILD KINGDOM
Dear Reader,
Sunday, September 17, in the park was a wonderful time. The weather was lovely, there were lots of folks, including many of my “Park friends” out, and there was a lot of animal life about.
As I walked into the park, I heard something that I thought was a bluejay cackling. I looked up in the trees, kept hearing it, and didn’t notice for some time the squirrel practically in front of my face, which was making these strange barking/clicking noises. I had never heard this kind of thing from a squirrel and was interested, but had to get on with my work.
The next thing I noticed, as I was walking towards the benches which generally serve as my base of operations, was something very odd looking, dome-shaped, moving around in the grass. As I got closer, I realized it was a tortoise! And no ordinary tortoise; a black-and-white shelled guy, who was described to me as a “zebra tortoise.” I can find no actual species listed with that name, so I think he might have been a uniquely colored “leopard tortoise,” but he was a beautiful animal, nonetheless. His caretaker was giving him a walk out in the park; he would wander around a while, and when he started to make a bee-line for the shrubby areas of the garden, she would pick him up and place him somewhere so he could walk around some more on the lawn. Apparently, he also grazed some while he was walking.
Most of the dogs who were out didn’t notice the new arrival, but one did; Barney the beagle, who noticed, got nose to nose, then let loose with his distinctive beagle baying! It took several repeated encounters for Barney’s person to decide that the level of communication between reptile and canine was not going to get any more subtle, and to finally drag Barney off to get to the purpose of his walk. After a time, the tortoise’s caretaker unceremoniously put him in an appropriately-sized shopping bag, and took him home. This was not, however, my last encounter with interesting wildlife for the afternoon.
As I was weeding in an area I call “No Man’s Land,” because it’s still pretty sparsely planted and bare-looking, I noticed a squirrel walking for a few paces, then stopping and waiting for a time, then moving again. What was unusual about this squirrel was that its head appeared to be enormous; it had a normal-sized body, but a gigantic gray head. Then I noticed what looked like a tiny tail on the top of the huge head, and realized it was a little squirrel wrapped around the neck of the adult squirrel (presumably the mother), who was carrying her progeny to a new location. I stayed still, and watched her proceed to carry this little one several yards across the garden, then to the base of the gigantic linden tree that serves as a centerpiece in my area. I was then amazed that she was able to climb about 30 feet or so up the trunk of this tree, and poke her “big giant head” into a small hole, drop it off, and then go in herself. She then poked her head out, and started barking at me. I realized this was the squirrel I had seen earlier, barking in the same way from on high as she had from eye level.
Later on, as I was trying to weed again, mom-squirrel barked at me to get away while she was moving her second baby, and I obliged. Some people think of these animals as rats on two legs, but they really are quite beautiful and engaging, and smart! I don’t mind them in my gardens at all; they clean up a lot of the crud humans leave behind. In fact, when I think about it, if we didn’t have all of the rodents, birds and insects feeding on the food people mindlessly throw onto the street and sidewalk, we would be ankle-deep in slime.
My last wild encounter of the day was with my bats, who have been in residence in my area of the park for at least the last 3 years (as long as I’ve been working out there). What was different about this occasion was that one of my park friends had the chance to see them as well, and I was able to confirm that I wasn’t imagining the bat presence.
Bats, if you don’t know, are mammals. They happen to be able to fly, but their flight style is very different from that of most birds; they sweep and bank sharply, their wings are always flapping, and they fly at night, when most birds have retired. I see them mostly in silhouette, in the last light of the afternoon, early evening, at or after dusk. The park does provide good viewing, because the street lights provide back-lighting, and bug-attraction. Despite what you may have heard, bats are not commonly rabid; in fact it’s quite rare. They do not bite or fly into women’s hair, and they are not blind. As I said above, they are mammals. Their babies are born alive, and are called “pups.” Typically, bats only have one or two pups per breeding season; they do not breed like rats or rabbits; they are not rodents. Bats live in large colonies generally, and raise their “children” cooperatively. They nurse like other mammals, but imagine the difficulty of nursing while you’re suspended upside down!
Where do bats live in New York City? Well, pretty much where ever they want to. All they need is a dark, quiet, undisturbed place, so it could be an unused subway or train tunnel (where I suspect my bats live; under Riverside Park), under the eaves of a tall building, inside a crack (bats are quite small, really), in the housing around a roof-top water tank, where no one ever goes; you name it. Bats are not pests. In fact, they are a boon to agriculture in that they consume tons of insects, and also, in many cases, help to pollinate crops. In the Park, they work on the mosquitoes that plague me some evenings, and have probably prevented me from catching West Nile virus.
Whatever they do, I am enchanted by the idea that my little space in Manhattan has bats in residence, and I look forward to seeing them every night I’m out. My park friend was equally amazed that she actually SAW them, and I was pleased that she had stayed out late enough (it was all of 7:30) to see the bats. Her dog, Smokey, was not impressed, because he was involved in playing with his toy, and hosting a “dog party.” All in all, a good time was had by all, but those of us who were less “wild” finally decided to go back to the civilized part of town (Broadway), pick up the Sunday papers, and head in for the evening. The Wild Kingdom is still out there for next weekend.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Sunday, September 17, in the park was a wonderful time. The weather was lovely, there were lots of folks, including many of my “Park friends” out, and there was a lot of animal life about.
As I walked into the park, I heard something that I thought was a bluejay cackling. I looked up in the trees, kept hearing it, and didn’t notice for some time the squirrel practically in front of my face, which was making these strange barking/clicking noises. I had never heard this kind of thing from a squirrel and was interested, but had to get on with my work.
The next thing I noticed, as I was walking towards the benches which generally serve as my base of operations, was something very odd looking, dome-shaped, moving around in the grass. As I got closer, I realized it was a tortoise! And no ordinary tortoise; a black-and-white shelled guy, who was described to me as a “zebra tortoise.” I can find no actual species listed with that name, so I think he might have been a uniquely colored “leopard tortoise,” but he was a beautiful animal, nonetheless. His caretaker was giving him a walk out in the park; he would wander around a while, and when he started to make a bee-line for the shrubby areas of the garden, she would pick him up and place him somewhere so he could walk around some more on the lawn. Apparently, he also grazed some while he was walking.
Most of the dogs who were out didn’t notice the new arrival, but one did; Barney the beagle, who noticed, got nose to nose, then let loose with his distinctive beagle baying! It took several repeated encounters for Barney’s person to decide that the level of communication between reptile and canine was not going to get any more subtle, and to finally drag Barney off to get to the purpose of his walk. After a time, the tortoise’s caretaker unceremoniously put him in an appropriately-sized shopping bag, and took him home. This was not, however, my last encounter with interesting wildlife for the afternoon.
As I was weeding in an area I call “No Man’s Land,” because it’s still pretty sparsely planted and bare-looking, I noticed a squirrel walking for a few paces, then stopping and waiting for a time, then moving again. What was unusual about this squirrel was that its head appeared to be enormous; it had a normal-sized body, but a gigantic gray head. Then I noticed what looked like a tiny tail on the top of the huge head, and realized it was a little squirrel wrapped around the neck of the adult squirrel (presumably the mother), who was carrying her progeny to a new location. I stayed still, and watched her proceed to carry this little one several yards across the garden, then to the base of the gigantic linden tree that serves as a centerpiece in my area. I was then amazed that she was able to climb about 30 feet or so up the trunk of this tree, and poke her “big giant head” into a small hole, drop it off, and then go in herself. She then poked her head out, and started barking at me. I realized this was the squirrel I had seen earlier, barking in the same way from on high as she had from eye level.
Later on, as I was trying to weed again, mom-squirrel barked at me to get away while she was moving her second baby, and I obliged. Some people think of these animals as rats on two legs, but they really are quite beautiful and engaging, and smart! I don’t mind them in my gardens at all; they clean up a lot of the crud humans leave behind. In fact, when I think about it, if we didn’t have all of the rodents, birds and insects feeding on the food people mindlessly throw onto the street and sidewalk, we would be ankle-deep in slime.
My last wild encounter of the day was with my bats, who have been in residence in my area of the park for at least the last 3 years (as long as I’ve been working out there). What was different about this occasion was that one of my park friends had the chance to see them as well, and I was able to confirm that I wasn’t imagining the bat presence.
Bats, if you don’t know, are mammals. They happen to be able to fly, but their flight style is very different from that of most birds; they sweep and bank sharply, their wings are always flapping, and they fly at night, when most birds have retired. I see them mostly in silhouette, in the last light of the afternoon, early evening, at or after dusk. The park does provide good viewing, because the street lights provide back-lighting, and bug-attraction. Despite what you may have heard, bats are not commonly rabid; in fact it’s quite rare. They do not bite or fly into women’s hair, and they are not blind. As I said above, they are mammals. Their babies are born alive, and are called “pups.” Typically, bats only have one or two pups per breeding season; they do not breed like rats or rabbits; they are not rodents. Bats live in large colonies generally, and raise their “children” cooperatively. They nurse like other mammals, but imagine the difficulty of nursing while you’re suspended upside down!
Where do bats live in New York City? Well, pretty much where ever they want to. All they need is a dark, quiet, undisturbed place, so it could be an unused subway or train tunnel (where I suspect my bats live; under Riverside Park), under the eaves of a tall building, inside a crack (bats are quite small, really), in the housing around a roof-top water tank, where no one ever goes; you name it. Bats are not pests. In fact, they are a boon to agriculture in that they consume tons of insects, and also, in many cases, help to pollinate crops. In the Park, they work on the mosquitoes that plague me some evenings, and have probably prevented me from catching West Nile virus.
Whatever they do, I am enchanted by the idea that my little space in Manhattan has bats in residence, and I look forward to seeing them every night I’m out. My park friend was equally amazed that she actually SAW them, and I was pleased that she had stayed out late enough (it was all of 7:30) to see the bats. Her dog, Smokey, was not impressed, because he was involved in playing with his toy, and hosting a “dog party.” All in all, a good time was had by all, but those of us who were less “wild” finally decided to go back to the civilized part of town (Broadway), pick up the Sunday papers, and head in for the evening. The Wild Kingdom is still out there for next weekend.
Thanks for reading,
Catbird
Sunday, September 17, 2006
UPDATE/FRIENDS
Dear Reader,
Just an entry to update you on the state of things.
The gardens yesterday were wonderful when I was able to force myself to go out. I am in the throes of a heartbreak, plus having a sick cat and turning my apartment upside down in an effort to fix it up and make it welcoming and comfortable for other people besides me (and the cats).
I was finally able to get into the Park, and the weather was terrific, everything was damp (we have had a lot of rain in NYC in the past few days), but warm, and I saw many of my Park friends while I was out. I was also fortunate that one of my old friends (college old, so we're talking almost 30 years) with whom I have remained in contact, came by, and knowing I was having some struggles, invited me to dinner with his family and some friends.
It could not have been a better invitation or distraction. I got to talk with grown-ups for a while; I got to talk with kids for a while. We had a nice dinner and all in all, a good time was had by all. I am very fortunate to have friends who are willing to go out of their way to get me out of myself and keep me moving forward.
My current heartbreak has to do with a man, as all of my prior ones have. I have been singularly unsuccessful in this area; I had lots of boyfriends throughout college and for several years afterwards, but nothing "stuck." Then I had the "great love" in 1990, and when that imploded, I decided to close up shop and not deal with relationships again. There was a respite in 1999, but that resulted in a nervous breakdown, and another emotional shutdown.
This most recent episode has involved a very nice man. I have not received a satisfactory send-off from him, so there is that tiny voice saying "It must be something wrong with me." My friends keep saying it absolutely is not, but I am not known for listening to other folks' opinions, although I solicit them constantly. Fundamental conflict there.
Anyway, dear Reader, I've stayed up later than I had intended, and I still have to spellcheck this and make sure it is literarily interesting. Thanks for reading, and I remain,
CatBird
Just an entry to update you on the state of things.
The gardens yesterday were wonderful when I was able to force myself to go out. I am in the throes of a heartbreak, plus having a sick cat and turning my apartment upside down in an effort to fix it up and make it welcoming and comfortable for other people besides me (and the cats).
I was finally able to get into the Park, and the weather was terrific, everything was damp (we have had a lot of rain in NYC in the past few days), but warm, and I saw many of my Park friends while I was out. I was also fortunate that one of my old friends (college old, so we're talking almost 30 years) with whom I have remained in contact, came by, and knowing I was having some struggles, invited me to dinner with his family and some friends.
It could not have been a better invitation or distraction. I got to talk with grown-ups for a while; I got to talk with kids for a while. We had a nice dinner and all in all, a good time was had by all. I am very fortunate to have friends who are willing to go out of their way to get me out of myself and keep me moving forward.
My current heartbreak has to do with a man, as all of my prior ones have. I have been singularly unsuccessful in this area; I had lots of boyfriends throughout college and for several years afterwards, but nothing "stuck." Then I had the "great love" in 1990, and when that imploded, I decided to close up shop and not deal with relationships again. There was a respite in 1999, but that resulted in a nervous breakdown, and another emotional shutdown.
This most recent episode has involved a very nice man. I have not received a satisfactory send-off from him, so there is that tiny voice saying "It must be something wrong with me." My friends keep saying it absolutely is not, but I am not known for listening to other folks' opinions, although I solicit them constantly. Fundamental conflict there.
Anyway, dear Reader, I've stayed up later than I had intended, and I still have to spellcheck this and make sure it is literarily interesting. Thanks for reading, and I remain,
CatBird
Friday, September 15, 2006
By Way of Introduction
Dear Reader,
I thought I should at least post something that let you know whose writings you might be reading, so here it is:
Who I am depends on my mood. No, I'm not bi-polar, just confused.
If I'm happy or at least not too depressed, I'm a vibrant, reasonably attractive woman living in New York City (yes, I know this is not a personals page). I sing, garden, work, love New York.
I sing with an avocational chorus (we don't get paid) and have performed in Carnegie Hall, Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center, and most of the other major concert halls in New York City. Much more on this in future posts, I'm sure.
I garden in Riverside Park, one of the premier parks in NYC, which runs along Manhattan's Hudson River side, from the mid-60's to the George Washington Bridge or thereabouts. I am what's known as a ParkTender, which means I have committed myself to working in my area for the foreseeable future, and I'm not planning on leaving it anytime soon. Specifically, I garden in an area called the "Firemen's Memorial Island," which contains a monument erected in 1913 to honor perished New York City firemen. This place was little noted until after 9/11/2001. It is now a central place of honor on that day, and I'm honored to be involved with it. More on 9/11, and my gardens in future posts, I'm sure.
My work takes me to different offices and organizations. I am a free-lance bookkeeper/accountant (not a CPA). I work primarily with not-for-profit and arts organizations, although I have had my share of lawyers, contractors and other for-profit entities as clients. I'll take the arts, thank you. I do all of the boring stuff, up to and including preparing clients to be audited, usually by their accounting firms, not by the IRS. Sometimes what I do is interesting, other times tedious; it depends on the time of year and the client. It does pay the bills, and it's a portable skill, if I ever leave NYC. That's another topic for discussion here.
As I said above, how I depict myself largely depends on my mood. When I'm bummed, I describe myself more like this:
I'm a middle-aged, single woman who has lived alone in her studio apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan (notorious for single, middle-aged women living alone in studio apartments) for the last 25 years. I have the requisite number of cats (3), and could stand to lose 15-20 pounds or so. I earn less than I'm capable of, and should be a CPA, or should have gone to law school. I went to a Seven Sisters college, so I am not living up to that education. My family is largely disappointed with me, but they put up with me. I don't have that many friends, and certainly no man in my life. All the stuff I do is just a substitute for a relationship, but I've been hurt too many times to even contemplate that again. I have too much stuff in my apartment, although it is not Collyer-esque, yet. In fact, I started this blog because I needed some other way to express myself, as I had no relationship that allowed me to do so. Hmmmm. what else? Have I type-cast myself enough?
To be honest, I'm not sure why I opened this blog. I had not intended to, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time, and I hate the idea of yet another unused web-page out there in the ether gathering wwweb.dust. I wonder how many of those there are?
Oh, on the upside, I love computers, including the inner workings, and mechanical stuff. I like to fix things, or at least take them apart to see what's wrong. I hope someday to have a car to work on, and an old house to renovate. I already did that with my apartment.
So, this is my introduction to you, Reader. I suppose I'm being optimistic that this will actually be read, but I hope to at least put something out there that's amusing, if not edifying.
Best,
CatBird
I thought I should at least post something that let you know whose writings you might be reading, so here it is:
Who I am depends on my mood. No, I'm not bi-polar, just confused.
If I'm happy or at least not too depressed, I'm a vibrant, reasonably attractive woman living in New York City (yes, I know this is not a personals page). I sing, garden, work, love New York.
I sing with an avocational chorus (we don't get paid) and have performed in Carnegie Hall, Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center, and most of the other major concert halls in New York City. Much more on this in future posts, I'm sure.
I garden in Riverside Park, one of the premier parks in NYC, which runs along Manhattan's Hudson River side, from the mid-60's to the George Washington Bridge or thereabouts. I am what's known as a ParkTender, which means I have committed myself to working in my area for the foreseeable future, and I'm not planning on leaving it anytime soon. Specifically, I garden in an area called the "Firemen's Memorial Island," which contains a monument erected in 1913 to honor perished New York City firemen. This place was little noted until after 9/11/2001. It is now a central place of honor on that day, and I'm honored to be involved with it. More on 9/11, and my gardens in future posts, I'm sure.
My work takes me to different offices and organizations. I am a free-lance bookkeeper/accountant (not a CPA). I work primarily with not-for-profit and arts organizations, although I have had my share of lawyers, contractors and other for-profit entities as clients. I'll take the arts, thank you. I do all of the boring stuff, up to and including preparing clients to be audited, usually by their accounting firms, not by the IRS. Sometimes what I do is interesting, other times tedious; it depends on the time of year and the client. It does pay the bills, and it's a portable skill, if I ever leave NYC. That's another topic for discussion here.
As I said above, how I depict myself largely depends on my mood. When I'm bummed, I describe myself more like this:
I'm a middle-aged, single woman who has lived alone in her studio apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan (notorious for single, middle-aged women living alone in studio apartments) for the last 25 years. I have the requisite number of cats (3), and could stand to lose 15-20 pounds or so. I earn less than I'm capable of, and should be a CPA, or should have gone to law school. I went to a Seven Sisters college, so I am not living up to that education. My family is largely disappointed with me, but they put up with me. I don't have that many friends, and certainly no man in my life. All the stuff I do is just a substitute for a relationship, but I've been hurt too many times to even contemplate that again. I have too much stuff in my apartment, although it is not Collyer-esque, yet. In fact, I started this blog because I needed some other way to express myself, as I had no relationship that allowed me to do so. Hmmmm. what else? Have I type-cast myself enough?
To be honest, I'm not sure why I opened this blog. I had not intended to, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time, and I hate the idea of yet another unused web-page out there in the ether gathering wwweb.dust. I wonder how many of those there are?
Oh, on the upside, I love computers, including the inner workings, and mechanical stuff. I like to fix things, or at least take them apart to see what's wrong. I hope someday to have a car to work on, and an old house to renovate. I already did that with my apartment.
So, this is my introduction to you, Reader. I suppose I'm being optimistic that this will actually be read, but I hope to at least put something out there that's amusing, if not edifying.
Best,
CatBird
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