Two Cats and a Widow

Ivan, my next door neighbor who died on April 15 at the age of 73, once told me his wife Judy was glad we have cats.

She is a cat lover but Ivan was allergic, so she was denied that precious and simple pleasure. He told me she loved to look out the window when she was at the kitchen sink because she could see Patsy and Emmy Lou in our picture window, which faces their house.

One of the cats is very often sitting there, and many times they are both sitting there.

This morning, as I was reading, both cats got up in the window, which is right next to my chair, sitting up as pretty as can be. Facing directly towards Judy's house.

I was hoping she was in the kitchen. I am hopeful that Patsy and Emmy Lou give her some comfort now that she is alone. I truly hope they fill her heart with love or happiness or sensitivity every time she sees them. Something to make her feel alive, something to re-connect her with the world. More importantly, something to mend her heart and feed her soul. 

These are the little things in life, the things people don't talk about, things so small and so simple that other people don't need to hear about them. But they are the things that make a person feel human in a world that works hard to take that away from you.

Two cats. Two innocent, loving lives, bringing happiness to a broken soul, just by being.

I hope Patsy and Emmy Lou do that for Judy.

I think they do.

Turning The Tables (If I Still Have The Time)

 "Give me the strength to be what I was, and forgive me for what I am."

El Mariachi, from the film Desperado.

I am trying to flip that phrase around as it pertains to my own life.

Either, Or

I feel exceptional today - physically and mentally.

A rare day indeed.

I could try to conquer the world.

Or, maybe, just chill and marinate in the comfort of a good vibe.

Birds

Birds are delicate.

They are beautiful. They sing joyously.

They share their beauty effortlessly; selflessly.

Humans, on the other hand........................

Ivan at 73

Went to Ivan's funeral mass yesterday morning at 10:00. He was only 73.

73 is not enough. Life is hard, and a lot of it is wasted on procrastination, self-doubt and laziness. 90 is minimally acceptable to me now; anything less and I'll feel cheated.

Ivan was cheated. He had thirteen grandkids and one great-grandkid. All ages, all sizes, boys and girls. 17 more years with them would have fleshed out his life beautifully. It is not to be.

Earlier that morning I was sitting peaceably reading when I started to hear car doors slamming and realized it was Ivan's family pulling up next door. That shit gets in your head.

There I was in complete contentment while the family next door was preparing to mourn. You can forget about reality, ignore it, pretend it doesn't exist, but it will always sit up and slap you in the face. Reality is harsh, baby, but you got to meet it head-on. (I am lecturing myself).

There were lots of older folks at the mass, so lots of thoughts of mortality, no doubt. A collective awareness of what is to come, inevitably. That made the vibe a bit heavier. We are aware of it, afraid of it, but death is out there lurking, waiting for the right moment to snatch us away. You can forget about it when you are in Market Basket, but a funeral mass brings it home with finality.

Ironically, it was a beautiful sunny, warm spring day. I kept gazing out the window and thinking what can be taken away from you, what will be taken away from you, in a heartbeat.

Asked about what he learned about life after being diagnosed with terminal cancer, Warren Zevon said "Enjoy every sandwich." Sounds a bit flippant, but it is right on. Most of us are not vacationing in Ibiza or driving a Mercedes Maybach. A good sandwich, a real conversation, quiet moments with the spouse, the beauty and magic of kids and grand-kids, a 75 degree, sun-drenched June day - these slip by unappreciated and we are stupid to do so.

Ivan and his wife Judy owned three restaurants in their lifetime; cooking and making people happy was his passion. COVID killed the last restaurant and sent Ivan and Judy into a financial tailspin. That, and health problems made the end of his life difficult. But apparently, even then he was hoping to open yet another restaurant. That is the definition of passion. Most of us settle for what we can get, which is typically far beneath what we feel we deserve. Dreams? I think that is a fantasy for the majority of us.

I didn't know Ivan well, only talked to him from time to time. Carol knew him better because they were on the board together. I barely knew his wife, she rarely made public appearances. And yet, after the service as we filed out, I wanted to console her but couldn't. I couldn't get the words out.

At 1:00 that same day I had a follow-up appointment for the prostate cancer I experienced a few years ago. The hospital always freaks me out. Walkers, crutches, wheelchairs. People my age, older and younger looking weak and vulnerable. I don't like it because it is reality. I'm not there yet and I consider myself lucky for that, but it is coming.

A funeral mass, a tour of the hospital - a lot to take in in one day.

My goal in 2026 is to meet reality head-on and beat the shit out of it. But you know me - I set lots of goals but get few results. But yesterday, I did drive with windows down and radio blasting.

That's not nothing.

He's Talking About Me Again

Marc Maron:

"My brain is full of psychic tendrils all looking to grab hold of something to worry about, and they're relatively successful at finding stuff. Every day I have to go through the process of getting each one of them to let go, and there's a lot of them and I gotta do it separately, it's a fucking nightmare. It all breaks down to fear. And the other element is just some poorly parented part of myself wants parents, wants to be comforted, even with bullshit."

I sleep like shit, kind of. I mean, I got the CPAP thing going, and for quite a while now it's been giving me high marks. Five or below. Five is the goal so technically I'm doing pretty good. But I wake up tired. What the fuck? Like everything else in life, CPAP helps, but it is not the divine solution they make it out to be. There's always a fucking catch, baby.

I wake up a couple of times a night, but I fall back asleep pretty quickly. Still, there's disruption. My goal is to wake up wake up at 7:00. That seems to be the point where I feel fairly decent. The catch is, that rarely happens. I'm more likely to wake up around 5 or 5:30, and then I'm screwed. The brain starts humming. Psychic tendrils on the hunt.

Three, four, five things (or more) to worry about bounce around my skull. I deep breathe, try the mantra thing, nothing stops the monster from torturing me. Next thing you know I'm up feeding the cats.

And yawning.

Marc's a little more detail oriented than me. I don't go through the process of dealing with each worry. I just let them pile up until they blend into one heavy-duty WORRY, until I have a five hundred pound weight on my chest making it very difficult to breathe.

Fear is definitely in the equation. I'm afraid this will happen, afraid that will happen, afraid I will never change, afraid I'll lose my looks (kidding, for Christ sake - lighten up). Not sure about the poorly parented thing (although Tony and Revia and I definitely did not see eye to eye); I'm not sure I'm still reacting to that. But I definitely yearn for comfort.

Every morning, every night, when Patsy's in my lap, I wish my whole day could feel like this. It is perfect. The sweet sensitivity, love and comfort - the overwhelming feeling of sweet innocence and trust, the purity of the moment. Instead, once I start moving, it's nothing but razor blades.

I'm getting much better at not giving a fuck though, and that is progress. It helps. For the longest time - years - I spent every off day obsessing about how I'm going to make a million dollars to buy me some peace of mind and safety. Now I go days without doing anything about it.

I mean, who cares? It's too late. I'm doomed to pay the price for my mistakes so I might as well just roll the dice and hope I get five or ten years of status quo before it all comes crashing down.

It would be nice if I could sleep soundly for those five or ten years. 

I'd rather not wait until I'm dead.

The Wisdom of Drunkenness

Just washed the dishes from last night and this morning.

I volunteered to do it. I try to help Carol out. She washes the dishes a lot and gets sick of it (even though she is 100% retired).

I get it. I get pissed off every time I do it even though I volunteer to do it. It is annoying.

It occurred to me as I stood at the sink that I understand why drunks avoid everyday chores.