Weblog 186

August 30, 2009~ 12:00am
August is not a good month for me. I believe August will always be a time of sorrow. I've begun to associate the appearance of fall mums with their blood red colors and flaming oranges, with 'endings'.



That lovely painting by Henry LeJeune is a perfect depiction of how sadness-- how deep, bereft sorrow turns us into abject children-- it murders all life's airs, and what is left is naked and vulnerable. Sorrow cuts through all pretense. Sorrow.......is the ultimate truth.

And from this August forward, I will forever hear cicadas calling their crescendos from trees, as the particular sound of something dying-- singing to the last, but dying nonetheless.

Last week, I lost a good friend, and Wayne, a beloved sister.

Two years ago in mid August, my female cat took ill and died at the month's end - and now, my 20 year old male cat, Beethoven (that's 94 years old in human years) is showing all the signs of chronic renal failure. His gait is extremely wobbly and arthritic. His head hangs in the textbook posture of 'ventroflexion'-- he cannot raise it and stares at the floor.

I believe given his advanced years and the fact that he's still eating and eliminating, any trip to the vet at this point would produce nothing but panic in him. There is nothing substantiative they could do except give him intravenous fluids and keep him there for a few days, only to release him, knowing more trips back would do nothing but prolong the inevitable. He doesn't appear to be in pain-- only terribly, terribly tired and unsteady. He's more comfortable here in his home, the one he's lived in all his life.

Sorrow is, in its own way, a beautiful emotion. It's pure. It has no other face but truth. When we think of sorrow as merely the other side of love, it's a reflection of the depth of our feeling, and in that light, sorrow, in its stillness and its purity, is like a place the heart wanders into



and we needn't fear it. It's only the other face of love, afterall... and despite the deepest pangs of loss



it's what makes us most human. Because we weep, we are able to feel its opposite-- to feel joy when it comes along: we only cry because we once laughed. That's the equation.

We mourn what we have loved.

Tears are communication at its rawest. Without words.

Only the heart knows, and the hearts of those who love us.




August 30, 2009~ 8:15am
Got up to make some coffee and check on Beethoven. Wonder of wonders- after a last ditch effort yesterday by buying some plain yogurt (rich in potassium) and some cat vitamins with Omega-3 fatty acids, his walk is jauntier this morning....head not as 'hung down Tom Dooley'.... and oh my God, at one point, he partially raised it to look up at me. That hasn't happened in three days!

Perhaps his 'time' is not as inevitably close as I feared. In the words of Blanche DuBois, from 'Streetcar Named Desire'- "'SOMETIMES - there's God - so quickly!"

So, did I pray about this? Yes I did. I was so afraid that, like Emily Dickinson, my little prayers-

Of Course -- I prayed --
And did God Care?
He cared as much as on the Air
A Bird -- had stamped her foot --
And cried "Give Me"

-would amount to a hill of beans.

I'm a typical person who prays when things look darkest, but I also do 'psalm-like' things when, open-mouthed, in the presence of beauty, gasping for words, some gratitude flies out. Last night, Wayne and I watched 'Religulous'-



- the Bill Maher documentary on organized religion. I agree with Maher that religion has killed more folks than any plague in history, and I am in agreement with most of what he had to say-- and the film is certainly funny, but it's in a mean-spirited, dark way that makes me wonder what there is to replace religion if it weren't out there. The message of most religions is laudable. It's the execution and interpretation of its followers that so often turn it into contests to be 'king of the hill'-- and along with that comes condemnation of the other guy.

I think Maher's particular wrestling with religion comes from being the child of a Jewish mother and a Catholic father, so there's war going on in that guy and probably always has been. He can't dismiss religion altogether (though I could see he was trying his damndest)--because he was caught between two of the giant ones in growing up.

Bill has doubt.... I think doubt is healthy. But anger isn't- and there was a lot of that under the humor in 'Religulous'. It was an uneven, disquieting film, and I think it probably reveals more about Maher than any religion he focused on. Conflict's a bitch. Indecision is like being in a rock-tumbler, but jumping out before the tumbling can make you smooth leaves lots of spiky edges. I think that's what we see in Bill Maher. It's what makes him funny-- but it also makes him abrasive. It's an interesting film, but hardly balanced, and hardly 'the whole truth' that Maher probably thought he was serving up.




August 30, 2009~ 2:45pm
(Beethoven doing even better)- and my heart is soaring with hope! In the spirit of all things cheerful, at least for the time being, here's a great link



to a highly enjoyable blog in the 'kitsch/vintage/humor' vein, called The Girl Can't Help It. I know you'll find it cozy and quirky there.





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