Selfies

Selfie week 28: Clementine

Thirteen years ago I was new at my day job and during the weekly department meeting my boss, Robin, announced her cat had a litter of kittens and please-oh-please, people take them! I jokingly mentioned it to Anna that night. We already had three cats, and adding a fourth was out of the question. Yeah, she didn’t think it was so out of the question, and the next night we were at Robin’s playing with the kittens. The little gray and white kitten stood out as relentlessly precocious, exceptionally strong-willed, and fearless – traits Clementine retained her whole life. Even after she left the “kitten” stage she still embodied that playful zeal and we took to referring to her as a “perma-kitten”.
In the last month or so she’d started losing weight at a concerning clip. Friday night I noticed she wasn’t keeping food down anymore, and I knew I would have to take her in to the vet for likely the last time. Saturday morning, she started meowing to be let out. She’s been an indoor cat since I moved to this house, so that in and of itself was odd. While I tried to get Winston in and out to go to the bathroom, Clementine darted out three times. I knew what she wanted to do, but I wasn’t okay with it. Before I left I closed all the windows down to make sure she couldn’t get out. Well, all but one. At some point she managed to dislodge the upper corner of the narrow window in the back and wriggle out.
Clemmie is gone.
While it’s cliche to say this is the hardest part of having pets, it’s also true. Not being able to say a proper goodbye doesn’t help. When I sensed we were getting near the end I had “the talk” with her, telling her she’s loved and that when she needs to, just go.
I didn’t mean that literally.
I’ve been reflecting on the time I had with Clemmie, trying to tell myself that she had a great life for a cat. I think that’s true. Clementine had:
  • Three kitty siblings during her life with me — she was never lonely on that front.
  • Quickly gained a second mom. Kione almost immediately treated Clementine like her own kitten and throughout her life you wouldn’t find Clemmie too far from Kione:
  • She got to play with chickens, or at figure out why these giant birds were not worth chasing.
  • She terrorized a young Winston. From the moment he set his paws in the house, Clemmie put him in his place. One of her favorite things was to stand on the edge of our loveseat and swat at him to get him to run and then proceed to race around the perimeter of the loveseat swatting him as he ran around and around the furniture. They did eventually make peace, though.
  • Had a week-long outdoor adventure shortly after moving here. I thought at the time I might have lost her then. No, she came back eventually. This time, though… I know she’s gone.
Kione, if you’re wondering, is doing fine. I think she knew Clemmie was gone before she left. And, between you and me, I think Kiki might just prefer being the only cat. Winston… well, bless his heart, he’s Winston. But, while they’re adjusting fine, I’m not doing so well. The house is quieter, emptier without Clemmie. She wasn’t always making noise mind you, but she filled the space with that palpable parma-kitten energy and with it gone… it’s really noticeable, and sad. I know I’ll move on — this isn’t my first proverbial rodeo. But Clemmie was always climbing on me like none of the other animals. She was, well, mine – or I was hers:
Clementine, wherever you are, may you be at peace. May you have regained that joie de vivre that you embodied throughout your life. I hope you’re reuniting with Shurik and Amaya and saving a place for Kione — though don’t get any ideas because she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. You were loved. You are loved. You live in my heart. Farewell little critter.

Selfie week 24 – Hammocks, Hair, Horses, and Saint Anthony

It’s been a roller coaster week. On one hand, the Warriors swept the Cavs in an a brutally efficient manner (especially game 4!). The good news is that means I can shave my Playoff Hair (but I’m keeping the beard long – I’ve kinda grown fond of the length). On the flip side, that means no more basketball until October… but the Giants are picking things up on the baseball side, so, you know, there’s that. Still on the subject of sports, I found surprisingly scant coverage of Justify winning the Preakness and, with it, taking the Triple Crown — joining American Pharoah as only the second horse to achieve that feat since Affirmed in 1978. Before American Pharoah in 2015, many people believed modern race horses were too specialized to take the three disparate races. And now two in three years.
The high of the Warriors sweeping came the same day as the tragic news of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide, itself just days after news of Kate Spade taking her own life left me shaken. There have been some amazing tributes over the weekend, and that in of itself is heartening. It doesn’t bring anyone back, but to see how deeply so many people were affected by their lives helps ease their passing a bit.
Bourdain’s loss really hurt. I had to drop off some paperwork at a restaurant in town. I had a beer while I waited and the bartender pointed to a reserved sign in front of a seat at the bar meticulously set with silverware, plates, folded napkin and a perfectly garnished Manhattan. “That,” she said with a mix of anguish and mourning, “That’s for Tony.” I for one move to have him referred heretofore as Saint Anthony, patron saint of restaurant and bar workers, as well as the culturally and gastronomically curious. I know a lot of religious folks would rush to decry his suicide as immediate theological disqualification, and to them I say fuck off: he was gruff, profane, fallible, but he had a big heart, was quick to the defense of those picked on, and genuinely honest – that’s my kind of saint. Yes, he succumbed to depression, and if you somehow think that’s a weakness, then, brother, you’ve never been there yourself – or, in my case, sat with someone in the emergency room as they’re forced to drink charcoal to counteract an overdose. Until you stare into that abyss yourself, or hold the hand of someone on that edge, you reserve your judgement. I’m all about respecting both sides of an argument, but not here, not with this. You either show compassion and help, or you shut the hell up.
A couple months ago Fern and I took a weekday off and went to San Francisco to hike around the Presidio and visit the library downtown. On the way in Fern noticed a commotion on the northbound side of the Golden Gate. “Must be an accident,” she said. I stole a glance from the road and knew immediately that wasn’t the case. “Someone jumped,” I said, and my brain flew back to the day I nearly lost someone I loved to the bridge… The day in the Presidio was gorgeous and I swear I almost found the manzanita I was looking for. Later, we were walking downtown towards the library and the sun bore down making it a stunning early spring day in San Francisco in the low 70s. And suddenly I got really sad again. Whoever it was that morning on the bridge, stared out over a beautiful morning and leapt. He or she didn’t get a chance to experience that epic day in San Francisco, nor will they ever. And yet, that leap was preferable to the utter torment going on in their own mind…
Many of the tributes this weekend have shared the number for the suicide hotline (and I will too: 1-800-273-8255), but that’s not enough. If you know someone who has depression, reach out. Don’t wait. Do it now. Tell them you’re thinking of them. Send them a hug. Or, hell, go on over and give them a hug. Be there for them. Let them know you care for them and that you want them to be around for another perfect day in San Francisco.
Or, for a lovely summer day in a hammock under the redwood trees wondering whether Durant should have gotten the finals MVP or we’ll have to wait another generation for a triple crown horse.
Love each other, please, for Saint Anthony.

Selfie Week 21: 100 posts!

Okay, so technically this is post 102, but there was an announcement here and there, so I’m building in a little wiggle room.

April 18th, 2017 was post number 1. “Everything starts somewhere”. And it did, though posts began haltingly at first. For the next six months I posted just 15 times – a combination of some pub reviews I’d written previously, a trip report for my Lassen/Yosemite trip last year, and a few odds and ends.

Then came October.

I just want to say, I absolutely loved doing “31 Ghosts” last year. If you don’t remember what I’m talking about, I committed to writing a ghost story for each day of the greatest month of the year, October. And I did it! That I did, right there, that’s one strong reason for loving the project so much. But I’ve gone back and read some of the stories and, you know what? They’re a lot of fun! I’m generally my worst critic, but I’m proud of a lot of the things I wrote. Some of my favorites? If I had to pick a favorite it’s probably a tie between “Day 5: Ghost In The Machine. LOL.” and “Day 12: Hell Hath No Fury…” Fern would be mad if I didn’t mention her absolute favorite, “Day 3: The Ghost You Know”. I am planning on doing something to celebrate the most wonderful month of the year for 2018, I just haven’t decided whether we’re going to have 31 more ghosts, or… something else. We’ll see…

After October… posts dropped off again for a while. I’ll chalk it up to “creative burnout” after October. But other than Thanksgiving posts and a post here and there, it was quiet until the January “2018 Resolutions” post where I set a posting schedule – a schedule I’ve largely kept to, which has brought us to this point – 100 posts!

If you’re wondering why I’m breaking my arm patting myself on the back here for racking up an ultimately arbitrary number of posts on a site so far in the backwoods of the internet that even Google Spiders don’t spin webs, well, you bring up a good point. By virtue of reading this, you’re part of a particularly exclusive club that reads these posts (believe me, I’ve got the Google Analytics to prove it!). Last week, I published the Selfie entitled, “Up In The Night,” because, well, I’d fallen off my posting schedule, I hadn’t written a story for a few weeks, things just felt pretty rotten and disjointed. Oh, and I published that late – last Thursday!

But here’s something that I didn’t write in that piece: I woke up the next morning, Friday, and I felt… lighter. I had a spark again. That wasn’t much of a post, but it was a post. And, you know when your phone dies and you have to bum someone’s charger just for five minutes of juice? And they’re taking their charger back right after your screen came back on showing you’ve got 5% battery life? And instead of saying, “I’ve only got 5% battery life!!” you say, “Thank god, I’ve got 5% battery life”? Maybe that’s a little too specific. Okay, this isn’t a “glass is half full” vs “glass is half empty” scenario. No, there’s barely two tablespoons of water in that glass. But when you’re thirsty? That’s an awfully valuable gulp of water. That is something to work with. That was me Friday morning. I went back and I read some of the things I’ve written here – some of the 100 posts. Then I went back to my alpha-draft of my banshee novel, and it made me smile. And then I read my notes about January June, and I need to get back in touch with her world.

Friday was just another Friday. But I felt great again. It was Friday, too, that I noticed that that “Up In The Night” post… was actually the 100th post. Fitting. Fitting.

Let’s see what it looks like to hit 200 posts. 300? 500? I promise you I’ll do my best to not bore you (and if I do, please drop me a line and tell me so!). A little over a year ago, I wrote that first blog post on Think Dude Think as “a tentative step forward, a statement that this is officially further along than it was before, if ever so slightly.”

And so, here we go again! As I wrote then, “May there be more steps forward. May these posts move me forward. I hope you (and I!) enjoy the journey!”

Couldn’t have said it better myself.