Requiem for a Rambo

One of our cats, ironically named Rambo*, passed away this week after a cancer diagnosis that was made a few months ago.  Saying goodbye to him was hard but made worse by the fact that we got to see his slow slide into very ill health.  After discovering the (at the time) small tumor, we were told at the veterinarian hospital that the options were either an amputation of his back leg or making him as comfortable as possible for the time he had left.  We opted for the latter, as there was no guarantee that the cancer would be forever gone, and having an older cat re-learn how to walk on three legs seemed just wrong to us. 

The above noted, Rambo deserves to have his story told, so I’m going to do just that, blunt language and all.

I am not sure when Rambo became a pet for my two stepsons, although I think it was around 2010.  Regardless, he was apparently a very active kitten and was loved dearly by Alex and Robby.  However, as is the case far too many times, Rambo became the victim of a very bitter divorce, specifically between my stepson’s late father and Ms. Rivers.  The net effect on Rambo was that after the boys ended up no longer living with their father, he kicked Rambo out of the only home he knew, and he ended up living on the streets.

An editorial sidenote is appropriate here:  Assuming there is a higher power in the universe, I would think/hope that they would not embrace anyone in the next life who was intentionally cruel to any household pet such as a dog or a cat.  Actually, “…not embrace” is far too weak a phrase here, so I’ll instead say this:  I hope people who abuse animals spend some time in Hell for what they’ve done.  This example is included.

Anyway, Rambo was ill-equipped to live outside, but apparently made the best of it for a few months, being fed by people in the neighborhood and avoiding the terrible things that await outdoor cats.  However, after learning of this and realizing in October that things would start to get pretty cold outside, we decided to rescue him and bring him into our home.  My stepson Robby did the capture part, which was not all that difficult, seeing that Rambo came right up to him when called.  After that, Rambo got fully checked out by the veterinarian, was treated for the things that harm outdoor cats, and became a full-time member of our family.  We kept this whole thing in the down-low, so as to avoid the former owner from taking any kind of further retribution or otherwise claiming ownership of Rambo.  We were not letting him go back, ever.

Note that Rambo never once expressed any kind of desire to go back outside.  He knew better.

As a member of our family, Rambo enjoyed getting cat treats, playing with his brothers (that would include Oren and the now deceased Tiger and JeanLuc)…

(JeanLuc, Rambo, Tiger)

…and doing rollies for me.  “Rollies” in case you are curious, was basically him rolling over on this side, showing his belly, and inviting some affection most times when I would simply say “rollies” to him.  His physical condition stopped him from making rollies a few months ago, but I want to believe that, when I still asked him, he was making rollies on the inside.

As a final note, there’s been a string of losses impacting our families over the past few weeks, some of humankind in addition to the feline kind.  That sort of thing takes a toll.  However, I try to remind myself that death is as much a part of life as actually breathing is, in that both are inevitable parts of our experience in this existence.  While we (including I…) mourn, I take some solace in the fact that for many years, Rambo lived an outstanding life, hopefully making up for the cruelty he experienced in the past.

Rest in Peace RollieKitty.

 

(*) Rambo was hardly a “Rambo”, not prone to extreme behavior.  He was though a smart and thoughtful kitty.

2022: Time

 Can you teach me 'bout tomorrow

And all the pain and sorrow running free

'Cause tomorrow's just another day

And I don't believe in time

(Hootie and Blowfish, Time)

Seeing as though this is New Year's Eve, and my regular gig of being off the grid at Ricketts Glen State Park fizzled out, I think it's appropriate to reflect on the year that was (or will be, depending on when someone happens to be reading this).

Time

One of the things that became very apparent to me over 2022 is that my very perception of time is changing, literally right before my eyes.  You see, in the past, things like seasons took forever to change, and some seemed to last forever.  Now?  Things seem to be changing in the blink of an eye.  What where hot summer days seem only like yesterday, and their return will seem like tomorrow.  I'm smart enough to understand that the actual passage of time is, relatively speaking, a constant.  What's actually happening is wholly inside my head, and I'm not sure whether this is a good or a not-good thing.  Time, as they say, will tell.

Communicating

I've come to understand something about myself that probably requires some work, specifically in the area of communication.  What might this be, you may ask?  Well, outside of my wife, I probably spend more time talking to my cats than I do my fellow humans.  They have the advantage of either being very good listeners or are even better at pretending to listen to me.  While either way works for me, this may be a sign that I need to get out more often.

Indestructibility

I am increasingly becoming aware of the fact that I am not, in fact, indestructible.  This is another thing requiring something of a sea change inside my own head.  One must understand that over the years I have been something of a walking accident waiting to happen.  In addition to THIS posting, over the decades I have managed to gash the top of my head, filet my leg with a box cutter, stab my hand separating frozen hotdogs, shatter a drinking glass while cleaning it (and shredding my hand in the process), fracturing ribs after slipping on ice and probably a few other things that I won't share (out of fear that I will sound even more ridiculous).  Shy of encasing myself in bubble wrap, I just need to be more careful out there.

Tolerance

There are many things I seem to tolerate less and less as the years go on, such as cruelty to animals and bullies.  It's to the point where I really can't elaborate much more on this point, as it is actually starting to bother me just thinking about the subject.

Health

In 2023 I will turn 59 years old.  Clearly, as I sit and type this, my physical health needs work.  For example, I have the diet of an 8-year-old that hates vegetables and has uncaring parents.  In addition to making grown-up food choices, I also need to exercise more.  Yet though, there has been some progress.  I have spent more than a fair amount of time over the past several years focusing on my mental health.  With a lot of work, I think I have made some progress.  There is still work to do...to be honest, there may always be work to do in this area...but it feels like some of the things I've struggled with for a very long time are now better managed.  

Persistence

I only have one superpower:  Persistence.  While clearly not as cool as the ability to fly or having lasers shooting out of my eyes, I'm still grateful for the gift.  It has served me well.

* * * * * *

My wish for all of us in 2023?  To remember that life is short and time is fleeting, so it's time for more kindness, less conflict, and less fanaticism...about everything.

Cat Chases Tail (& related career thoughts)

I've been spending a lot of time over the past few months just trying to re-orient my professional life.  That's not a bad thing, by the way...it's just a reality.  That reality is I spent nearly 28 years working for one organization, and then 4.5 years working for 5 organizations.  Needless to say, when change happens to me, well, it really happens.  Granted that, as noted over the past few years, 4 of those changes happened to me; only one was initiated by me.  It has been, in a word, chaotic.  

For those keeping score over the last 4.5 years:

• Organization 1 was bought by organization 2.
• Organization 2 laid off almost everyone on my team, including myself (and my Director, who had worked for that same company for more than 20 years).
• Organization 3 laid me off as a result of COVID.  In all fairness, it was a business necessity, and while getting laid off always stinks, there is some consolation found in the fact that this was an event outside of anyone's control.
• Organization 4 just wasn't a good fit for me.  I wish them well.
• Organization 5 is where I find myself now.

With that in mind, here I am now, almost 4 months into my current gig.  Now every morning before I start my workday, I spend a few minutes pouring my thoughts out into a personal blog of sorts.  Maybe one day that stuff will see the light of day.  

Anyway, one of the things I've had to mentally settle on and musing over is the fact that I really do want this to be my last stop.  As in the end.  As in my primary goal is to simply get paid a reasonable amount of money for the work I do (and I am) and not work for a bunch of jerks (which I am not).  No promotions, no self-promotion, no rat-racing, no ego.  To that last point, it's a bit trickier than it sounds.  Like most blue-blooded American folks, I have been conditioned to believe that, in our working lives, we are either climbing up or we are pathetic losers.  With my current situation, as already explained, I have to come to terms with the whole "pathetic losers" thing.  Or, as I have explained to my boss, I have resigned myself to "shutting off my ambition gene".

Yet there is more to this whole mental mess.

Why is ambition even an issue here?  Ambition for what?  To find some sort of validation that I am smart or hardworking or talented?  This brings me to my cat Oren.

(Oren and Rambo)

Oren loves to chase his tail.  He REALLY LOVES chasing his tail.  He must think it is some other thing that he needs to capture.  To acquire.  In reality, he doesn't need to acquire it...he already has it.  He just doesn't realize that fact.

And here I am now.  Maybe I've been chasing something that, at this point, I already have.  Maybe I don't need the validation that I am smart or hardworking or talented.  Maybe chasing a "career tail" makes about as much sense as what Oren does.  In all fairness to Oren though, at least he has fun with his chase.

Finally, adding another dimension to all of this is the fact that Ms. Rivers and I think we'll be ready to retire in 6 to 7 years.  That will put both of us 2-3 years away from the magic age of 65, but we have a plan.  We're good at that sort of thing.

The above noted, Oren needs some attention.  

Of Cats and Cars

It’s pretty much an established fact at this point that I’m only writing this stuff once a month.  Not that I want to make this a posting about postings, which bores even me to tears.

Anyway, summer is in full swing, as is life in general.  As I write this, we have a new addition to the family, the former Gaston (now re-named Oren).

I hadn’t planned on getting a new cat after JeanLuc passed away, but Ms. Rivers and Robby wanted to, and questions about “getting a cat” are, for me, about as easy as “hey, want to go for ice cream?” to answer.  A few things about Oren:

• It literally took weeks to come up with his name.  Weeks.
• Speaking of names, his full name is, in theory, “Oren Bruce Albert Carroll Rivers”.
• He has enough energy to power a Tesla for a round trip to/from Philadelphia.
• Among his cute traits, he sometimes growls like a dog, in addition to making an assortment of chortles.

He also absolutely adores Ms. Rivers. 

While I still do miss JeanLuc, it is nice to have a new cat in the house.  His housemate, Rambo, has been very patient with him, for the record.

Another addition will be arriving tomorrow, in the form of another car.  With my younger stepson getting ready for the quasi-adulting world after high school, I have gifted him my 2008 Nissan Altima.  As I told Ms. Rivers, I think having a car post-high school is important.  It speaks to the freedom to go places and the need to act responsibly when getting there.  It also teaches an important lesson about how things in the real world (such as the freedom to drive places) always come with some costs (be it gasoline, insurance, etc.).  I’ve had the Altima since 2017, and outside of assorted occasional leaks and wear/tear items, such as tires, it has served us well.  Given its age, the mileage isn’t too bad (less than 100k), and it is very well equipped.  I hope Robby continues to enjoy it as much as I have over the years.

By way of additional background, I bought a brand-new Chevy Silverado back in 2016, which I thoroughly enjoy driving.  It’s not very good on gas though, hence the need for the Altima back in2017.  There’s also the fact that I pretty much want to keep the Silverado forever, so driving it less than more is a goal.  Anyway, since I will be working in an office with some regularity for the foreseeable future, it makes sense (in other words, I’ve created a justification that probably only exists in my head) for me to look for another vehicle.  That process has been ongoing but concluding tomorrow when I become the owner of a 2018 Toyota C-HR.  As they say in the television news business (or used to say…) “film at 11”.

Now me being me, I literally analyzed the crap out of the car selection process, including the creation of a car analysis spreadsheet in Excel.  I had criteria and data, but as is the case with buying a vehicle for me, there is also a kind of “X factor/gut instinct” thing going on.  In this case, while the C-HR was on my potential list (good gas mileage, a hatchback, not AWD…which I don’t need because of the Silverado…etc.), what sold me was the fact that it just doesn’t look ordinary.  Not that I am all that interested in calling attention to myself, driving or otherwise, but all of us spend a fair amount of time in our vehicles, so why not at least have that reflective of something that looks good?

This is, for the record, probably the worst environment ever for buying a car (or a house for that matter).  Never being one for good timing, it is more important to get this purchase over with now than put it off any further.  The alternative is my continuing to ruminate over this even more.  Given the choice between probably overpaying or needlessly renting out space in my head, well, I chose the former.

On that note, the yard beckons and grass must be cut.

Adjustments

I can't think of a better way to title this posting, so I am going with the above-mentioned "Adjustments".  It has the benefit of at least being factually correct, which makes up for it being on the boring side.  Anyway, there are a lot of adjustments to talk about these days.

I miss my cat.  I know, that may sound odd coming from a 57-year-old male, but it's simply true.  I think about him often.  In a lot of ways, he is one of the reasons why I am here today typing this posting.  Had he not come into my life when he did, I know my life from November 2010 until now would have been different.  Granted, I am not talking about currently living in a utopia, but compared to what my life could be like, well, I am in a relatively good place.  Jean-Luc gets some of that credit.  He was unfailingly loyal to me and always attentive.  As I mentioned in my last posting, he knew me and knew when I needed him.  With him gone, well, the world seems just a tiny bit less friendly.

I've also made a job and ultimately career change.  The names will be changed to protect the innocent, but I've taken stock of a few things and made the conscious decision that at this stage in my life, it's time to prioritize my physical and mental health.  This means a bit less work stress, although I absolutely recognize that most of that stuff comes more from inside me than anywhere else.  If anything, my hope is that I'll be able to work on that internal stuff more in the months and years to come.  My professional life has admittedly been on something of a rollercoaster since 2016, and it feels like I should be consciously trying to do more of what I truly enjoy along with paying less attention to my inner dialogue that insists on measuring success against others, etc.  I know, that sounds very new-age, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.  Who knows, I may decide in a bit that I want more of that kind of pressure in my life, but for now, and for as far as I can see, the right thing to do is more of what I enjoy and less of what I don't.  

Finally, I am adjusting to working from home now.  I've never been the biggest fan of that, but the reality of working life in 2021 is that for many of us, it's here to stay.  To make that more palatable for me, I'm almost done re-configuring my office so that I have a dedicated desk just for work.  This now means that my small home office has two dual monitor set-ups and probably draws as much power as Shamokin (Pennsylvania), but so be it.  My hope is that I can view the work desk as just that...my workplace and my work time.  

In the end, it's all about the adjustments.

Looking forward, there is some work for me to do.  For starters, work just needs to be an emotionally smaller part of my life.  Put another way, I desperately need to separate "me the person" from "me the working professional".  If I can do that, and I am hopeful, maybe there will be room for other things that bring me some amount of happiness.  I also have to think about the fact that I honestly don't have a decade more of full-time professional work in me.  At some point, maybe in my early 60's, I am going to make the decision that it's time to have a full-time job of simply being me (also known as retiring).  The next few years need to be a part of that transition.  

Lastly, on the work front, I could absolutely be making a horrible mistake now.  There is a part of me that is always in competition.  The problem with that though is the fact that the very nature of competition implies that there are "winners" and "losers".  When it comes to a constant competition against a notion of what I should be doing and where I should be in my career, well, I don't think there can ever be a winner.  As so well noted in that classic piece of cinematic vision (War Games)...

"My Work Here Is Done"

In late October 2010, I was in the process of separating and ultimately getting a divorce.  Part of that involved moving into an apartment living on my own for the first time in 23 years.  Saying that was a difficult time is an understatement par excellence.  Fortunately, I have smart and compassionate children, one of whom (my oldest) told me that I needed to get a cat to keep me company.  After some thinking about it, I basically decided "why not", so around Thanksgiving 2010 a trek was made to an area shopping mall where we met a friend of my daughter who just happened to have two available kittens.  Once we were there, the two kittens in a cat carrier were presented to me.  They were identical, except for the fact that one was a bit more active than the other.  I picked the less active one.  

From that point forward I would never have to be alone again.  

Fast forward to April 13, 2021, and that kitten became a constant companion for me.  He would say hello to me in the morning, enjoy getting his morning meal, and greet me at the door when I arrived home from work. He was equal parts stubborn and playful.  He had a knack for knowing when I needed company and when I just wanted to be alone.  For whatever reason, he just seemed to like me.

It was on this past Tuesday (April 13th) that Jean-Luc passed away.  The official reason, as given by the veterinarian, was multiple blood clots that impacted his back legs, and lungs.  I'd describe in better detail just what happened, but honestly, it's just too painful.  Over the past 20 years, I lost my father, my mother, and my brother Chris.  All of those were difficult in their own way, and in particular, there isn't a day that goes by when I don't think about Chris.  However, at no time did I shed a single tear at any of their passings.  Was I sad?  Yes, and in the case of Chris, well, the circumstances of his passing were such that there were other emotions at play as well.  In the case of Jean-Luc though I unabashedly balled my eyes out when the time came to say goodbye.  Granted that I am normally too tightly wrapped for such demonstrations of a lack of control, but at that moment I simply couldn't hold back anymore.  

As I sit here over the course of a few days writing this posting, I've come to the conclusion that there is a certain sense of a cycle being completed in Jean-Luc's passing.  When he became my companion back in 2010 my life was anything but settled.  However, the moment he became my roommate is the moment that things started to get better for me.  Fast forward to April of 2021 and my life is anything but unsettled; in fact, his passing happens to coincide with what I think will be my final job change before I end up retiring.  While I miss Jean-Luc tremendously, it is as if his work here on Earth was finally done and it was time for him to move on.  Perhaps he will be reincarnated into another kitten that will come into someone else's life at just the right time.

There have been a few interesting things about Jean-Luc that are worthy of sharing, so in the spirit of celebrating this life, here goes.

The (Official) Name

As my oldest daughter and I were driving over to pick him up, we talked about names for my soon-to-be companion.  My suggestions included "Bill" (it would be cool to have "Bill the Cat") and Fek'lhr (pronounced "Fek-Lar"; read more HERE).  Fortunately, she was a bit more level-headed about things, and the final two choices came down to "Spock" or "Jean-Luc".  The latter prevailed.

The (Unofficial) Names

These included Spud*, Spudster, Buddy, JLA (Jean-Luc Albert), Friend, Special Friend, Good Boy, Handsome Boy, and Potatoe.  That last name was christened by my stepsons as a kind of derivative of Spud.  

(*) When he was little he was just a little Spud.

The (Good) Behavior

In his younger days, Jean-Luc enjoyed playing fetch.  Seriously, I would throw some small object and he would chase after it, find it, and bring it back to me.  We could do this for about a half-hour before he (or was that me?) became bored with it.

Jean-Luc loved my mother.  In fact, there were really only two people whose lap he would willingly sit on, mine and my mother's.  To this very day, I am not exactly sure why.

Jean-Luc knew instinctively when I wasn't feeling well.  All I had to do is lay down and he would appear, take station less than a foot away from my head, and keep me company.

The (Maybe Not So Good) Behavior

A few years ago in the morning, Ms. Rivers and I were doing something upstairs and needed Jean-Luc to get off of our bed, where he was napping.  We coaxed and asked, to no avail.  Just as we started to take more direct measures, he got up, stared right at us, squatted, took a crap on our bed (again, looking right at us), and then just leisurely left.  Point made I guess.

There was also an incident involving a bowl of lettuce around Christmas time, the story of which is legendary with my stepson Robby.

There were times when he just wanted my attention, mostly when I was head's down doing something that, at the time, I thought was important.  His solution?  He would come up to me and take a small nip at me.  As in nowhere near what he could have done, just enough to say "Hey Bozo, I'm down here!".  He would also just randomly swat my leg if I was walking by, looking at me as if saying "Yeah, I did that...so what!".

The Indifferent

Jean-Luc was a water cat.  He loved getting "drippies" from the bathtub spigot.  He would lap up drips and wipe the water over his head as if he were taking a shower.

I could go on, and to be honest, in my head over the past few days I already have, time and time again.

In the end, thoughts about the after-life and things like that are a bit above my paygrade.  Ms. Rivers tells me that I'll see Jean-Luc again in the next life.  That's a nice thought.  Right now, well, I just miss the hell out of the little guy.

James Lipton's Quiz

In honor of the late James Lipton

What is your favorite word?
Grow

What is your least favorite word? Demand What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? People who are kind (to themselves, others, animals, etc.). What turns you off? Large egos. What is your favorite curse word? Sh*t What sound or noise do you love? A baby giggling. What sound or noise do you hate? Anything techno. I'm getting a headache just thinking about it. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? An architect or an electrician. What profession would you not like to do? A dentist; I just couldn't ever see myself sticking my fingers in different mouths. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? "Welcome, Steve. Let me take you to your brother...he's over there with all the cats."*

(*) This pre-supposes that I will die before my wife, which is likely a good bet.

Cat Fishing Man

Admittedly, I work hard at maintaining my composure, and for the most part, I am successful.  Every once in the while though I get close to losing "my stuff".  Such was the case today coming home from work today, as I talked to my wife about this story in the news:

"Fishing for Cats Suspect Gets Prison Time"

This story has bothered me since it first appeared in the news a while ago.  The latest iteration is hopefully the last time it rears its ugly head.

I will not describe the story, other than to say that the story title is literally true.

Now it's not much of a secret that I love cats.  In fact, I've written 29 (now 30) postings that reference cats and those are the ones that I actually remembered to correctly tag.  Nothing against dogs, which I do like also, but I have a big soft spot for cats.  As a fully functional big adult person, I have that right.

Anyway, here's the larger point: I work hard...very hard...at believing people are inherently good.  Even when bad actors appear, I want to believe that they are trying to do the right thing, even if their actions contradict that idea.  Maybe they are simply confused.  Then I read something like this, and, I just don't understand.

Our pets (cats and dogs) don't have malice.  Even in the worst of circumstances, their actions are a product of instinct.  If someone is attacked by a dog, for example, the dog is doing so because it feels threatened (or feels that their owner is being threatened).  There's an almost comforting purity to that notion, even when polluted by those who would train the dog to act inappropriately. 

To this story, I simply can't process how this "person" could harm a helpless cat.  It genuinely pains me to even think about it.  How does this person's thought even work?  How dark...how disordered...does a thought process have to be in order to come up with this kind of action?  I don't understand.  Part of me wants to understand, but another part of me is incredibly angry at what this "person" has done.  Unlike this "person" though, I have the ability to exercise some control over my errant thoughts.

In this story, the animal wasn't the cat.

Enough.

A Weekend Pause

On the road in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Ms. Rivers and I usually go away for a weekend in the Fall.  Nowhere fancy mind you...the basic rules are that it's for a weekend and it has to be within driving distance.  The allure of air travel has long expired for both of us, and there are simply too many other things going on, making anything longer than a weekend impractical at best.  That latter point is one of the many things Ms. Rivers and I have in common:  Am almost ceaseless list of things we want to accomplish.

This weekend's trip was decided in theory a few months ago and decided in practice last Monday.  That's how this stuff rolls sometimes.  We choose Lancaster because, well, because it's Lancaster.  I've also only been to Lancaster once before.  That trip was in 1987, and I drove with my fellow Maxwell's buyers to get a train to New York City in Lancaster.  Suffice to say, I didn't see all that much.  For the record, at the time I lived in York, which is something of a slightly smaller sister city to Lancaster, but without some of the charm the Red Rose City enjoys.

Timing is everything.

I really needed this trip.  Really and truly.  This should be one of the best times of my life, yet I've been fairly unsettled for a while now.  In life perspective is everything, so what better way to gain perspective than a temporary change in scenery?  While Lancaster has had its share of problems over the years, beautiful scenery isn't among its challenges.  This is a beautiful place, and the thought of living somewhere that afforded the ability to walk to a farmer's market for fresh food is alluring.  Ms. Rivers and I have spent more than a few minutes over the past months and years thinking about where we'd like to live our retirement years.  Decisions are still pending.

Glassworks.

We spent late morning and most of the afternoon on Saturday wandering about downtown Lancaster.  The city has a wonderful farmer's market and tons of small shops that remind you of Philadelphia, all be it on a smaller scale.  One such place we stopped was Art & Glassworks.

Walking into the shop, the first thing Ms. Rivers noticed was all of the beautiful glass the shop had on display.  The first thing I noticed?  That would be Nicky.  You see, Nicky is a 19-year-old male cat that keeps watch over the shop.  Nicky and I spent about 5 minutes getting acquainted as Ms. Rivers attended to more serious shopping business.  Any business that has a cat is worth patronizing in my book, so if you are ever in Lancaster (either at their stand in the Farmer's Market or at their store) please visit Art & Glassworks.  And pet Nicky for me.  He's a good cat.  I'll also note that, in addition to petting a cat, we did get some shopping done, so it was a win for both Nicky and the shop owner.

Jesus was not live on stage.

We picked this pamphlet up at the hotel(*), and I thought it was almost bizarrely funny.  Now I know from a Facebook posting that others have actually seen this show and enjoyed it.  However, I just think it's a bit odd to claim that Jesus is "live, on stage".  If, in fact, Jesus was live, I would hope that it wouldn't be on a sage in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.  There's a lot of bad stuff happening in this country at the moment, and if there is such a thing as divine intervention, well, we could use a little bit of it right here and now.  We are truly an un-tended flock at the moment.

The Last Sears?

On the slow road back home, we stopped at a mall in Lancaster, and low and behold there was a functional Sears.

I'm not sure how many of these are actually left but suffice to say the answer is somewhere between "few" and "not many".  As a sign of just how dismal the whole situation is, we could have waited about 14 minutes for the store to open, but we thought "Meh, why bother?".  That pretty much sums up Sears.

The Final Stop.

The final stop on the drive home was the National Civil War Museum in Harrisburg.  The stop itself was figured out this morning, mostly based on the intricate science of "well, why not?".  Nice place. 

Walking through the museum I was reminded of what this country has been through, and likely what it still has to go through.  In spite of a bloody war and over a hundred years of time passages, some of those old wounds have yet to heal.  Let's hope it doesn't take another war for us to find our "better angels".

* * * * * *

(*) We stayed at the Cork Factory Hotel on New Holland Avenue in Lancaster.  Overall it was a nice place, but apparently, it does a very robust wedding business.  That's good for the hotel, but not necessarily good for the other guests who can't find parking or a table for dinner.  Speaking of dinner, we needed reservations to eat at the hotel's restaurant.  Now I've stayed at some fancy hotels over 30 or so years, but I can't recall a lone hotel restaurant that required reservations.  If you want to get married in Lancaster you should check the hotel out.  If you just want a weekend getaway?  Well, better not make that in June.

From the Anger-Avoiding Control Freak Lessons Learned Department

Something of a follow-up to THIS posting from February.

I've been thinking about anger lately.  Not as in "I am angry, therefore I am thinking about it", but rather how I feel and express anger.

Am I afraid of anger?  Part of the answer is, I think, yes.  Growing up, as I may have noted before, my Mother basically had two emotions:  Angry and not angry.  There would be some occasional happiness thrown in, but by and large, her predominant emotion that her children witnessed was that of being mildly pissed off.  To that point, my Mother never needed to do much in the way of disciplining her four sons, mostly because she was so very skillful at intimidation through anger.  We behaved mostly because we were afraid not to.  And we didn't know any better.  Anger was a kind of mental blunt-force weapon.

Fast forward to adulthood, and I tend to react strongly to anger.  While those reactions run a certain gamut, one isn't usually present:  Anger.  I don't get angry because someone else is angry.  In fact, and as I noted in February, I rarely now get truly angry.

In some respects it's a blessing:  I am truly at my best in times of crisis.  I am good at listening when others are upset.  I can be the voice of reason when chaos seems to be swirling all about me.

Like many good things though, there is also a dark side:  My being calm is, in some respects, simply a reflex reaction, an ability to withdraw when strong emotions are present.  I am calm in part because I learned to avoid strong emotions like anger.  For me, well, anger isn't a healthy emotion.  In fact, I have a tendency to view those who are chronically angry as being, in some respects, weak.  Out of control.

Control.

There's the pivotal word in all of this stuff.  Anger for me represents a loss of control.  And I can't lose control.

Ever.

Anger = Loss of control.

Loss of Control = I can no longer rely on myself.

I Can't Rely on Me = There is no one else to rely upon.

Growing up, we were something of an island onto ourselves.  Knowing rationally that we can rely on someone is different than actually feeling that you can rely on someone.  For me, well, the feeling was just never really there, and that part has repeated itself throughout my life.  It influenced me far too much in my young adult years, and I'm fairly convinced that this obsessive need for control ended up driving more than just mental knots in my head...it's likely also responsible for some of the physical ailments that face this "sooner to be an older" guy.

So what's the purpose here?  What's the "endgame"?

The latter, well, I guess within life we all know what the "endgame" really is, so no sense even mentioning it.  No, here it's the space between here and the "endgame" that's important.  All of this means that I need to/am working on a few things...

...authentically expressing my feelings
...not using guilt as a plug-n-play cop-out for failing to deal with my own feelings
...remembering that I do have truly good people in my life who I truly can rely on
...acknowledging that ultimately control is nothing but a sloppy (at best) excuse for insecurity

Heady stuff, I know.  With that, the psychoanalysis postings are (mostly) concluded.  For now.

The next posting will be about cats.  Maybe.

Forever Young

I've never gone this long...in nearly 10 years of writing this blog...without posting something.  Even now I'm somewhat iffy on this posting, but guilt is starting to creep in, so I best get a typing.

As a side note, I actually wrote a posting last week, but I just don't feel like publishing it.  Doesn't feel right for some reason.

Anyway, a lot is happening.

In news of the sad, one of our cats, Tiger, passed away this past Monday.  Tiger was very special for three reasons:

1. He was the fluffiest cat I've ever seen, bar none.  He had fluff in abundance.  A surplus of fluff.  And for the record, I've seen some fluffy cats in my lifetime.
2. He was one of the friendliest cats I've ever encountered.  In fact, to the best of my knowledge, there was only one person on this Earth that Tiger didn't like.  Most humans can't say the same thing.  Tiger lived for getting petted.  Absolutely lived for it.
3. He was genuinely beloved by my youngest stepson, with whom he spent countless hours.

Tiger passed away by my stepson's side, a point of which is both heartening...leaving this Earth next to someone you love...and saddening (for my stepson).  He will be missed by all, with the possible exception of our two remaining cats, who, in the truest spirit of cats everywhere, seem more or less indifferent to it all.

Tiger, doing his "I want to touch your face" thing.

I do miss the fluff-monster, but I take some comfort in knowing that he was likely very sick before he passed, and is now free from all such flesh-laden liabilities.  

My youngest stepson has taken a liking recently to Bob Dylan, which, given all of the horrible music out there these days, is nothing short of wonderful.  Like most teenagers though, he has to face a world that's rapidly changing around him.  Some of those changes are incredibly sad, such as losing a pet who was your constant companion.  While none of us can avoid loss, we make the choice to not let it turn us into cynical old people well before our time.  Maybe part of us can stay Forever Young.

Sometimes Help...and Hope...Comes in a Small Package

I had to be somewhat prodded into pet ownership in November of 2010.  I was (newly) living in an apartment by myself, and in retrospect, coming home to a completely empty place wasn't very healthy for me.  My oldest daughter Katrina had a friend who had two kittens that needed to be adopted, so, as she is skilled at doing, she convinced me to act in spite of myself.

The actual kitten selection process was to take place in a parking lot somewhere that I now forget.  On the drive over, Katrina and I pondered the various possible names for a new cat.  I really wanted to name the cat "Bill" as in "Bill the Cat"...

...but Katrina assured me that this was a bad idea.  We pondered other names, eventually falling into several that mostly centered around Star Trek characters.  Why?  I have no clue.  The two finalist names were "Spock" and "JeanLuc".  I settled on the latter.

The actual meeting was quick.  Katrina's friend brought out a small carrier with two identical cats...brother and sister...who needed to be adopted.  Not being very confident in my ability to take care of one cat, let alone two, I passed on the opportunity to cat-parent twins.  Of the two kittens, I picked the one in the back, who turned out to be a boy.  He seemed to need me. That also helped make the whole JeanLuc thing work.  That day was November 27, 2010.

This was one of the smarter decisions I've made in my life.  Up until then, I hadn't realized how utterly horrible it was coming home to nothing.  Going through a separation and divorce, I went from a loud house to an eerily quiet apartment.  Starting on November 27, 2010, I had someone to come home to.  Yes, every workday JeanLuc would see me off in morning and be waiting at the front door...like a dog...when I came home.  He was someone who, on the surface, needed me...but in reality, it was me who needed him.

My life took a turn for the better on November 27, 2010.

These days, JeanLuc is a little heavier (well, in fairness, so am I) and a bit less active (that makes two of us), but he still often meets me at the front door.  

Like me, his (kitty) family has expanded, with the addition of step-brothers Tiger and Rambo.  Life now if a bit less dramatic and more predictable for both of us.  Here's to many more years together.  

Useless, Useless

It's said that John Wilkes Booth, as he emerged from a burning barn (after also having been shot by Union soldiers) looked at his hands and said "useless, useless"*.

I've always been fascinated by that quote, and lately, well, I've been thinking about it more than usual.

Why?  Well, I think it's just a part of the fact that it's been a difficult year.  Now I have gotten recognized over the years by friends and co-workers for my ability to (mostly) remain calm and collected in difficult situations, but there's a reason why that's the case:  I didn't grow up in an environment that encouraged emotional expression.  So you see, (mostly) being calm and collected is relatively easy for me.  Like many seeming "strengths" though, it comes at a cost.

The truth is that I'm not good at expressing most emotions.

Now with the above, I know that I join the ranks of about 98.6% of all men, but this is more than just trying to meet a social norm.  Growing up, there was a kind of punishment of sorts associated with being anything outside of a basic okay.  I think for my mother, it was everything she could do to keep the ship afloat, so anything that might rock that ship, anything that distracted from the mission of just getting through things, was strongly discouraged.  On one level I understand that; on another level, well, I'm am both appalled and confused.

As a parent myself, the appalled part is readily apparent to me, and I'll note that having three daughters greatly helped in that department.  They simply never would have allowed me to get away with the "everything must be okay or else" manifesto.  In a way, the students were the teacher.  Children have an absolute right to feel a wide range of emotions and have those emotions acknowledged.  Now I was not a perfect parent, and I failed on many occasions as a father, but emotional suppression for my own benefit and/or convenience wasn't among my sins.

Confusion over my own emotional expression has a kind of radioactive half-life that I continue to unpack, a third of the way into my 50s.  Yes, I do get angry, but I also almost always feel a great deal of guilt over that anger immediately after the fact.  On the other end of the spectrum, I'm sometimes afraid to feel joy, as to me it feels like a kind of gaseous thing that, once uncorked, would dissipate, never to return.  In between the two, a calm demeanor hides sometimes more wide swings inside my head that I don't normally cop to, but since I'm already in the hole with this posting, I might as well be all the way in the hole.  No sense doing this self-expression thing half-assed.

N.B.:  This is, in part, why this whole blog thing has existed for so long, namely that I have plenty of things in my head.

So where to go from here?  I know I need to work on this stuff.  Heck, I've known I need to work on this stuff for a very long time.  And I'm trying**.  I can't say with a whole lot of certainty that I expect any success from my efforts, and despite what I've noted here on so many prior occasions, this is one instance where there should be a kind of destination (as opposed to just the journey itself).  However, I'm going to keep on trying.  Maybe I'm simply hoping for a kind of self-help version of the "Golden BB".  Maybe all of this has happened before*** and will happen again.

Maybe tired people shouldn't be allowed near keyboards.

Maybe I should simply write more about politics.  Or cats.

* * * * * *

A few end notes:

(*) Citation HERE.

(**) I've actually read quite a bit about this topic in the past, and I am currently reading Running on Empty by Dr. Jonice Webb.

(***) After having written about 75% of this posting, I checked and discovered that I've actually posted on this topic...using this same title...before, in 2009.  See HERE.  That's probably not the first time this has happened before (see above), but it's also okay,  I think it a adds a kind of veracity to the posting.

Road Apples, #170

Trump and Twitter...Can someone, please, permanently take away Twitter access from the President-elect?  This is getting embarrassing.

I really, truly want to give Mr. Trump the benefit of the doubt, but he's making it very, very difficult.  I would expect this kind of stuff from someone after a junior high student council election, not from the presumptive leader of the free world.

Please stop Mr. Trump.  Please.

Glorifying Rape...I am sorry, but any television program that relies on violence against women (in the form of rape) doesn't deserve its viewership.  I'm speaking specifically of Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead.  What's more, I'm not sure how folks who view themselves as being "progressive" can actually watch these shows.  I can't.  I no more want to see rape being enacted as part of a plot than I want to see kittens or puppies tortured.

All Is Not Glum...I know, so far this posting isn't all that uplifting, but I have to call them like I see them.  For some balance, here's Metallica playing Enter Sandman using grade school musical instruments.

Muslim Registry...Let's file this idea, that of there being a national registry for the followers of Islam, in the category of "hopefully not actually going to happen".  Today's registry of Muslim's could become a registry of Roman Catholics or Baptists tomorrow.  Now if it should come to fruition, I publicly promise now on this page to register myself as a Muslim.  I don't think I'll be alone in that regard either.

JeanLuc...I've had my cat JeanLuc for a little over six years now.  Time flies, from this...

...to this...

It's amazing the impact a pet can have on your life.  For the record, he was almost named "Spock", although I made a case for calling him "Bill" (so I could call him "Bill the Cat"), but I was over-ruled by just about everyone.

The "Theory" of Global Warming...These are New Guinea impatiens (this variety is actually a tropical plant...see THIS description) that are, as of December 3rd, still alive and well on my front porch. 

I'm tempted to put Christmas lights on them.  Good thing that global warming is just a "concept" (put forth, according to the President elect, by the Chinese in order to harm U.S. manufacturing).  And yes, he actually did say it...

My impatiens, alive and well, salute you Mr. Trump!

Road Apples, #166

Deep Thoughts...I love the blog written by A.J. Dick.  In fact I love just about every blog posting written by A.J. Dick.  His last posting is well worth reading as a counter-point to insanity of some.  You can read it HERE.

News of the Good...By this Sunday (December 13th) I will officially be 50% of the way towards completing my Master's degree.  It's a nice feeling.  2016 will be tough in that I'll have a few difficult classes to go, but it's all (mostly) down hill from here.

Bad News on the Doorstep...I feel saturated with news of death and violence.  It's like an evil fog that is floating everywhere.  Just when you think it couldn't get any more insane, well then Donald Trump says something else.  Speaking of lunatics...

Ted Nugent...says that the United States should be "cleansed" of liberals.  So say the author of such classics as Wango Tango and Cat Scratch Fever.  It reminds me of one simple fact:  The loonies on the Right are worse that the loonies on the left, mainly because they are better armed.  Also, when last I checked, bullets do more damage than organic granola bars.

That Moment...when you buy a new book only to discover that you already own that same book.

Speaking of Books...Now that I don't have to spend time during the week reading a textbook for school I can ramp up the leisure reading.  First up is to finish this book...

...which is a good thing, given that I had to order it from the publisher in the U.K.  Actually I am about 70% finished with it.  Highly recommended, although, again, very difficult to find.

Projects...I'm actually going to take a few months before my next graduate class to work on some projects around the house.  Two big ones in particular:  1) Ripping up the wallpaper and then painting in our half bathroom on the first floor and 2) Installing some serious shelving in the home office.  I simply have more books than I currently have room for books.  Not to mention a small radio collection.  And a Bill the Cat doll.  And a few other things.  There will be photographs.

(an old photo; it's now far more crowded)

Cat Rescue...We rescued a cat in November.  It's kind of like a "kitty witness protection program" kind of deal, but suffice to say it was a cat that was in danger because he had been kicked out of his home by his "owner".  Now I have no designs on being a cat rancher, but few things boil my blood more than the abuse of animals.  Abuse, by the way, can come in many forms, including abandonment.  Anyway, our new addition, "Adolph", is doing very well.  Socialization with his fellow housemates JeanLuc and Tiger has been completed, and squabbles are minimal.  He's also been professionally groomed and treated by a good local veterinarian.   Tres gatos in the limit though.

Resolutions (also known as Goals)...I love New Year's resolutions.  I really do.  It's time to start thinking about them to boot.  I think I've done a lot of work in the mental health department this year, so maybe 2016 will be more focused on the physical end.

Muhammed Ali...made a statement recently about the the shootings and Islam.  It's worth reading (reference HERE), if for no other reason than the fact that Ali was, and will always be, champ of the world.

"I am a Muslim and there is nothing Islamic about killing innocent people in Paris, San Bernardino, or anywhere else in the world. True Muslims know that the ruthless violence of so called Islamic Jihadists goes against the very tenets of our religion.

We as Muslims have to stand up to those who use Islam to advance their own personal agenda. They have alienated many from learning about Islam. True Muslims know or should know that it goes against our religion to try and force Islam on anybody.

Speaking as someone who has never been accused of political correctness, I believe that our political leaders should use their position to bring understanding about the religion of Islam and clarify that these misguided murderers have perverted people's views on what Islam really is."

In the end, any and every religion can be perverted by evil folks as justification for what drives most bad human behavior, namely a lust for power.

Road Apples, #145

Blogging Units...I seem to have more of them these days, well the last few days excluded.  Like most things in life (that matter), energy for pontificating seems to wax and wane over time.  A kind of circadian rhythm if you will for the mock writer.  Anyway, I think it has more to do with that fact that, with my new surroundings and doings, I seem to have found the spaces in time where this kind of endeavor fits.  No complaints.

Scranton School District...is proof positive that some things never, ever change.  Apparently the hiring of temporary maintenance workers still falls under the privilege of Board Directors, or so says an article in yesterday's Sunday Times.  Being elected to the Scranton School Board means that you help run the district; it doesn't mean that you have the power to run an employment agency for your friends and relatives.  Ah, the hiring of relatives, now that is a story in and of itself.  As I have said here time and time again, no relative of a board member or a senior administrator should ever be hired in the Scranton School District, period.  Doing so simply perpetuates an inbred sense of entitlement and embellishes the district's well-earned reputation for graft.  "But what if a relative is the best candidate for a job?" is the cry that is heard by those who benefit from such activities.  My response?  There is no way to actually prove that in a meaningful way, but I can prove that nepotism and cronyism has harmed the district.  As I said, something never change.

Boards and Committees...The Scranton Times is all over newly in office Scranton Mayor Bill Courtright's actions surrounding various boards and committees.  In some instances he has asked sitting board members to resign (they by and large said "no") and in others, he can simply make the change unilaterally.  I'll also note that fellow blogger Tom Borthwick was recently appointed to one of these boards by the Mayor.  Tom's a good guy and I know he will do well, so I don't have an issue with his specific appointment, but I do have an issue with the process as a whole.  Why? Because despite it being 2014, this is still yet another example of political patronage at work.  What was the criteria that the Mayor used to fill these positions, other than that of "political supporter"?  That's a trick question, I know.  This is why many cities are so poorly run.  There is a better way:  how about establishing criteria for board membership, advertising for the openings, and conducting public interviews?  I'm not so foolish as to think that politics can be removed from the process of filling board and committee vacancies, but at least the process can be more transparent.

By the way, if you see a connection between the last two segments, above, then you get a gold star.  There is a common thread:  politicians and their public-sector sense of entitlement.

Anthracite Coal...Having a wood/coal burning stove is proving to be quite the exploration.  Biggest lesson?  Despite it being called "coal", coal does not, in fact, always want to burn.  I think it would actually prefer not to burn, truth be told.  Now when you do get it to burn it's pretty neat (I think the temperature gets close to 900 degrees when it is going good), but getting it to that point?  It's kind of like trying to potty train a toddler.  So far, in maybe three weeks of running the stove, we have had one true, complete burn-down to the point of having to re-fire it.  Two other times it got close to going out, but I was able to salvage the last few embers and get it going again.  Luckily I have about 3/4 of a ton of "nut" coal from which to play with for the balance of the heating season.

Arizona, the post-script...Some talking heads on the political Left are dismissing the veto by Arizona Governor Jan Brewer of the controversial pro-discrimination bill as being nothing more than "business really rules things", as if it actually wasn't much of a victory against discrimination.  I disagree.  Doing the right thing will almost always get you criticized, and no where is that more true than in the world of politics.  The very fact that folks on both the Right and Left fringes were critical of the decision is pretty much proof that Governor Brewer did the right thing.  To imply a motive in this case is simply a waste of time; at best, you can go by what she noted in her signing statement (see HERE), that basically says that this was a bad law that was designed to solve a non-existent problem.  Governor Brewer did the right thing, period.  Everyone needs to move on now.

But I'm not going to move on...at least for a moment.  A letter to the editor writer in a recent edition of the Scranton Times tried to defend the Arizona pro-discrimination bill by making comparisons to NAZI party members asking a Jewish baker to make little swastika cupcakes.  I kid you not.  As if there are hordes of NAZIs just waiting to have a cupcake party near you.  The reality is this:  if you want to do business in the public square, then you have to serve the public, meaning all the public.  Even the public you may find politically offensive.  In the case of the NAZI cupcake party, well as long as Adolf's Admirers were paying good American money for the cupcakes, then I say "have at it Jewish baker!".  That's not to say that I'd do a very good job making the cupcakes.  Oh, and note that a backward swastika is actually an ancient symbol for peace (reference HERE).

Now I'm not going to end this posting on a sour note by talking about NAZIs, so here's a picture of a cat that looks like Adolf Hitler (known as a Kitler).

(Yes, the cat's name is Adolf.  For more cats that look like Hitler visit CatsthatlooklikeHitler.com)