pay attention to the cracks

Cracks sometimes appear in the eggshell-thin veneer covering our inner life. She worries about her weight. He is a closet racist. That one goes home and cries at the end of every day. This one drinks himself to sleep. How far apart are our inner selves from our outer selves. But the cracks are still there for those who care to see. How well we try to hide what we fear others will look down upon us for doing or thinking. How horrifying it would be for our secrets to be broadcast to those around us. How would they react? Would they shun us? Or would they simply see themselves in us and turn away, ashamed. Few people cut through the gelatinous layer of public faces we see everyday. Who really wants to dig around and ferret out what the woman in the next cubicle over worries about. We’ve got our problems; they’ve got theirs…what use is there in taking on any more burdens than those we already carry? Well, there is a lot of use in that actually. Pain often subsides with release. Spoken words assuage. Physical touch relaxes tension. This culture we live in is so closed-off. People don’t talk to each other. My evidence is anecdotal at best, but I feel it all the same.

>postal pleasure

>For a long time (read: 10+ years of zine publishing) I have had a love/hate relationship with the United States Post Office. I have had some really nice experiences at the PO, and some really horrible ones. I’ve been kind of ambivalent about the new post office I’ve been frequenting lately. None of the employees have been very nice; at best they’ve been cordial on occasion, but often bordering on surly. Today, however, the woman who waited on me was shockingly pleasant and upbeat. She has waited on me before, and at the time didn’t bowl me over with her good nature. I don’t know if she was just having a really awesome day today (it was Friday, after all) or if the PO has instituted some new radical customer service indoctrination program (somehow I doubt this). Anyway, this experience made me feel really good and helped put a nice spin on my day. And it also reminded me of this essay I read on the NPR site the other day, which I will now share with you:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=18463814

If you scroll down to where it says “Kevin Kelly’s 2007 Christmas Card,” you can read the full essay, which is well worth it.

R.I.P. Scratchy, July 1996 – December 31, 2007

Scratchy, the Super Cat
It is with the deepest sorrow that I write on here today to report the sudden death of my dear feline companion Scratchy. He passed away yesterday afternoon from a heart attack. Unbeknownst to me, Scratchy had developed a heart condition called feline hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM), which is a heart muscle disease where the walls of the heart thicken over time, thus limiting the amount of blood that can be processed by the heart. Often, this condition develops with no visible symptoms, as it did in Scratchy’s case. He appeared lively and healthy up until the point of his death. Complicating the heart condition was another condition, of which I was also unaware. Scratchy was born with one kidney that worked at only a small fraction of the level of his other healthy kidney. With only one kidney filtering his blood, he endured an additional strain on his heart, which likely accelerated the effects of the HCM, leading to his sudden death before any symptoms ever appeared.

HCM is a serious condition for cats, often younger or middle-aged ones, with some evidence suggesting that male middle-aged cats are most frequently struck by it. Although there are medications to help treat the illness if it is caught early enough, the prognosis is rarely good, and most cats don’t live past a year or two after diagnosis. There is no known cure, and eventually the cat will suffer heart failure.

I am so thankful that Scratchy did not suffer. He knew very little pain during his full life, and he likely died almost instantaneously. I found him in the tub, where he had most certainly been engaging in one of his very favorite activities: drinking from the faucet.

As those of you who met him know, Scratchy was a very special cat and he touched a lot of people’s lives. He never failed to win over everyone who met him, even the most hardened of non-cat lovers. All he ever wanted was love, and he had plenty to give in return. He was such a sweet boy, so full of life, and he offered his love unconditionally. He will always remain in my heart in a very special place.

If any of you who read this have a memory or anecdote about Scratchy that you would like to share, I would love to hear it. Please either post it here or email it to me.

run

When in doubt, run. Run long, run far, run until you hurt. And then stop. Look up at the sky, look around at the trees, breathe in, breathe out. Remember why you did this before. Remember what it got you through, and how it made you feel. Alive. Remember what you need, and stop keeping it from yourself. Do not go to sleep standing up. Ever again.

a moment preserved

>Riding through the old ‘hood one night awhile back, I heard a youthful female voice over on the sidewalk sing out, “Dance, dance, dance to the radio.” I cocked my head to the left, wheels spinning, and then the deep dark disembodied voice of Ian Curtis floated out through the night air, “Radio…live transmission.” I pedaled on, a smile turned inward on my soul, through intersections and over speed bumps, up hills and past houses, cars, and trees…constant motion and what we see, hear, feel while in it: that, with the odd pause to reflect, is what I hold here in my hands and heart.

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