Nostalgia and that pit at the bottom of your stomach

I've always snickered at people reminiscing "remember when..."

Typically these 2 words were the beginning of a long recollection of high school or college events. I have no fondness for my high school or college days. I felt forced to go to both. Looked at both as merely something to get out of the way to please my government and my mother.

But when I finally graduated, I was free, finally 100% free to do what I wanted with my life. And I soared.

I adopted a 10-wk kitten, all black, he was "this close" to be euthanized at the humane society. The staff lined up and cheered as he was carried from his cage to my lap. I named him Mikhail, called him Misha, and only spoke Russian to him.

I got myself a scholarship to a dance studio on the north side of Chicago. For the first time in my life....in 13 years of desperately wanting to study dance...I was free to study dance 9am-6pm Monday-Friday. All I had to do in exchange was sweep floors, wash mirrors, and be good. And write a paper here and there on dance legends. I learned about Katherine Dunham at that studio. And how she discovered a new genre of dance while working on her PhD in Anthropology at the University of Chicago. I decided if the dancing didnt' work out, I'd get my PhD in Anthropology from the University of Chicago. Maybe discover a new genre of dance. Maybe not.

I danced all day every day. Then on the weekends I danced more in rehearsals for shows. Late night drinks with fellow dancers. Home to my wee black kitten for fetch and mousies and Russian.

I got myself an apartment-- top floor of a 3-flat-- on Sheffield just north of Belmont. How convenient... My favorite hobby was dancing until 3am at the Avalon on Belmont. Just 2 doors East of Sheffield.

Rent was $230/month. I had a closet-less room in a 2 1/2 bedroom (I had the 1/2). I was able to move myself in 3 car trips.

Oh yea, this was after I landed an apprenticeship with a world class Graham company-- Joseph Holmes Dance Chicago. I still danced all day, rehearsed all day, swept floors, pulled pubic hairs out of shower drains, took out the garbage. Lived on bananas, peanut butter, yogurt, pasta. Cheap but filling for an athlete. Dream life for a dancer forbidden to dance until she finished college.

Then an audition for one of the best dance companies in the world- and the artistic director pointing me out the entire time. And him coming up to me a week later to gush about how beautiful a dancer I am. And how the only reason he didn't hire me was he needed to get a mature redhead and I was too young at 23. I immediately dyed my hair red and started booking dance jobs left/right.

Meeting Gwen Verdon. and Twyla Tharp. Playing with Lou's dog and impressing him with my knowledge of vet medicine.

And the owner of Avalon introduced me to the owner of The Vic. So I had myself an amazing bartending job where I made oodles of cash in 5 hr shifts. 1 block from home. Partied with legends of rock. Was set up with a famous comedian. Only to learn- as he asked me to go to Glee Club with him the following night- that he's gay. oopsie!

Members of Jesus and the Mary Chain making cocktails for me backstage at their Metro Show for which they gave me all-access passes. "You served us, so now we'll serve you!" How fun to watch beautiful Ken get to flirt with Hope Sandoval. He had such an adorable crush-

Dancing in a sun costume while my dear sweet friend, Ben, told the 6th graders in that south-side school all about the solar system. Laughing at the vast difference between the response of the rich white kids vs. the poor black kids. And how the poor black kids were definitely the more enjoyable audience.

Getting smashed at Market Days...Frank Orrall getting ready to spin on the corner of Halsted and Roscoe-- but the sky breaks open rain thrashes down upon us as we defy nature and continue to dance. And Frank defies electrocution and continues to spin. And everyone is wet and everyone is sweaty and everyone is drunk and everyone is giggling. and smiling. and happy. And it gets so dangerous with the lightening striking the small DJ stage, the music has to stop. But the dancing continues. and the bars are bursting. and the crowd is laughing. and wet. and sweaty. and smiling. and Halsted Street, from Belmont up to Addison thumps thumps until 4am as we continue to dance and sweat and drink and laugh and flirt and giggle.

And I sit here today in a generic coffee shop on Montana Avenue. 6 blocks from the Pacific Ocean. 2 blocks from home. A infinite distance from the laughing the dancing the sweating the smiling the giggling the drinking the flirting the spinning the music. The happy.

The eternal nights that last until we stumble to Nookies for a 6am breakfast before going home and to bed.

The cozy Saturday nights in January all bundled up with the kitties and some movies and the radiator banging heat into my wee historic landmark studio off Lake Michigan. The 11pm call from Heather "what are you doing?! I wanna get out! Meet me at Delilah's at midnight baby" I jump in the shower, put on my favorite dance clothes and grab a taxi in front of my building. 40 degrees below zero but I dont' need a coat. The Bailey's I put in my coffee while getting ready has deadened my skin's ability to read cold. Heather's sitting on a barstool dragging another puff from her Virginia Slim Ultra Slim Menthol Light. Rolling her eyes at the yuppies making fun of her tattoos and scars and combat boots. But we sit down and drink our martini's because the owner is a friend and it's sometimes more fun to be surrounded by yuppies tearing us down vs. hipsters supporting us.

And I scour the photos on Facebook. All the black and white images from Avalon, China Club, Shelter, Metro, Smart Bar...What happened to Augenblick? Henry? He's Liz Phair's favorite bartender...maybe she knows. I miss Henry and his late night after hours and his surprise order "the owner insists you drink these shots NOW!". I miss the snow. I miss struggling and fighting and laughing trying to get to the taxi in my wornout combat boots despite the 2 inch thick layer of ice and the winds so strong they literally blow me into the intersection.

And my heart hurts missing that happiness. And the success. and the hope. and the arrogance. and the spite. and the fire. and the rebellion. The hot coffee with baileys in a basement coffee shop on Dearborn. The soap-soaked skin in a club on Halsted. The random meetings with long lost friends both of us drunk at 2am and confessing we've loved each other since we were 13.

Don't bother mentioning high school or college. I'm so glad to put those behind me and forget them. But the 8 years between college and moving to LA. Those were the most glorious. Sometimes the most painful. But overall the most beautiful. It was the sunbeams that break through after a lifetime of rain. Rainbow years. I do wish I had a time machine to go back. Just for a week. Just so I can feel happiness.

To be reminded what it is to be happy.

Prudence

This song always brings sunshine to my heart....ever since I was a kid and WXRT would play it as their final song of their 24-hour Beatles Marathon. Since their days ran 6am-6am, Prudence began just before the sun came up. As the birds began to chirp in the massive trees outside my bedroom window in my mom's home.

I got really really depressed last Monday about Misha. Then got smacked by the flu. Then tonight, still sick and still kinda beat down, I totally broke down in tears regretting all the time missed with Misha. That year with that abusive roommate watching Misha sick every day as a result and not knowing how to escape.

I saw a photo of Kelly Osbourne carring her dog and the caption mentioned it's name is Prudence.

This song immediately popped in my head. My tears evaporated. My heart sang. It still sings.......

Dear prudence, won't you come out to play
Dear prudence, greet the brand new day
The sun is up, the sky is blue
It's beautiful and so are you
Dear prudence won't you come out and play

Dear prudence open up your eyes
Dear prudence see the sunny skies
The wind is low the birds will sing
That you are part of everything
Dear prudence won't you open up your eyes?

Look around round
Look around round round
Look around

Dear prudence let me see you smile
Dear prudence like a little child
The clouds will be a daisy chain
So let me see you smile again
Dear prudence won't you let me see you smile?

reality in the ashes

after 2 weeks of working very hard to deny reality I sit here with a bag of black fur and a wood box of ashes....

...and when I clear the tears from my eyes I see my world as it now

without my beautiful little friend, moy kraceevee, OCHEN kraceevee maleenkee drookie....

I sit here holding what's left of his body and desperately wish the rest was still here with me playing and jumping and running and sleeping...




but it's empty



dos vee donya moy maleenkee Misha. Bolshoi cpaceeba. Ya t'lubitsch.

seeing. here. now.

When Misha left, I spent a lot of time trying to find the answer. Trying to heal the pain. Trying to quelch the guilt.

I come from a family of thinkers and feelers. Intellectual sorts who spend more time thinking than being.
My childhood memories of my sister do not consist of playing or learning with her. They consist of watching her think.
Meditating and thinking.
Yoga and thinking.
smoking and thinking.

My memories of my Dad include maybe 3 hugs, some rages, but mostly thinking.

Just staring and thinking.

With cute little me right there available to share time and enjoy life.

But I did not exist in their world.

I catch myself doing it now. Doing it since I was a child. I think. I think of all the mistakes. I obsess over the what-ifs.
Hours and hours, sometimes days pass and I can't tell you what anyone else was doing. All I can share is what was in my head.
I've driven long distances with no memory of how I got home, but I can tell you what I thought about.

So these grief sites for pet owners all describe pets as our personal "angels". That when they pass, they stay with us,
guiding us
protecting us

Spirit guides

The technician who took such great care of Misha in his final days told me pets are here to teach us and guide us.
Help us in life, then when they feel we're ok on our own, they're so worn out from helping us, they leave.

As I spend hours, days crying and thinking and obsessing about all the time I missed with Misha, I realized something.

I have no idea what's happening NOW.

when he was alive, I had all this time, SEVENTEEN YEARS, to be with him, play with him, love him.

Instead I laid on the couch, sat in my chair, laid in bed, stood in the corner and thought
and thought
and obsessed

about everything I didn't have. or had and didn't want.

cried about being so lonely

and every minute of every day I had a dear sweet friend who loved me sitting in the same room with me

and I never saw him

and now I wish he was here. So I sit, and stand, and cry, and obsess about everything I regret for him and how much I miss him

and I have dear Fred sitting on the bed and I don't see him.

so now I must see him. Live now. Stop thinking. Start looking. At the beauty I have right in front of me.

Thank you Misha- you gave me the greatest gift anyone can give-

bolshoi cpaceeba moy maleenkee kraceevee drookee, ya t-lubitsch

Dos Vee Donya Misha

My dearest, sweetest, coolest friend of my life, my little Misha, passed away tonight-

At least now he's climbing trees, running through massive fields, chasing rabbits, squirrels, birds.......

I love you Misha-
desperately-

I miss you so much-

Gained a pound!!!

When I returned from my trip home last month, I found my 17 1/2 yr. cat, Misha, wayyy too skinny, disoriented, not eating. Just overall glum.

This after I paid a woman $25/day to feed him and observe him to make sure he was ok and not in need of medical attention. A woman referred to me when I called my vet to schedule hospital boarding. A woman who, looking at me and Misha at the hospital after my return, chuckled "yeah, he wasn't big on the whole eating thing...."

?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?

You're being paid to give medical attention to a 17 1/2 yr cat with moderate kidney deterioration and you think it's CUTE he doesn't want to eat??!?!?!

FOR 10 FUCKING DAYS?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!!!!!!

oy

anyway-- I spent a week working at home so I could force feed him every hour and just be with him.

today was his 2nd follow-up check after my emergency trip with him 2 weeks ago.

He's gained a pound!

Doesn't seem like much, but when you're a 17 1/2 yr cat and your weight dropped to a scary 4.15 pounds 3 weeks ago gaining a pound is a crazy amount and truly a miracle.

looks like the davening, red string, scanning, and buddhist charms do work.

or maybe it was the force-feeding, iv fluids, iron injection, daily iron boost injections, and daily steroids combined with a buttload of hugs and kisses and cheering him on when he ate on his own.

He's still a long way from the goofy playful goofball he was when I left for Chicago 5 weeks ago, but, per his usual kick-assiness, he's kicking major ass over here in Santa Monica.

Baryshnikov and Gorbechev have nothing on my maleekee Misha-

wheeeeeeee!

change

These past 2 weeks....ok a wee more than that...have had a steady dark cloud over my "circle of life"

Death

The unexpected death of the daughter of a dj I only know from our 5min smiles exchanged each Monday morning...I was shocked to find a tear rolling down my cheek as I read the email.

The long-anticipated death of the young daughter of a good acquaintance of mine. Since I still vividly remember it, I guess I'll never forget that sunny Saturday afternoon in that park on Riverside/Victory. After the Sacred Fools "retreat". Sitting on a park bench with her dad and Joe Jordan. Watching her in awe of the small green grasshopper on her arm. Lizzie was a bright beautiful flower in the middle of my grey life at that time.

My cat wobbling on my patio - reminding me his days with me will be short.

The woman for whom I babysat for 8 years was found dead in her sleep 2 weeks ago. Last Wednesday I suddenly had a strong feeling about that family...feeling guilty I'd not made contact with the family in 5 years thinking "oh no! I wonder if the father is ok?! I need to contact them before he dies so I can make sure both the parents know how much I appreciated them in my life!" Last Friday I got the call from my mother that the funeral was a week ago.

sigh

Today I learned a good friend is now so alcoholic she's slowly killing herself with the alcohol she consumes nearly 12 hours a day. Calling her vet panicked her white mouse has black spots. The vet explaining to her, while washing the spots off, that their orgin is a marker, not disease. She called 2 days later panicked with the same black spots on the same mouse. I remember all the fun I had with her 10 years ago. And her 10 cats. And how 8 of them were under 2years old. And us laughing about how, in 10 years, she better be a millionaire to have the time/money to care for 8 geriatric cats! and now I wonder what's happening to poor Willow...does Julie notice him anymore? Does she care? I'm both releived and feeling guilty for pulling away from Julie when I felt alcohol was too important to her. From the description our vet and friend gave me, it sounds like the Julie who lit up many days and nights for me is now dead on the floor of some bar in lincoln park.

and the CD that was playing when I began this depressing rag is strangely appropriate for where my mind and heart has been recently

the wait continues....or...how to live on no sleep

I love my veterinarian-

She was comedically honest about her failure with Misha yesterday.

"I could give you a long list of reasons why I never got to his abdominal tap today, but.....well....bottom line is there's STILL no excuse he got forgotten"

So he spent today at the hospital. She came in on her day off JUST for him. And called me right after her doctor appointment.

No answers from the abdominal tap! oy

I think I slept about 3 hours last night. Maybe 5 the night before.

So he's set to come back to the hospital next Wednesday for an ultra-sound.




Last night I did some research and discovered that mysterious disease she mentioned last night but I couldn't understand is actually a disease I know quite a bit about-- more commonly known as FIP. A cat's life expectancy after exposure is 2-11months. I was 90ure this is what he has as it matched all his symptoms and, well, symptoms show up about 2 weeks after exposure. It can only be contracted through contact with an infected cat. And it was 2 months 2 weeks ago I last caught him roaming about the neighborhood (long story- ugh). So it all made sense.

But today the test came up with nothing! And he's perky, happy, playful and eating like a machine! (cuz machines eat a lot. and verociously. if verocious is a word. you may not know this, but they really do)

So his doctor is optimistic and I'm optimistic.

oh- did I happen to mention I love my veterinarian? She ended our call today with "ok, you've got my cell number. If there's any trouble during my days off, you know where to find me"

Misha's so lucky

and I'm luckier.

Thanks to everyone who thought good wishes for him today......we're both very lucky to know you-

I'd go on but...Misha has some more high-calorie, yummy to devour and I have a new South Park episode to watch!

where's that faith again??

So my best buddy, Misha, spent today at the hospital getting x-rays.

The doctor just called to apologize for forgetting to do an abdominal tap.

There's fluid in his abdomin.

She said this could be a syptom of disease- liver. Or some crazy, 13word disease I didn't understand coming from her lips.

I'm dropping him off..AGAIN..tomorrow to spend the day at the hospital.

She's coming in on her day off just for him (and me).

If you're reading this, could you take 30 seconds to think some good thoughts his (my) way?

He's 16 years old and never had to be on any medication other than antibiotics --- maybe 3 times in his long life? ok, and that brief need for Vita K after the rat poison scare 13 years ago.

If you've ever had a geriatric animal, this is miraculous -- him not needing medication.

So why am I complaining?

I guess G*d is forcing me to open my eyes and see the reality.

The mortality.

My best buddy is very old and may be leaving soon.

sigh

getting what you want when it really counts

I have a cat, Misha, who will turn 16 this March....if he survives.

He's been with me since he was 8 weeks old...I fondly remember holding him in the shelter. He fit in my hand, his 6 inch skinny tail wrapped up so he could clutch it and chew on the end- he was my little monkey.

I remember him climbing the Christmas tree every year. Every night, I'd come home to find my tree rattling in my apartment, fir needles ting ting tingling to the floor and a little black furry shadow clinging to the branches in the middle.

I remember him sitting so politely on the floor next to my chair at the Thanksgiving dinner table at my mother's...knowing his patience would pay off with a plate of turkey and mashed potatos made just for him.

I remember him batting at snowflakes falling past the windows of our little studio apartment in Lincoln Park.

He's been all over with me. Survived some pretty crappy living situations. Some horrendous situations. He's really been my best (and sometimes my only) friend for 15 1/2 years.

Somehow he trusts me 100%; Have you ever had that pleasure? It's quite extraordinary. I can do anything to him- 12 years ago, after discovering he'd gotten into a cabinet holding a box of rat poison, I rushed him to his doctor, who promptly gave me these big nasty capsules of Vita K for him. All I had to do was hold the capsule in my hand and he'd lick it up eagerly. He truly trusts that whatever I do, it's for his best interests. He totally and completely trusts I will always protect him from any harm-- it's overwhelming and comforting simultaneously.

So he's had a rough year and I've been beating myself up for not protecting him as much as he needed apparently. I couldn't afford to board him at his vet when I was out of town 5 different times this year. That really killed me to leave him home alone each time. On top of that, about 6 months ago, I discovered something terrible that was happening to him....and I discovered he'd lost 2 pounds (a LOT for a 10lb geriatric cat). Normally I'd rush him to the vet for extensive testing, but again, money prevented this. I've spent the past 6 months saving and planning to bring him in only for unexpected expenses to pummle my "misha account"--- 6-week notice of an out of town wedding in my family, immediately followed by a month of unexpected unemployment--- I knew the longer I went without getting him checked, the deeper in danger he got.

This past month he's dropped a ton of weight and last weekend I kept finding him in wierd parts of my home just staring blankly not knowing where he was or how he got there.

I did some research and what I found- "dimentia is not old age. It's a symptom of a serious problem, including hyperthyroidism, renal failure, diabetes..."

my heart shattered- If only I'd been able to board him during those 5 trips I took this year- If only I'd been able to bring him in sooner.

I failed my baby

So Monday I called the vet, explained my financial situation, begged the accountant to let me bring him on my day off Tuesday.

That night, I curled up Misha in my arms, under the covers, and cried while begging G*d with all my heart and soul to please make this something managable...not renal failure, not diabetes....and please bring me money to pay for it all so Misha's well-being would no longer be sabotaged by finances.

I got 2 job interviews Tuesday- both companies love me. Both pay very well. A voice-over director of a job I recorded a year ago called me in for a "pick-up" booking for Wednesday. Seems the client preferred my voice to one of the male actors in the original cast, so I was brought back to record his lines. Yes, more money. I submitted my first reviews for a Nightlife Website -- these would determine if they'd give me more assignments and pay me. They loved my writing and sent me 8 more clubs to review....yes paying!

I got the call from the vet Wednesday. Blood, urine, fecal...all 100% normal! I'm astounded there's no kidney damage. We're both astounded a 15 1/2 yr-old cat has 100% normal blood-- this is almost unheard of.

She recommends a re-check in a month and plenty of high-calorie food (kitten or prescription) and a lot of love.

I checked my bank account. Looks like, even after Tuesday's $400 vet bill, I'll have some spare change after my November rent payment. Which means I'll have MORE spare change near the end of November. Which means I can afford to have Misha stay at the hospital when I go home for Thanksgiving, so he can be surrounded by 24/7 professional care vs. last year's 10 minutes daily of my friend checking his water bowl.

Or maybe I'll take him to my mother's house in Chicago this year for some mom-made turkey and mashed potatoes and sweet-potato pie.

And the annual real Christmas tree.

And some snow.

And I just got another reminder on how f*cking cool faith can be.

And how important my kraceevee maleenkee malcheek is to me-

For those of you lucky enough to have a long-term relationship with an animal, I wish you the very same extraordinary luck I had this week.

Cheers-