Twisted, sightless wrecks of men
go groping on their knees
and cry in pain
now the sun has come to earth
– Paul Simon

Our friend Kathleen is 93 years old. We’ve known her for more than 20 years. During those years, Merri has been a surrogate daughter to Kathleen, providing her with hours each week of contact and care. Mer has filled Kathleen’s pillboxes (lots of pills – does anyone really know about drug interactions when so many medications are involved). Mer has helped Kathleen manage her finances, and much, much more. A year ago, Mer found a new senior facility for Kathleen to move to that was so much better than the little room she had occupied for years. Things were looking good – as good as they can for a near-blind 93-year-old with a generous and kind heart.

Almost monthly for I don’t know how many years, Merri and Kathleen have had lunch together, along with conducting business. Three or four times a year, I’ve joined them at Paul’s Monterey Inn. We eaten a lot of Paul’s extraordinary green chile chicken soup and petite filets. After years of getting the bacon from around Kathleen’s filets, Lucky has learned to smack his lips at the mention of her name. Our waiter and our friend is also named Mark. Together, we’ve celebrated birthdays and anniversaries and the good life.

A few weeks ago, Kathleen had a nasty fall. Overnight, this independent woman lost control of her life. (Her 24 hours in the ER testify to a horribly screwed-up health care system.) Although she has recovered considerably in a short time, she will never recover her independence. It is a tragic turn – heartbreaking.

Kathleen’s two daughters have taken the responsibility they should. No one could expect Merri to do even more than she has. Still, the result is that Kathleen, who expected to die in the town that has been her home for 50+ years, has moved to California, to a facility close to one of her daughters. I can’t say this is wrong – it’s not my decision, and the decision is so difficult.

We had one last lunch at Paul’s Monterey Inn a week ago. Leaving town isn’t the same thing as dying, but when you’re leaving your home forever and saying goodbye to friends you may never see again, it hurts as much. We’ll miss her.

Update: Nothing so confounds a writer like reality. Tonight, the Universe sent a message through its agent, Kathleen: What’s your problem? Kathleen called tonight to tell us how happy she is in the new place, which is beautiful. She remains a role-model for kindness, generosity, and rolling with the changes.

Watching a biologist clutch a Monarch butterfly and rub the fuzz off part of its wing and, then, wrap a tag around the leading edge of its wing, all the while, assuring the viewer that it mattered not to the butterfly, I have a theory: Biologist believe they are superior to the animals they study. Further, said superiority justifies any method of data acquisition. And, without a doubt, an individual animal has no right to an undisrupted life.

In order to test my theory, I need to monitor biologists as they go about their daily activities. (You can’t assume they’ll tell you the truth just because you ask.) I propose using large nets to capture random biologists. Those who struggle will be sedated. My team will take standard measurements, tattoo, tag, and collar these biologists before releasing them to resume their day. Don’t worry: They won’t even notice what we’ve done to them.

I’m working on an umbrella theory that scientists are merely human. Therefore, one day, I’d like to broaden the study to include non-scientists. (Any who die in the process will be processed as food.) I think I might find funding from arms merchants, drug dealers, and advertisers. There will be no shortage of willing grad students.

peace,
mjh

PS: I believe scientists have the same obligation as religionists: to rise above the worst aspects of humanity. Find less disruptive ways to observe your subjects. A sledgehammer is not a pencil.

Updated 7/4/08: We got Miss Kitty from the Humane Society 18 years ago. The choice was made easy when she stood on her hind legs to place a paw on each side of my face. Perhaps she was hunting my goattee, but it seemed an affection gesture. Kitty and I both sneezed on the drive home. Years passed before I discovered I am allergic to cats. When I asked the allergist what I could do, he said, “get rid of your cats.” I replied, “Time will take care of that.”

A year and a day has passed since our sweet Miss Kitty died. Her photo appears on my screen frequently. Like most of us, she deserved a better end. peace, mjh

Atheists grieve with anguished sobs, like anyone else. Today, we euthanized Miss Kitty. We returned from 6 nights in Colorado to find she had deteriorated too much. (We thought she might die while we were gone. Our cat-sitting friend and neighbors did the best they could for her while we were gone.) This morning, I found her asleep with her head hanging over the edge of the water dish. For the next hour, she wandered from dish to dish, thinking the next one would quench her thirst. Like Tantalus, whose eternal damnation is largely forgotten in the modern meaning of tantalizing, there was no relief for Kitty. None she could find on her own, though she looked in every dark corner for solace.

I accept we did the humane thing, but I also believe death is final and I don’t wish to hasten it. (And, yet, I am an omnivore. I thrive on the death of others.) There is no heaven and we will never see Kitty again, except on the screensaver. It is terrible to let her go; it is misery to lend a hand, no matter how humane. Now Daedalus pushes Tantalus from my thoughts.

One experience is shared by all: death. Grief is a measure of our capacity to love — they are inseparable. mjh

Green Fire

I love her
and I know
she loves me
though we are
so different
gazing in her eyes
I see the green fire
and believe
she can see it
in mine. mjh

See Merri’s eulogy for Kitty:
Merri’s Dance and Music eNews » Kitty the Cat 1988-2007

Kitty the Cat 1988-2007

[Originally Published on: Tue 07/03/07 at 5:50 pm.]

I am not at all surprised that I am out-of-step with 92 percent of Americans. I am certain there is no god. I’m only driven to declaring that when there is so much noise from the other side.

World news Feed Article | World news |

By many measures, Americans are strongly religious: 92 percent believe in God, 74 percent believe in life after death and 63 percent say their respective scriptures are the word of God.

But deeper investigation found that more than one in four Roman Catholics, mainline Protestants and Orthodox Christians expressed some doubts about God’s existence, as did six in ten Jews.

Another finding almost defies explanation: 21 percent of self-identified atheists said they believe in God or a universal spirit, with 8 percent “absolutely certain” of it.

World news Feed Article | World news |

It’s funnier that I am out of step with one in five atheists, in that I know what atheism is and they don’t. One can be a believer with doubts (that’s healthy), but a doubter who believes is an agnostic, at best. Of the 8 percent of Americans who don’t believe in God, what percentage are “self-identified atheists”? (Not believing in god isn’t the same as calling yourself an atheist, obviously.) Of that less than 8%, 21% — less than 2% of the whole — aren’t actually part of that 8%, unless this is recursive, in which case there are no non-believers.

Perhaps these ‘atheists’ who believe in god (even with certainty) are actually anti-theists or antaga-gnostics: Those who hate god. I was one of those for a long time. It’s a real waste of energy. peace, mjh

Religion in American Culture — Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life

Welcome to the U.S. Religious Landscape Survey

Based on interviews with more than 35,000 American adults, this extensive survey by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life details the religious makeup, religious beliefs and practices as well as social and political attitudes of the American public. This online section includes dynamic tools that complement the full report. For a video overview and related material, go to the resource page.

Religion in American Culture — Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life

My buddy, Kris — #1 of my 5 regular readers — expressed surprise that I didn’t write anything on Earth Day. Of course, my first thought was to recycle a blog entry from prior years. In part, I was distracted by teaching and, in part, I was distracted by thoughts of the Pennsylvania primary (more later).

Earth Day was like every other day, I’m happy to say, in so far as I had moments being there, loving the Earth, if not the world. Our wysteria (as I prefer to spell it) is past peak but still magnificent. It may be the best display of redolent purple bunches in 20 years. The bees certainly think so — those that take time out from the rosemary bushes. The vibrant red to orange to yellow Austrian copper rose by the door is just peaking — its time is much shorter than the wysteria. Birds are everywhere. The hummingbirds are back. Hawks abound (perhaps because of all the damn doves). I nest between a great river and greater mountains beneath a stunning sky. I think Frank Zappa said it best when he said, “It’s fucking great to be alive.” (There goes my parental rating. Sorry, kids.)

It’s not that I’m always high on life. It is obvious that it is far easier — more natural — for humans to destroy than preserve. And the End of Days are going to be hideous and slow. But, optimist that I am, I believe the Earth will rebound and return without out the infection of humankind. (To our successors: Learn from our mistakes, even though we could not.)

Thirty-eight years ago, Earth Day began as an extension of the hippie movement. Yes — thank the hippies! Thank the liberals. Thank Tricky Dick Nixon — whose daughter, Julie Nixon Eisenhower, supports Obama — for bowing to democracy momentarily to support the Clean Air and Clean Water Acts and the establishment of the Environmental Protection Agency and the Endangered Species Act. Every one of those things *infuriates* the Radically Wrong, who would condemn Nixon for his liberalism. (Such insanity may be a consequence of environmental degradation, ironically.)

Peace, love and happiness,
mjh

Twenty-three years ago today, my Mother died of cancer. Just a few days ago, a character on TV asked another how she got over her mother’s death. “I didn’t,” she replied. I fought back tears. A few days before, in the movie, Millions, a mother returns from the dead to speak one last time with her youngest son. She explains that he is the miracle she brought into the world, a sentiment my Mother — like most mothers, I’d like to think — could have expressed to each of her children and grandchildren.

Grief is a crushing sorrow. I understand how it ruins so many lives and leads to suicide or revenge.

A few days ago, I pulled a box out of my closet and started working through the layers of paper that had accumulated. As I sorted through things, I wondered what had started this particular pile. Why have I been holding on to these things? The newspaper at the bottom was my answer: 7/3/07. The day Kitty died. Kitty was my friend for most of 20 years. Merri says Kitty was my daemon, in the sense of the Golden Compass.

Death is bad enough. But to suffer through the slow, painful death of someone you love is reason enough to doubt or curse god. It is the final reminder of Life’s utter indifference to all living things. mjh