Always look on the bright side of life...

Did Monty Python come up with that?  I know that's the song that's going through my head this morning...
(Click here to see that clip from the movie, but please come back to the blog afterwards, okay?)

I fell down the stairs yesterday.

It's not as bad as it sounds.
Well, maybe it's actually worse than it sounds.

My little cat Jinx is dying very sick.  (Stay with me.  There will be a bright side to this.)

In the words of our very good, but not-exactly-a-people-person vet, "he's living on borrowed time."
Jinxy has been a good little cat all these years (11 1/2), or let's say 11 and 1/3.  

I did not name him after the cat from "Meet the Parents." I named him after a bartender I knew in Durham, North  Carolina, named Jenks.  The best story I remember about Jenks is this : It was Christmas Eve, 1983. I took the shift at the bar (why not?) and Jenks was there having his usual...a vodka and coffee. (Redbull had not been invented yet.)  The crowd had died out, it was the regulars and the staff... We were playing the music loud. Suddenly Jenks jumps up and grabs the Christmas garland, drapes it over his shoulders like a feather boa and before I know what's happening : Jenks is strutting his stuff and singing his heart out to "Santa Baby" dancing on my nice clean bar top.  It's been one of my favorite Christmas songs ever since!

Where was I? Oh, Jinxy.

The last month or so he's been getting a bit yucky, as animals do when they are reaching the pre-death stage of decrepitude.  I think this helps making the good-bye a little easier.  I don't mean to sound so callous, but to put it right out there, Jinx has been completely missing the cat box for about 2 months now.  He smells terrible. I could go on, but I think you get the idea already and I'm bumming myself out.

So I've been doing my best to clean up after him BEFORE stepping in his messes, and trying to remember the good times, but he's taken a bad turn.  As of now, he's still drinking water, and eating very expensive, special, canned, gooey, stinky food, into which I have to mash a pill, and stir it with a spoon.  (Of course it has to be me.)

When I got home from work last night, after a very long day, I mixed up this revolting concoction and brought it downstairs, to the cozy little spot he's chosen to spend his remaining days.  But I missed a step on the wood stairs and slipped down five stairs on my back.  Getting his foul-smelling brown slop all over my linen pants and wool sweater.  Landing hard on my butt and wrist onto the tile.  AND, right into the cat's random poop, which was several feet away from the catbox, as usual.  

I did not curse.  There is no singular curse that exists for OUCH-YUCK-SHIT-WOW, REALLY OUCH-GROSS-UGHCH-. and besides, my young,  niece was upstairs, and she's a high school junior.  I didn't want to shock or offend her innocent ears.

So I picked myself up, and gave the cat what was left in the bowl. I pet him and tried to show him a little love, and cleaned myself off.  I changed my clothes and took an Advil with a healthy swallow of a Seabreeze.   I went in to tell my husband what happened, and he had no clue at all that I had fallen down the stairs, and, in fact, forgot that Jinx was sick. 

Jinx, in September of 2013

I hobbled to the couch and put on the tv.  An infomercial was advertising Carol Burnett's DVD. And I thought about how comical this story could seem, telling this story in a few years.  Okay, days. Okay, so I'm telling it now.  Because sometimes you just have to laugh.  Because sitting there, despite my already aching back, sore wrist and smelling like cat food, I remembered that my life doesn't suck. My kids are healthy, so are my parents.   I remembered that the reason my niece was hanging out here is because her other grandmother (my sister-in-law's mom) just had a stroke, and my brother and sister-in-law had to rush up to New Hampshire to be with her. She's doing much better as I type this, but that's the big stuff, and we can pull together as a family to do whatever they need us to do.

We have a roof over our heads and food on the table.  

I have to get to work, but I thought you'd enjoy that little glimpse into a moment in my life.  For a look into the lives of two people who right now are living extraordinary lives, I am sharing the links to two blogs I've been following.  Both will make you feel  grateful for what you have, and both will  might even make you want to do more for others.  At this time of Thanksgiving, I hope you find them meaningful, as I do.

I started both of these stories from the middle, and worked backwards and then forwards.  The are both compelling and both made me cry. They are both a lot bigger than losing a beloved cat and falling down the stairs.  I thank both of these sincere brave women for sharing their personal stories with the world and putting it all out there.

Click here to read about Rabbi Phyllis' story about her son Superman Sam's battle with Cancer
Click here to read about Rabbi Tziona's journey to become a parent.

Stay in touch people.  We all need each other.  When we see each other remember to hug.  (I promise I don't still smell like catfood.)

Update: 12/17/13 :  Jinx is alive and darting around the house.  He's on life #6 or #7 I guess. My bruised derriere is mended, my sister-in-law's mother is doing very well, and life goes on.

Update: 1/10/14 

Jinx died in his sleep last night. He was a good little cat, and I'm much sadder than I thought I'd be. 

About a Blog

A blog about a blog.  It's been about a year since I started writing, and to celebrate I went back and read a few of my earlier pieces.  I resisted the urge to edit.

I recently hit 5,300 hits on my blog.

Blog.

Silly word isn't it?  It's from the combined word "web-log."

I'm frequently asked what I write about.


That's a tricky one.  (I'd like to just say... "Go read the blog!")

If  I say I write about myself I sound narcissistic.

I was told (by my kids) not to have one of those lame blogs that blathers on about my kids all the time.  So I just write about them some of the time.

Jewish Education is a big part of my life, and while I do love to write about that, I also frequently refrain, as we learn in Pirkei Avot 5:9 "wise people do not speak in the presence of those who are wiser than they are." There is always  someone out there who can more deftly interpret the Torah portion or the political climate in Israel much better than I can.

I feel compelled to write sometimes, and the words begin to jump from my fingers, the sentences start forming in my head before I can even get to the computer.  Scraps of paper or the iPhone "notes" app become a sorting station for ideas, some that never come to fruition, and some that practically write themselves.

Lately the blog posts are self-contained stories.  It feels good to get those out.  Like I can stop trying to hold on to those details now.  Some stories can never be written, not unless I start a new blog under a pseudonym.  (Those are some good stories too.)

What has surprised me about this randomly-spaced-in-time, usually cathartic blog even more than the writing, is the readers. The fact that people are reading this in the Ukraine, Russia, Venezuela, and just today, Greece, India, China, Brazil, Israel and Serbia.  Wow.  That's just mind-blowing.  Thanks to Google translator, someone a world away has just read my extremely personal and emotional cancer survival story.  I hope it gave that person some comfort.

I sometimes wonder if someone somewhere who was just really looking for a good picture of New Jersey tomatoes, or maybe just some porn, happened along this blog and I challenged their thinking, or at least gave them a smile before they moved on with their images search and found what they were really looking for.

The funny thing is that these strangers out there know the story of how I made cocktail hour for my dad, and how a tree fell on my house.  They read about my passion for Furthur and my love of my kids, and many more tidbits as well.  But my own family won't read the blog!

Dad:  "Jewel, I have no need to read how many times you walked your dogs and what you are wearing every day."
Me: "Dad, that's not what I write about in my blog."
Dad: "Jewel, that's what a blog is. It's all about fashion and shoes."
Me: "Dad, that's not what MY blog is."
Dad: "I'm not reading your blog or anyone's blog."

So, where were we?

I try very hard after I "birth" each one not to say this sentence:

"So did you read my blog yet?" 

That even sounds annoying to me. But I really love the feedback when I finally do get it, even when its anonymous.  One friend sent me a book on writing the personal narrative.   I hope he will notice my style improving!

Just yesterday, when I was at the doctor, one of his partners showed me a huge framed photo of Jerry Garcia on the wall and said, "I read your blog, it was great."  We bonded over tales of shared concerts before his next patient and my own appointment. 

Who knows what I'll write about next?  My two most hit upon entries were The Letter to Chris Christie (regarding Same Sex Marriage) and Let There Be Songs To Fill The Air (a love letter to the Grateful Dead).  I don't know why, but these keep getting hits, and search engines keep finding them.   By the way, Chris Christie wrote back to me, and the Wheel keep turning for us Deadheads, so there will be a lot more to write on both topics.  Another that gets a lot of hits was a heartfelt letter to my college roommate who died too young.  I guess a lot of people can relate to losing a friend before their time.

So, I will keep writing when I have something to say, and I thank you for reading.

It continues to be a long strange trip, I see no reason why I'd run out of adventures and ideas now.