Flowers aren’t enough

As an escape I watch sappy RomComs and TV shows about teens. They always show love as this passionate, tingly, shiney thing. Love is warm and fuzzy, with only one fight that’s easily cleared up in 90min or less. Real love is not always about passion. Sometimes real love is messy and painful and hard. Love isn’t just about saying your sorry and forgiveness. Flowers and chocolate can only heal very little, the very tiniest fissures in the human heart. You’ve got to look at yourself and say, and admit the things you don’t like. Then you need to work every day to try and be a better person. No you have to really look, and be honest. Love is scary and you can’t let “I’m sorry” be an excuse. It has to come with action. And if you don’t know what to do, keep trying, keep doing something. Something not for yourself, even taking out the trash says more than just saying “I’m sorry.”

Love isn’t perfect. You will make mistakes. You will hurt the person you love, and they will hurt you. But you work together, to learn, to grow so you won’t do it again. And if you do, you do everything you can to understand and really work on solutions, not just putting on a temporary bandage on it, with a squirt of Bactine. Accept that you are not perfect, and don’t expect them to be perfect either. It’s more than patience, it’s building trust.

Love isn’t an expensive gift, wrapped in pretty paper. It’s cleaning the cat box, every day, twice a day even. Doing the laundry when you see the basket is overflowing, getting someone a warm meal when they don’t feel like eating, a touch before the tears and sometimes, even more important, love is knowing when not to speak. When to stop asking, “What’s wrong?” Stop asking, “What can I do?” Love is knowing that something is wrong and being there, even if you don’t know that to do. Love doesn’t run away when it gets scared, or at least it comes back and says, “Sorry, I was scared. I’m here now.”

Grand guestures are fine, but it’s the daily little things that keep love alive. The constant thinking of someone, that is not you. Taking that walk when you’d rather stay on the couch watching TV. Stopping to fill the tank up on the way home, even when you know it could wait until tomorrow. Picking up your dirty t-shirt, folding the blanket, putting the dishes away, asking, “Can I do something for you?” Grabbing a kinderegg at the checkout and leaving a little surprise next to the milk. Getting up early and bringing home breakfast and coffee. And more importantly, love is staying quiet until they wake up. Getting to the airport early even though you detest airport Starbucks, because you know being there early helps with their anxiety. Offering to drive a sick cat to the vet. Sitting up next to someone when they can’t sleep. Leaving a note or a text when you know you’ll be late. Saying I love you every day, in every way you can think of, while always trying to think of new ways. You’d be surprised how much better you could make someone’s day, if you just make the bed, or put out a new bar of soap when you see the old one getting too small. It may seem stupid, but I feel it’s important to keep reminding them you give a shit. Little gestures say, I’m so happy you are in my life.

Love requires space to breathe. It can’t be controlled. That’s not love. That is obsession, and possession. No one ever said, I can’t wait to fall “in control.” “I wish I was obsessed.” The people you love won’t always do what you want. They won’t always be happy when you’re happy. They may get mad, or depressed. They may need to be quiet for hours or days. Love is understanding, and knowing you may not understand. You don’t always get to know, right now. Love is accepting you can not always fix it, right now. Sometimes you have to sit with the hurt, and just let it hurt. Love is letting someone cry, and understanding if they need to cry alone.

We can always wish that love will fix everything in 90min or less, but that’s not how it works. If you love someone, it’s going to hurt sometimes. It is going to be hard, sometimes, but it will be worth it. And is it really that hard to do the little things. The little things are what say, “I’m here.” I’m here to stay, even when it’s not fun, because you are worth it. You need to say not only I love you, but you are worth it. You are not alone, and it’s going to be alright.

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
~ Lao Tzu

It’s a hard thing to imagine how somebody copes with grief and at the same time has to build a new life.
~ Caitriona Balfe

Love isn’t just about looking forward together. It’s about keeping each other in your peripheral vision.
~ Sensei Oddsox

For Monkey

Monkey is with me, but in a different way now. Last Sunday night, sometime before 10pm, we ran him to an all night ER vet. I hope we gave him a good death, and a good life.

Saturday, June 2, 2018
He spent the last few days playing “old man of Tuscany” lying out on the balcony in the sun. We even got him his own chair that was lower to ground, since jumping wasn’t easy anymore. Every time he thought I was going to move him or make him go inside he’d curl his little paws around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, as if to say, “Not yet Dad, just a little longer…”

Monkey as a kitten
Monkey as a kitten
I don’t think any person or animal has been with me as long, and as consistently. Yes, there are people I know and vaguely keep up with on Facebook, but we don’t talk. Not daily, not weekly, shit not even monthly, but I guess I am old. No one talks to anyone on the phone or even via chat on a weekly basis anymore. One friend I recently started talking to regularly, but I know if I didn’t send texts, and funny pics and make the effort to call, we probably would not be talking as often as we are. She helped me through hell and continued to check in when I was in a dark, dark place. A few people helped me through various periods of that time and I hate to admit … FARG! this was supposed to be about Monkey, not me.

Mr. Monkey was there, for all of it. The joy, the excitement, new loves, lost loves, yelling, the stress, the tears, school, jobs that came and went, he endured it all. I’m only happy he was able to live to see my life get happier. I do think partially why he left was because he thought I was finally OK. Me and Hollis are finally safe. He was always a guard kitty.

When I first got him and brought him home to my little studio on Goodman Ave. he spent most of the night sitting at the door. I’d try to get him to sleep on the bed, and he’d jump back down and sit right by the door all night. All day, every time he heard the elevator down the hall ding, he’d run to the door and do a little kitty growl. Took him few weeks until he learned what smells and people on my floor were safe.

Monkey kitten boxing
Monkey kitten boxing

When I got him I was between jobs, mostly working from home and waiting to get accepted into RIT’s Master’s in IT program. I had lots of free time, so we played. I built huge obstacle courses. I’d tie strings from one end of my studio to the other and hang little kitty toys from them. I could push the toys up and down the strings and they’d spin, ring, and make noise and he’d chase them all. I was so afraid he wouldn’t get enough exercise since my place was so small. I made “mountains” for him to climb out of books and pillows, and hid crinkly stuff all over. He’d dig and find them all and then hide them under my pillow. He loves crinkly things.

Broke into my hidden stash of Smarties
This ended up being a bad training program, because he also learned how to climb onto the kitchen counter and open my candy jar stealing neccos, smarties, and anything else he liked. I’d put a pop-tart on the counter and before I could get the toaster out, he’d jump on the counter and run away with the pop-tart.

Necco Stealing kitten
His other favorite game is jumping to catch little furry or felt mice. He would have been an awesome goal keeper. At least 3-4 times a day we’d play kitty soccer. And if I was busy and he wanted to play, he’d hide behind a door, or a pile of books and just jump out at me until I got the hint and started throwing toys for him. He also got in the habit of tossing coins off my bookshelf until he got my attention. Yes, he’d sit there, one paw poised in front of a stack of pennies and look at me. Then WING, off they’d go. If I didn’t get up, he’d move next to the stack of nickels. I usually got up before the quarters went flying. LEGOs, books, little cartoon figurines all ended up on the floor, until I finally started Velcro-ing the fragile shit to the shelves.

Sitting on my shoulder
He came with me everywhere. He’d sit on my shoulder while working, or while in the truck. If people said I couldn’t bring my kitten, I often stayed home. He was so small, I had a little Tupperware tray with a lid filled with litter as a travel litter box in my truck. If I went, he came with me. I brought a toy and his box.

Helping me study. He hated Oracle
When I had to work he sat on my shoulder until he got too big. Then he moved to my desk. I always had to pick out a desk big enough for working and a cat bed. I have so many photos of him on my desk, my laptop, pawing through my books or sleeping on my big old monitor for warmth, when it my apartment was cold. He was always with me.
hanging out with Moosejaw
hanging out with Moosejaw


Monkey helps with work

Once he started to get big, he could crawl and climb around a lot. I’d find all sorts of things knocked on the floor when I was gone. playing with the lightsOnce school started keeping me busy and I was on campus for longer and longer hours with 2 TA positions, GA responsibilities, tutoring hours, etc., I would ask friends to just check on him. Some days I would be on campus from 8am until after 11pm. Those days I would drop him off at kitty daycare. Well, not really, Monkey stayed with my friend who had 2 cats and only lived about 3 blocks up Goodman from my place, near East Ave. She was already working on her thesis project, and was home more often than I. Her apartment was ground level, so the cats could chase chipmunks outside the window. My little man was always sitting right by the window when my truck or motorcycle pulled up. I was told he could probably hear the Ducati as soon as I hit Goodman St.

Monkey and Hollis in Brooklyn
Of course he came with me when I moved to Brooklyn. Made a bed for him on top of my suitcases and computers in the back of my parent’s Subaru Forrester. He sat up there for whole 8-9hr drive. Didn’t take much research to realize bringing my 4×4 truck to NYC was not a brilliant idea. I sold the truck and my beloved Ducati. Yes, the Ducati that he’d jump to the window whenever he heard me coming. Part of me wondered how would he know I was on my way home? I started leaving the TV on if I was just going to the cafe to get coffee or something. I know, who is trained, me or the cat?

Monkey Girl & Monkey Boy
I still didn’t like leaving him home alone too long. He rode with me on the subways and buses from Flatbush to Hollis’ place in Alphabet City back when I was cat sitting for Hollis, or just spending the weekend. Actually Avenue C was a pretty cool place, not too gentrified yet, while we were there. I’d put him in a crate on a little roller thing and trucked him with me onto the Q or B subway to Union Square then catch the M14d bus and walk the last few blocks. Again, I didn’t want to leave him home alone too much. Fortunately he got along with Hollis’ 3 cats. Since Hollis had a female cat name Monkey, he was renamed Monkey Boy and hers, Monkey Girl. I do think they became pretty good friends. He kept his distance from the oldest cat, Eve, but slept butt to butt with Monkey Girl occasionally. Daisy, the bratty one of the bunch, he played with more often. He knew how to nip at her tail to get her to play chase.

He traveled to LA with us, the road trip that was a bit of hell and a bit of adventure all wrapped up in a bad flu. Even he got sick on the trip, but we found a vet in Sedona. We all spent some much needed nights of relaxing in the pretty sleepy little town.

hire wire act
In Los Angeles, I think he loved looking out the window again. Whether it was through the flowering vines of Los Feliz or crawling along the metal beams 20ft up, in the loft. He chased and caught cockroaches with his sisters, Daisy and Monkey Girl. An empty water carton was a good 20minutes of fun chasing Daisy in and out of it. On the cold mornings when you could see your breath while lying in bed… I’d look down and see him snuggled with all the other cats on the bed. Fortunately in LA those nights were few, but they were COLD.

The last few months, we’ve had to get a staircase for the bed. He tried to play. Unlike the hours of tossing mice when he was kitten, the play times now lastly barely minutes. We’ve left his favorite toy on the floor, just in case. I do believe, I have to believe your pets don’t leave. I have to believe, if they leave, they can come back for little visits. I still put his blanket out in my office, even though he never slept on it here. I keep the window open he likes to look out at night. And once in a while, I just think of him and my vision gets blurry, my head starts to hurt and tears roll down my cheek.

Monkey liked Coffee
Your Coffee was never safe

Hollis & Monkey 2018
Hollis & Monkey 2018
I have been taking care of him and more importantly and definitely the harder job, he has been taking care of me for 15 years. He was the best. I will miss our illegal naps on the couch. Watching him play with Hollis’ hair. He so loves her hair. I’ll miss his little snorts and growls while playing. His loud purrs. So much I will miss.

Fifteen years!

I don’t think I’ve been with anything or anyone for that long. Again, not on a day in and day out basis. We didn’t take a lot of trips, and have been home with him a lot. Getting up and not having to prepare any meds, or clean a box, or sweep litter is so unnerving. I really don’t know what to do some mornings. It hasn’t been a week. I make my tea and sit, and slowly go numb. Then something reminds me of him and I smile. We had a good run, a really damn good fucking run, my friend.

I keep telling myself, it was time. It was time. He told us. He was ready. To the Summerlands my good friend, and you’re always welcome where ever I may be.
Monkey nap time

Sorrow is how we learn to love. Your heart isn’t breaking. It hurts because it’s getting larger. The larger it gets, the more love it holds.
~ Rita Mae Brown

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.
~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Looking for notes, words and fun

Yes, this was supposed to be about my journey back to writing, but I’m already going to change it to my journey back to just plain being creative. Whether that manifests as learning katas and using the movements to channel and grow creative chi, writing posts of random thoughts, actually preparing “Jim” for submission, new fiction *gasp*, or like the last few days… practicing a little piano.

Ronja Damkjær Petersen, Modern Music School
Me with Ronja Damkjær Petersen @ Modern Music School (2016)
I started this musical journey about 4yrs ago. Hard to believe I started April/May 2014. The photo is from when I received my “2 years a student” certificate, dated May 27, 2016. We had so much fun. Best part of learning in a studio set up for group and band lessons was that we had access to lots of digital keyboards in one room. Some days my instructor, Ronja, would turn on 3 or 4 of the other keyboards in the practice room. We’d try to play all the parts of a recent popular tune. One day we tried to play all the part for a dance/funk tune.

Ronja would play the melody on one keyboard, and maybe some drum beats. I’d jump around doing the horns on another, and maybe bass and background vocals on a third. We’d take turns being keyboard, horns or rhythm sections. Other times she’d let me try improvisation. She’d play some sequence of chords on one keyboard, while I’d do little runs using 3-4 notes, graduating to a pentatonic scale up and down another keyboard. I have two or 3 videos of my fetal attempts at improvisation. Nothing amazing, but they are fun to watch if for no other reason that you see two people having fun. I made funny faces when I messed up, but just laughed and kept going. That’s jazz, as Thelonious Monk said, “There are no wrong notes, some are just more right than others.”

Taking lessons at a music school in a practice room with 3-4 keyboards and sometimes other instruments is one of the reasons finding an instructor now is hard. I’m not sure sitting at a lone acoustic piano would be as fun. Granted 75% of the time it was just me sitting at the piano and her in the usual teacher’s chair next to me. But the times we let loose little and she’d play one of the other keyboards playing horns or whatever, and we just tried stuff out were some of the best lessons. It really helped to understand some of the music theory concepts. Why are the horns doing x chord progression, against the melody? What part is the bass filling in, that the keyboard or pianist doesn’t have to play?

Also music schools like Modern Music School (MMS), often have a “band concert” 2-3 times a year. They throw together a few students and find songs where no one has anything to difficult to play. My was a bunch of super beginner adults. Many of the kids, now teenagers, had been playing together for years and were really good. Composing their own songs and shit. My band, “Not My Tempo,” consisted of me on the keyboards, a drummer who had less than months of lessons, a guitarist who never learned the song, and thankfully, a decent singer. We met once a week for 4-6 weeks in addition to our lessons. The night of the concert we knew our guitarist was going to be iffy, so Ronja’s husband rounded out the band and played bass for us.

We didn’t sound very good. Someone turned my keyboard volume down during sound check, so if you were in the audience, good chance you didn’t even hear me. BUT it was so much fun. I was mouthing the chord changes to the guitar player, since he kept missing them, but again FUN. Plus I learned it is much easier to stay in time with a drummer, even if his timing slows and quickens, than it is to stay with a metronome. Fortunately, there was a soundboard and the event was recorded. Maybe no one more than 2 rows back heard me, but on the DVD you hear me.

Anyway, why am I posting this. Well, I fell for the Simply Piano advert, thinking at least I’ll start practicing, again. Even though I am a patreon and YouTube subscriber to Bill Hilton’s tutorials I’ve fallen WAY behind. I think he’s on beginner lesson 24, and I’m on like lesson 5. Great vids, but I haven’t kept up. This cheesy piano app has segments that are 5min or less. Shit, I can do 5minutes. Even my YouTube/Patreon “instructor” only asks that you do 20minutes a day. Poor Ronja had to deal with my lack of practicing for weeks. She fortunately was not threatened by my YouTube instructor, but instead happily incorporated his jazz inprov ideas into my lessons.

Ronja was technically a vocal coach. After the first year another good instructor Song was leaving and Ronja filled in until the new teacher came on. We just hit it off so well. She became a great friend, part-time therapist (half kidding), and mentor. Although, I think the mentoring went both ways at times. I helped her with ideas on how to promote her band, and some career advice. She listened to me laugh and bitch at a time when I had almost zero local friends in California. We spent the first 10 sometimes 20min or so just chatting. Then next 30-40 working on songs and playing, then often the last 10-15min we geeked out over music theory.

I was into jazz, but she was not only a trained vocalist, but like many music instructors, had trained for years in classical piano. I was in no fear of going beyond her piano teaching ability any time soon. Even with my lack of discipline, and weird music tastes, she was just happy to be teaching songs that weren’t the latest Disney theme. We worked on songs from an “easy swing” book I bought that included Count Basie tunes.

When I said I wanted to learn “Linus and Lucy,” which was way above my ability, she agreed as long as I understood it may not sound like anything for many months. I worked on it in addition to my easier pieces. Only took a few weeks before I could play the first 8 bars at about 40% tempo. A few more weeks, it was still slow, but people could tell what song I was at least attempting to play.

Then I introduced her to Thelonious Monk. I found an easy arrangement of “Well You Needn’t” that I’m still hammering away at. Before we moved and I stopped practicing for months, the song was passable. The best thing about jazz, and this song in particular, was how much fun it was to pick apart and look at the music theory behind it. Ronja is a big music theory geek. Unlike any of my other instructors she gave music theory some application. She show how it fit into the pop songs on the radio, the jazz tunes I was learning to play. Sometimes I’d send her a video of Thelonious Monk playing. She’s take time to look at it and even thought it was not something I could play, but we could watch what chord progressions he used and pick apart the music theory behind his choices. This for me was super interesting, and made me love not trying to play pian, but love trying to understand jazz and theory.

It’s going to be super hard to find an instructor and a school with all the same advantages. The few instructors I’ve found are into “Church music” and classical. None seem like they are going to be into jazz, or able to make theory fun. I can’t afford lessons right now, and as someone said, when the student is ready the teacher will appear. Let’s just hope Simple Piano app will make sure I’m ready.

My point? It’s hard to start writing, again. It’s hard to start playing the piano, again. Sometimes just letting yourself be creative is hard. You just have to get through the hard, and look for the fun. If was fun once, the fun will return. It’s probably just self-created fear.

Pay the thunder no mind – listen to the birds.
~ Eubie Blake

Like a pianist runs her fingers over the keys, I’ll search my mind for what to say.
~ Maya Angelou