Last week, there was a period of several hours when my cat, Harry "The Highlander", acted in a manner most uncharacteristic to his normal behaviour. It passed, and I forgot about it until this past Thursday, when he stopped eating and drinking, did not want to go outside at all and rejected T-U-N-A. Chiropractic adjustments seemed to have no effect, though it had in the past. The tuna clinched it, and I took him to the vet after there was no evidence of using the litter box, after 24 hours.
Dr. Tzvi, the vet, ran a battery of tests, took blood and gave Harry an IV drip to deal with his dehydration. Every half hour or so, Dr. Tzvi would check our the lifeless lump that used to be my very active cat, look at his blood test results, shake his head and say to me, "This is not good at all," and yet refused to elaborate. When I would ask for details or try to understand the worst case scenario - having been raised in the Jewish/Polish mother model -the vet would refuse to explain until all data came in. But I was not supposed to freak out, of course.
The short version of the story: "most probably" a parasitic infection that is causing severe anemia and break-down of his red blood cells. If I had not brought him in for a check-up, he "probably" would have died over the weekend. Then he casually mentioned cancer and FIV as alternative diagnoses, if no improvement appeared within four days.
The good news: the very same day, after receiving the IV plus anti-biotics and steroids to avoid RBC break-down, Harry started to get ornery, used the litter box and tried to eat food. Today, one day later, he is more active and asking to go outside. Which he can't, until his 21 day course of anti-biotics is completed.
When I told my mother about the stress this caused, she did not hide her true feelings; there is some part of her that fears that I am falling into the Crazy Cat Lady stereotype, and that having a cat means I will die alone and single. Her immediate response to my sadness was, "Oh well, your cat is dying. Pets die you know..." Thanks for the sympathy and support, Mom; surprising all the more so because she grew up all her life with cats as pets.
The aspect of this episode that continues to bother me concerns the clinical approach (as expert and professional as I could want) towards my feelings and fears. Never mind the fact that I am the one paying the veterinarian's bill, all 600 NIS of it, but that fact that pets (as with children) reflect the environment created by their owner and in the home. Like any other doctor, he could use some improvement in his bed-side manner towards the human in this equation.
I always mock the American pet owners who take their dog or cat to an animal shrink, when their house mate misbehaves by peeing on the carpet or destroying furniture. It is ultimately therapy for the owner, as animals cannot speak English (duh) and they simply react to the atmosphere around them.
Oh, and I think that I would subscribe to a pet care HMO in Israel, if such a thing existed.
Showing posts with label felines. Show all posts
Showing posts with label felines. Show all posts
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Hopalong Harry
Some time when I was at Pessach seder (19/4/08), Harry managed to fracture his shoulder. The doctors cannot figure out why almost a month later, Harry is still limping around, refusing to use his right front arm/leg.
I know why. My eldest feline Harry has become what is known in medical terms as a "Malingerer", a faker vying for sympathy and attention. I have observed the following behaviours: when I am with him and clearly watching him, he gets a sad expression in his eyes and limps along, hoppity hop. When he does not know that I am watching him, he uses all four legs, and has only a mild limp, which I notice because I am a Chiropractor.
The fracture was small, and I believe that by next week I will feel confident enough to allow him to go outside again, which thankfully will relieve me of litter box duty.
My brother laughs at this story, saying that it has nothing to do with feline or human, except for the fact that Harry is a man, and knows how to work the woman in his life.
I know why. My eldest feline Harry has become what is known in medical terms as a "Malingerer", a faker vying for sympathy and attention. I have observed the following behaviours: when I am with him and clearly watching him, he gets a sad expression in his eyes and limps along, hoppity hop. When he does not know that I am watching him, he uses all four legs, and has only a mild limp, which I notice because I am a Chiropractor.
The fracture was small, and I believe that by next week I will feel confident enough to allow him to go outside again, which thankfully will relieve me of litter box duty.
My brother laughs at this story, saying that it has nothing to do with feline or human, except for the fact that Harry is a man, and knows how to work the woman in his life.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
When the Siren Went Off
This morning I woke up before my alarm clock, checked on Harry, my cat with the broken shoulder, and then checked my email. Went to the post office to pay some taxes, and then to the pool to swim.
When the two minute siren went off for Yom HaShoah, I was standing in the shower, dripping wet with shampoo still in my hair, after my swim. Two minutes is a long time, it gives you enough time to really get inside yourself and realize how lucky you are; lucky that your family did not have too many murdered relatives in World War II, lucky that there is a State of Israel, and extremely happy to be living in that State of the Jews in 2008, a country which de facto protects all Jews all over the globe.
I could barely hear the siren over the loud hum of the fan.
I remember several years ago, I was standing on line at the bank when the siren sounded. Most of us stood at solemn attention, and one woman continued to talk on her cellphone, oblivious and totally disrespectful to the time dedicated to the Jews who died in the Holocaust. At first, all of us gave her dirty looks, to no avail. Finally we all started yelling at her, "What, don't you have any respect for those who died? Can't this conversation wait two minutes?"
She took offense - though thankfully shut off her phone - and as soon as the two minutes of silence ended, she called her friend right back, and proceeded to tell her friend how rude we had been, cutting off her conversation.
Life goes on, but isn't that the point?
I spent two minutes remembering the victims of the Shoah, and then returned to the shower, and went to work. We are a normal people living in a normal State on the Planet Earth, and while we have suffered terribly throughout history, and continue to suffer under the constant threats of terrorism within our borders, we are here.
We are here to stay.
When the two minute siren went off for Yom HaShoah, I was standing in the shower, dripping wet with shampoo still in my hair, after my swim. Two minutes is a long time, it gives you enough time to really get inside yourself and realize how lucky you are; lucky that your family did not have too many murdered relatives in World War II, lucky that there is a State of Israel, and extremely happy to be living in that State of the Jews in 2008, a country which de facto protects all Jews all over the globe.
I could barely hear the siren over the loud hum of the fan.
I remember several years ago, I was standing on line at the bank when the siren sounded. Most of us stood at solemn attention, and one woman continued to talk on her cellphone, oblivious and totally disrespectful to the time dedicated to the Jews who died in the Holocaust. At first, all of us gave her dirty looks, to no avail. Finally we all started yelling at her, "What, don't you have any respect for those who died? Can't this conversation wait two minutes?"
She took offense - though thankfully shut off her phone - and as soon as the two minutes of silence ended, she called her friend right back, and proceeded to tell her friend how rude we had been, cutting off her conversation.
Life goes on, but isn't that the point?
I spent two minutes remembering the victims of the Shoah, and then returned to the shower, and went to work. We are a normal people living in a normal State on the Planet Earth, and while we have suffered terribly throughout history, and continue to suffer under the constant threats of terrorism within our borders, we are here.
We are here to stay.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Harry "The Highlander", Chiropractic Cat
By Harry "The Highlander," with some scientific input from his Human
Although I have not officially graduated from Chiropractic school, I consider myself somewhat of an expert. I have extensively observed my Human taking care of clients. Starting when I was one month old, I would sit on the patients' hands to keep them warm, and even now, I can tell when a visitor is having a bad day and needs PT (Purr Therapy).
Like any new parent, the first time I had a cold, my mother called the veterinarian, and asked how to resolve this health issue. I was sneezing and lethargic, and my eyes were gunky and gross. Our doctor prescribes to a holistic approach to feline care, and told Mom to wait a few days, and clean out my eyes on a regular basis; he did not immediately believe that we should leap to the drug route. The prognosis was two or three days of suffering, "Even cats can get a cold," the doctor said.
Chiropractic, based upon a holistic neurological view of the body, believes that the brain and central nervous system have an innate mechanism for correction in times of physical and emotional stress. The spine (the so-called central computer chip) controls all functions of the body, with the nerves starting from the head and continuing all the way into the tail. That's why my tail reacts immediately to our mood by standing upright (happy, secure), swishing back and forth (curious or slightly insecure), or thumping loudly (extremely annoyed). If there is interference in that essential flow of information, a human or feline will get ill.
Inspired by one of her mentors, whose specialty involves re-aligning the spines of race horses, Mom thought, "If I can help humans every day with my treatment, why not try it on Harry?"
Thankfully it worked, and within a half a day, I returned to my active healthy self, forgoing drugs and the trauma of an office visit. It doesn't work every time, and Mom respects and cooperates with conventional medicine, but I prefer the holistic approach.
[The Chiropractor/Human taking dictation adds: Once a client brought his hyperactive dog to the office, and after one session the dog was so much better behaved, a different animal. I have often treated pets with Chiropractic, they respond well. Last year, when Harry sprained his hip from a mis-timed jump and had to be immobile for a week, Chiropractic treatment helped speed his recovery.]
Although I have not officially graduated from Chiropractic school, I consider myself somewhat of an expert. I have extensively observed my Human taking care of clients. Starting when I was one month old, I would sit on the patients' hands to keep them warm, and even now, I can tell when a visitor is having a bad day and needs PT (Purr Therapy).
Like any new parent, the first time I had a cold, my mother called the veterinarian, and asked how to resolve this health issue. I was sneezing and lethargic, and my eyes were gunky and gross. Our doctor prescribes to a holistic approach to feline care, and told Mom to wait a few days, and clean out my eyes on a regular basis; he did not immediately believe that we should leap to the drug route. The prognosis was two or three days of suffering, "Even cats can get a cold," the doctor said.
Chiropractic, based upon a holistic neurological view of the body, believes that the brain and central nervous system have an innate mechanism for correction in times of physical and emotional stress. The spine (the so-called central computer chip) controls all functions of the body, with the nerves starting from the head and continuing all the way into the tail. That's why my tail reacts immediately to our mood by standing upright (happy, secure), swishing back and forth (curious or slightly insecure), or thumping loudly (extremely annoyed). If there is interference in that essential flow of information, a human or feline will get ill.
Inspired by one of her mentors, whose specialty involves re-aligning the spines of race horses, Mom thought, "If I can help humans every day with my treatment, why not try it on Harry?"
Thankfully it worked, and within a half a day, I returned to my active healthy self, forgoing drugs and the trauma of an office visit. It doesn't work every time, and Mom respects and cooperates with conventional medicine, but I prefer the holistic approach.
[The Chiropractor/Human taking dictation adds: Once a client brought his hyperactive dog to the office, and after one session the dog was so much better behaved, a different animal. I have often treated pets with Chiropractic, they respond well. Last year, when Harry sprained his hip from a mis-timed jump and had to be immobile for a week, Chiropractic treatment helped speed his recovery.]
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
I Didn't Know that Cats are Gay
Sarel needed to go to the vet yesterday, for his annual check up and vaccinations.* The day did not begin well, with heavy grey rain clouds threatening from the early morning; I could only imagine myself walking through the streets of Jerusalem with a cat cage and a six and a half kilo cat, both of us soaking wet. I was also nervous because they had recently built a new road near the veterinary office, and I was unsure if there would be parking or direct access.
I had left the carrying-cage out in the salon for an entire day, so it would sit in the house and he could explore it, and ultimately find its presence non-threatening. My plan only partially worked, a five minute battle ensued to get Sarel into the cage when the time came to leave the house. On the way to the doctor's visit, he complained loudly, but in a pacifist Gandhi-like manner.
When we arrived, the vet and his assistants gave me a wary smile. Turns out they had thought that Harry (Sarel's extremely difficult and scary older brother) was meant to have his appointment today, and according to Dr. Tzvi, they spent several hours preparing themselves for the trauma. When I heard this confession, I could only laugh, and then tried to defend Harry, saying that at home he is gentle and affectionate; he has been brought up with love since he was a kitten, and has never lived on the street. Apparently some cats are "quite simply, little bastards." (Dr. Tzvi's words, not mine.)
Sarel sat quietly cowering and in contrast to his brother, allowed the vet to perform all the tests, including picking him up high in the air, checking his rather large vampire teeth, and giving him the vaccine. You could feel the tension easing all over the office, there would be no antiseptic or stitches for humans today.
I told Dr. Tzvi and his assistant an amazing story that attests to the kindness of heart of Sarel, and in my opinion, the ability of all creatures to overcome their basic programming. I explained that Sarel himself had been a rescue cat, and had lived on the street for close to a year before I found him (run over by a car) and adopted him. In the last year, Sarel adopted a beautiful cream colored kitten, Gingi, who is now a fully grown, healthy street cat, part of our extended family. Gingi allows me to pet him, and likes to spend some quality time with me before he eats the food I have brought him.
Sarel (male cat, neutered) adopted Gingi (male cat, large assets). Gingi has recently adopted a long hair gray and white kitten whom I have called Rocky, because his/her nose looks like it was in one too many brawls. Gingi has given Rocky a home with him, and every morning makes sure that everyone is fed together. The obvious nurturing comes from an unknown place in the male feline psyche, I cannot imagine a territorial animal who thrives on survival instincts displaying this kind of generosity, and yet, it happens every day before my eyes.
My theory supposes that character traits can be learned, and that a cycle of giving and generosity will be passed on through the next generations of street cats in my area. Their behaviour is an inspiration to me, it means that humans can undo negative patterns and learn new tricks. The assistant exclaimed, "Wow, a phenomenon of gay cats!" (Idiot!) Dr. Tzvi appreciated the uniqueness of the situation, and suggested that I had taught them the act of charity.
As a bonus, Sarel got a new bright red collar, he will be the envy on all his friends.
In the drive home, my back hurting from carrying a cat and his cage up the hills of Jerusalem to my parking space, I tried to console Sarel, who was still shaking with fear. I sang to him, I recited the poem Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll, most of which I know by heart: " O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled in his joy." In fact I noticed that Sarel was not chorteling, but rather whimpering and retreating.
No one likes going to the doctor. So I gave him a large tablespoon of tuna when we got home. And I took a nice shot of single malt whiskey.
*Note: While I object to many of the vaccines and shots given to humans, my stand changes vis a vis felines. They play outside in Lord knows what, they get into fights over territory, and in that case, better safe than sorry.
I had left the carrying-cage out in the salon for an entire day, so it would sit in the house and he could explore it, and ultimately find its presence non-threatening. My plan only partially worked, a five minute battle ensued to get Sarel into the cage when the time came to leave the house. On the way to the doctor's visit, he complained loudly, but in a pacifist Gandhi-like manner.
When we arrived, the vet and his assistants gave me a wary smile. Turns out they had thought that Harry (Sarel's extremely difficult and scary older brother) was meant to have his appointment today, and according to Dr. Tzvi, they spent several hours preparing themselves for the trauma. When I heard this confession, I could only laugh, and then tried to defend Harry, saying that at home he is gentle and affectionate; he has been brought up with love since he was a kitten, and has never lived on the street. Apparently some cats are "quite simply, little bastards." (Dr. Tzvi's words, not mine.)
Sarel sat quietly cowering and in contrast to his brother, allowed the vet to perform all the tests, including picking him up high in the air, checking his rather large vampire teeth, and giving him the vaccine. You could feel the tension easing all over the office, there would be no antiseptic or stitches for humans today.
I told Dr. Tzvi and his assistant an amazing story that attests to the kindness of heart of Sarel, and in my opinion, the ability of all creatures to overcome their basic programming. I explained that Sarel himself had been a rescue cat, and had lived on the street for close to a year before I found him (run over by a car) and adopted him. In the last year, Sarel adopted a beautiful cream colored kitten, Gingi, who is now a fully grown, healthy street cat, part of our extended family. Gingi allows me to pet him, and likes to spend some quality time with me before he eats the food I have brought him.
Sarel (male cat, neutered) adopted Gingi (male cat, large assets). Gingi has recently adopted a long hair gray and white kitten whom I have called Rocky, because his/her nose looks like it was in one too many brawls. Gingi has given Rocky a home with him, and every morning makes sure that everyone is fed together. The obvious nurturing comes from an unknown place in the male feline psyche, I cannot imagine a territorial animal who thrives on survival instincts displaying this kind of generosity, and yet, it happens every day before my eyes.
My theory supposes that character traits can be learned, and that a cycle of giving and generosity will be passed on through the next generations of street cats in my area. Their behaviour is an inspiration to me, it means that humans can undo negative patterns and learn new tricks. The assistant exclaimed, "Wow, a phenomenon of gay cats!" (Idiot!) Dr. Tzvi appreciated the uniqueness of the situation, and suggested that I had taught them the act of charity.
As a bonus, Sarel got a new bright red collar, he will be the envy on all his friends.
In the drive home, my back hurting from carrying a cat and his cage up the hills of Jerusalem to my parking space, I tried to console Sarel, who was still shaking with fear. I sang to him, I recited the poem Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll, most of which I know by heart: " O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled in his joy." In fact I noticed that Sarel was not chorteling, but rather whimpering and retreating.
No one likes going to the doctor. So I gave him a large tablespoon of tuna when we got home. And I took a nice shot of single malt whiskey.
*Note: While I object to many of the vaccines and shots given to humans, my stand changes vis a vis felines. They play outside in Lord knows what, they get into fights over territory, and in that case, better safe than sorry.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
And the Award for...
the World's Worst Patient is: Me! (I'd like to thank my immune system for breaking down...)
Last Thursday I felt a small irritation in my throat, and assumed it was allergies, as the transition season has arrived and I expect to suffer a little. The next day I woke up and I was congested and could not breath, and every time I blew my nose my sinuses made this bizarre creaking sound. I also became unusually clumsy, dropping things, and cutting my finger when I was cooking, and so decided that i might even be ill, above and beyond the dust in the air and the pollen count.
With the combination of good genes and Chiropractic care, I get ill very infrequently, and it can take several days before I listen to my body and rest. Always grateful when people offer to assist, I cannot help but wonder why, since I spend the entire time groaning and making my caretaker's life miserable. (I suppose it is a good thing that I am single and alone, I generally end up complaining to myself.)
I start with homeopathic remedies, and when that does not control the symptoms, I switch to the conventional fare of syrups and medicines. I have officially announced and acknowledged that I am ill when I agree to drink tea. An arm must be falling off for me to arrange a visit to the GP.
A doctor is not supposed to be ill, and sometimes my clients will seen surprised if I sneeze or blow my nose; it makes me human just like them, and it shatters the illusion that those of us in the profession of servicing human beings somehow live above the rules of nature. I see this realization as a positive step toward resetting the professional and personal boundaries in the office.
My eldest cat, Harry, has a similar love/hate relationship with his veterinarian. He will allow himself to be placed in the carrier cage, and does not complain in the car on the way to the vet's office. At the initial stages of the treatment, he submits his body to examination. But when he randomly decides that he has sufficiently amused us humans with his obedience, the doctor or his assistant may very well lose a finger or two. I am convinced that Harry is "red flagged" in their computer as a small dangerous tiger, and that they would love to automatically drug him at the beginning of the visit, if only to preserve their limbs. When we leave the office, Harry wears a Cheshire Cat grin on his face, knowing he has taken control of the situation, and that we got kicked out as quickly as possible.
Like feline, like owner.
I canceled my Pilates class today at the last minute because I remembered from my medical training (aha!) that when a person ill, the body needs to rest, and not use up its resources with rigorous exercise. I will take a shower instead, change out of the pajamas I have been living in for the last 48 hours, and prepare myself for treating patients later today, because unfortunately, my little head cold cannot get in the way of my work.
I will try not to sneeze on anyone.
Last Thursday I felt a small irritation in my throat, and assumed it was allergies, as the transition season has arrived and I expect to suffer a little. The next day I woke up and I was congested and could not breath, and every time I blew my nose my sinuses made this bizarre creaking sound. I also became unusually clumsy, dropping things, and cutting my finger when I was cooking, and so decided that i might even be ill, above and beyond the dust in the air and the pollen count.
With the combination of good genes and Chiropractic care, I get ill very infrequently, and it can take several days before I listen to my body and rest. Always grateful when people offer to assist, I cannot help but wonder why, since I spend the entire time groaning and making my caretaker's life miserable. (I suppose it is a good thing that I am single and alone, I generally end up complaining to myself.)
I start with homeopathic remedies, and when that does not control the symptoms, I switch to the conventional fare of syrups and medicines. I have officially announced and acknowledged that I am ill when I agree to drink tea. An arm must be falling off for me to arrange a visit to the GP.
A doctor is not supposed to be ill, and sometimes my clients will seen surprised if I sneeze or blow my nose; it makes me human just like them, and it shatters the illusion that those of us in the profession of servicing human beings somehow live above the rules of nature. I see this realization as a positive step toward resetting the professional and personal boundaries in the office.
My eldest cat, Harry, has a similar love/hate relationship with his veterinarian. He will allow himself to be placed in the carrier cage, and does not complain in the car on the way to the vet's office. At the initial stages of the treatment, he submits his body to examination. But when he randomly decides that he has sufficiently amused us humans with his obedience, the doctor or his assistant may very well lose a finger or two. I am convinced that Harry is "red flagged" in their computer as a small dangerous tiger, and that they would love to automatically drug him at the beginning of the visit, if only to preserve their limbs. When we leave the office, Harry wears a Cheshire Cat grin on his face, knowing he has taken control of the situation, and that we got kicked out as quickly as possible.
Like feline, like owner.
I canceled my Pilates class today at the last minute because I remembered from my medical training (aha!) that when a person ill, the body needs to rest, and not use up its resources with rigorous exercise. I will take a shower instead, change out of the pajamas I have been living in for the last 48 hours, and prepare myself for treating patients later today, because unfortunately, my little head cold cannot get in the way of my work.
I will try not to sneeze on anyone.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Cable Crash
Yesterday, for several hours, my cable service crashed. For several hours I had no television, nor did I have an Internet connection. No email, no web surfing or downloading, no mind-numbing TV programs.
What is a technology addicted 21rst Century human to do?
This human sat on her porch and ate dinner while the stars came out. And then she read a good book with a purring feline on her lap.
Could be worse, and it wouldn't be such a bad thing if it happened every once in a while.
What is a technology addicted 21rst Century human to do?
This human sat on her porch and ate dinner while the stars came out. And then she read a good book with a purring feline on her lap.
Could be worse, and it wouldn't be such a bad thing if it happened every once in a while.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Daily Routines
When I run out of new books to read, which happens frequently in my house, I return to several favorites, and have recently re-read The Little Prince by Antione De Saint-Expupery (known as Saint - Ex to his friends). Every time I read this book, I notice another line, another description that speaks to me in a way that I had not noticed the last 100 times I read the book. This particular version of the book is special to me as well, it was once part of my grandmother's library and she had marked off various passages that spoke to her; when I read this and come across her notation, I feel that she is with me in the room.
Around page 39, Saint-Ex describes the Little Prince's daily routine on his small planet:
"He carefully swept his active volcanoes. He possessed two active volcanoes and they were very convenient for heating his breakfast in the morning. He also had a volcano which was extinct. But as he pointed out: 'You never know!' So he also cleaned out the extinct volcano...The little prince tore up...the last little baobab shoots...and watered the flower, and then prepared to place her under her glass dome."
The book itself presents a parable of love and attachments, and the importance of appreciating what and who you have in your life. If I were to document my standard morning, it would go something like this:
"She woke up before her alarm, because there was a 14 pound cat sitting and purring on her chest. All attempts to read the morning paper were in vain. She gave her cats T-U-N-A and then fed the street cats outside, who waited not so patiently for their breakfast. Then the water in the bowls needed to be changed, and the excess water was given to the little plant on the porch. The computer, turned on, was checked for email and spam, and then she set up the files for her office that day, before taking a superficial shower. The more substantial shower was to be taken after the one kilometer swim."
We humans revel in our routine, the safety of knowing that certain things must be done, that certain actions recur consistently day after day. I experience a certain peace in waking up in my own bed and running through my morning without thought; and yet, there should be days where responsibility can be chucked out the window, where the world does not collapse into chaos if you switch things around a little, ignore a few items on the list.
It seems I must acquire that skill set, although at the end of The Little Prince, he abandons his quest in the desert and returns to his flower, to his planet and to his beloved chores.
Perhaps he took his cue from TS Eliot, who wrote:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And know the place for the first time.
Around page 39, Saint-Ex describes the Little Prince's daily routine on his small planet:
"He carefully swept his active volcanoes. He possessed two active volcanoes and they were very convenient for heating his breakfast in the morning. He also had a volcano which was extinct. But as he pointed out: 'You never know!' So he also cleaned out the extinct volcano...The little prince tore up...the last little baobab shoots...and watered the flower, and then prepared to place her under her glass dome."
The book itself presents a parable of love and attachments, and the importance of appreciating what and who you have in your life. If I were to document my standard morning, it would go something like this:
"She woke up before her alarm, because there was a 14 pound cat sitting and purring on her chest. All attempts to read the morning paper were in vain. She gave her cats T-U-N-A and then fed the street cats outside, who waited not so patiently for their breakfast. Then the water in the bowls needed to be changed, and the excess water was given to the little plant on the porch. The computer, turned on, was checked for email and spam, and then she set up the files for her office that day, before taking a superficial shower. The more substantial shower was to be taken after the one kilometer swim."
We humans revel in our routine, the safety of knowing that certain things must be done, that certain actions recur consistently day after day. I experience a certain peace in waking up in my own bed and running through my morning without thought; and yet, there should be days where responsibility can be chucked out the window, where the world does not collapse into chaos if you switch things around a little, ignore a few items on the list.
It seems I must acquire that skill set, although at the end of The Little Prince, he abandons his quest in the desert and returns to his flower, to his planet and to his beloved chores.
Perhaps he took his cue from TS Eliot, who wrote:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And know the place for the first time.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Positive Parenting
I was sitting on my porch today, when one of my cats (Sarel "Runs Like Rabbit") jumped down into the garden. A few minutes later, I saw him eating something, along with a little girl and her mother standing by and watching quietly. Assuming that not everyone understands a cat's nutritional needs, I asked the little girl what she had fed him, and she answered, "Leftover chicken." Proteins are fine for cats, though they prefer it raw and I can't vouch for the recipe her mother had used; I thanked her on behalf of my cat, who was busy scarfing down the unexpected treat.
The little girl, a confident and friendly five or six year old, seeing that I was officially owned by Sarel, explained that she had seen him touring the neighborhood, and was wondering why he didn't have a tail like other cats. I told her the story of how I found him (run over), how he had surgery and not only lived through it, but has thrived significantly since. She then said that she liked feeding cats on the street, she liked sharing their family's food. The whole time, her mother stood by, observing our conversation, and I can only assume that it was her mother who packed the bag of leftovers for her daughter to distribute.
I have witnessed other occasions, most specifically the children of the Ultra Orthodox set, shouting, throwing rocks and kicking street cats, or dogs whose owners have let them out for some fresh air. Apparently the theory states that cats and other common household pets are not "Kosher" (Edible for religious Jews) and therefore cannot be owned, and nor should they be treated with any respect as a living being. Because G-d created all beings, but those that do not stand on two legs and can understand the Torah, and are worthy of being consumed, deserve less.
When I go out to feed the street cats in my area, I often pass an older Israeli man, who thanks me for showing these animals kindness, and will bless me and say, "A person who treats animals with love has love in their heart for all beings." Those who abuse animals most probably don't treat their human counterparts much better.
I can only hope that when I have children, they turn out like this sweet, loving girl I met today, in the way that she treats both human and feline; her parents have obviously given her a proper education, and I commend them for it.
The little girl, a confident and friendly five or six year old, seeing that I was officially owned by Sarel, explained that she had seen him touring the neighborhood, and was wondering why he didn't have a tail like other cats. I told her the story of how I found him (run over), how he had surgery and not only lived through it, but has thrived significantly since. She then said that she liked feeding cats on the street, she liked sharing their family's food. The whole time, her mother stood by, observing our conversation, and I can only assume that it was her mother who packed the bag of leftovers for her daughter to distribute.
I have witnessed other occasions, most specifically the children of the Ultra Orthodox set, shouting, throwing rocks and kicking street cats, or dogs whose owners have let them out for some fresh air. Apparently the theory states that cats and other common household pets are not "Kosher" (Edible for religious Jews) and therefore cannot be owned, and nor should they be treated with any respect as a living being. Because G-d created all beings, but those that do not stand on two legs and can understand the Torah, and are worthy of being consumed, deserve less.
When I go out to feed the street cats in my area, I often pass an older Israeli man, who thanks me for showing these animals kindness, and will bless me and say, "A person who treats animals with love has love in their heart for all beings." Those who abuse animals most probably don't treat their human counterparts much better.
I can only hope that when I have children, they turn out like this sweet, loving girl I met today, in the way that she treats both human and feline; her parents have obviously given her a proper education, and I commend them for it.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Wadi Rum (Day Two)
A Story from the Koran: Muhamed ascended to chat with G-d, to ask the Ultimate Almighty Being how the new religion of Islam should be structured. They spoke, and on the way down, Muhamed bumped into the other prophets, Moses, Jesus and Father Abraham. This auspicious group asked Muhamed, "Nu, so what does your new religion have in store for its people?" Muhamed answered, "They must pray 50 times a day."
The other prophets immediately told Muhamed to return and negotiate that stipulation, that no normal human would stick with that kind of demand, that they would get nothing done. And so Muhamed returned with the more reasonable number of five times a day.
(Of course, Muhamed could have mentioned in the Koran that the Muezzin should not start at 4:30 in the morning in a five star hotel called the Taybet Zemen, where certain non Muslim guest are trying to sleep...)
Other things I learned from Ali2 about the Koran and Muhamed:
1. A woman experiencing her "Monthly Secret" [whispered the way people talk about cancer] does not do Ramadan, does not pray, cannot even touch a copy of the Koran. Nor do most woman in most situations, they pretty much get a free pass from the fasting. A man can buy Ramadan points by giving charity to poor people, or by organizing a prayer group.
2. Muslims do not use toilet paper, they must wash out their bodies on the inside with water every time, and they must wash their hands a special way afterwards. They also must shower immediately after having sex.
3. They can have up to four wives, but must treat each wife with "fairness." Which means that a husband must juggle his household with "White Lies." (Ali2's words, not mine) and give all his wives the same gifts.
4. The Koran has answers to every problem that has occurred and that will occur. The text covers physics and space and genetics, and solved the baby switching problem in the US during the Reagan presidencies.
5. Gosh Darnit, why haven't we all converted to Islam? It's such a terrific religion and it respects everyone!
All issues of Ali2's [another guide, also named Ali] proselytising aside, I spent a wonderful day in the Wadi Rum Desert Basin. The color of the sand, the crystal clear blue of the sky, the overwhelming natural beauty of the rock formations, ancient stone carving from the Nabatean and Stone age. We saw it, we walked it, we jeeped it, we built a fire in a cave and had a simple Middle Eastern lunch. When we ran out of specific places to see along the ancient Spice Route, we went on a dune buggy adventure in his 4 x 4, a mini roller coaster ride.
Ali2 also shared ancient Bedouin desert cures and survival skills. We had many discussions throughout the day, including topics of Middle East politics, which I elicited on purpose. He slipped once and called my homeland "Palestine," but otherwise remained quite respectful and open to the idea of peace. He doesn't like Hezbollah any more than I do, they are in his words, "animals."
My guide is quite an interesting man: wife(teacher), five children aged 18-3 years old, degree in Chemistry, served in the UN army in war torn Yugoslavia for a year. The man barely sipped water the entire day in the heat of the desert, instead at every brief stop he lit up a cigarette. Ali said he is planning on using the period of Ramada to quit for good. At least he did not smoke at all near me or in the jeep, though he only used the AC at the end of the day trip, arghh. We did some mounting climbing, me in my hiking sneakers and him in flip-flops, he is definitely part mountain goat.
Funny story, we were at a location called the bridge, a huge natural archway carved out of the stone by water during the flood season, and one of Ali's friends came over to say hello. Ali said (in Arabic) that I was a doctor, and this man shows me his ankle, full of burns. Ali explained to me that this man sprained his ankle, and the Bedouin way of treating sprains and fractures is to rub a special concoction of olive oil on the area, and then burn it. I told Ali to explain to his friend that not only am I a doctor who specializes in this area, but that I myself experienced a bad sprain a month ago, and that he should have done rehab and ultra sound instead. I end up giving a medical consult to a random Arab in the middle of the Wadi.
Moral of the Story: You can't escape your destiny, not in a foreign country where you don't speak the language, even on vacation.
Another Moral of the Story: Can I now write off this Petra trip as a Chiropractic business expense?
Photos cannot capture the sandstorms I witnessed on this trip. The phenomenon seem to appear out of nowhere and to be moved and motivated by nothing visible, except perhaps a will and magic of their own. On the drive to Acquba at the end of the day, a sandstorm literally crossed the highway, writhing in various smoky forms, but with purpose. I commented to Ali that it reminds me of the story of the genie, emerging from its bottle. Which started a whole new discussion about the Koran's view of angels, genies, spirits and the like. Each nation has good genies and bad genies, that speak the mother tongue of their chosen country. And a genie will only hurt you if you hurt them, kind of like killer sharks. Good to know, next time you throw a stone into the air, or a piece of garbage on the ground, you could be pissing off a genie.
Never mind Ali2, the point is that all aspects of nature have a soul of their own, and I absolutely learned and experienced proof of that in the past two days.
The return to Acquba and the border crossing were easy and uneventful; I have to compliment the tour company, I had an escort from beginning to end, right back to the door of the hotel in Eilat where I slept overnight. When I arrived at the hotel, a small kitten immediately gravitated toward me, sat on my (sweaty) lap, and purred itself to sleep; yet more reinforcement that I cannot truly escape my identity and destiny.
Final thought question: Why does Ali2 - Arab parents, born and bred in Jordan - speak English with an Irish brogue? And why can neither Ali properly pronounce the word, "investment"?
(End of Part II)
The other prophets immediately told Muhamed to return and negotiate that stipulation, that no normal human would stick with that kind of demand, that they would get nothing done. And so Muhamed returned with the more reasonable number of five times a day.
(Of course, Muhamed could have mentioned in the Koran that the Muezzin should not start at 4:30 in the morning in a five star hotel called the Taybet Zemen, where certain non Muslim guest are trying to sleep...)
Other things I learned from Ali2 about the Koran and Muhamed:
1. A woman experiencing her "Monthly Secret" [whispered the way people talk about cancer] does not do Ramadan, does not pray, cannot even touch a copy of the Koran. Nor do most woman in most situations, they pretty much get a free pass from the fasting. A man can buy Ramadan points by giving charity to poor people, or by organizing a prayer group.
2. Muslims do not use toilet paper, they must wash out their bodies on the inside with water every time, and they must wash their hands a special way afterwards. They also must shower immediately after having sex.
3. They can have up to four wives, but must treat each wife with "fairness." Which means that a husband must juggle his household with "White Lies." (Ali2's words, not mine) and give all his wives the same gifts.
4. The Koran has answers to every problem that has occurred and that will occur. The text covers physics and space and genetics, and solved the baby switching problem in the US during the Reagan presidencies.
5. Gosh Darnit, why haven't we all converted to Islam? It's such a terrific religion and it respects everyone!
All issues of Ali2's [another guide, also named Ali] proselytising aside, I spent a wonderful day in the Wadi Rum Desert Basin. The color of the sand, the crystal clear blue of the sky, the overwhelming natural beauty of the rock formations, ancient stone carving from the Nabatean and Stone age. We saw it, we walked it, we jeeped it, we built a fire in a cave and had a simple Middle Eastern lunch. When we ran out of specific places to see along the ancient Spice Route, we went on a dune buggy adventure in his 4 x 4, a mini roller coaster ride.
Ali2 also shared ancient Bedouin desert cures and survival skills. We had many discussions throughout the day, including topics of Middle East politics, which I elicited on purpose. He slipped once and called my homeland "Palestine," but otherwise remained quite respectful and open to the idea of peace. He doesn't like Hezbollah any more than I do, they are in his words, "animals."
My guide is quite an interesting man: wife(teacher), five children aged 18-3 years old, degree in Chemistry, served in the UN army in war torn Yugoslavia for a year. The man barely sipped water the entire day in the heat of the desert, instead at every brief stop he lit up a cigarette. Ali said he is planning on using the period of Ramada to quit for good. At least he did not smoke at all near me or in the jeep, though he only used the AC at the end of the day trip, arghh. We did some mounting climbing, me in my hiking sneakers and him in flip-flops, he is definitely part mountain goat.
Funny story, we were at a location called the bridge, a huge natural archway carved out of the stone by water during the flood season, and one of Ali's friends came over to say hello. Ali said (in Arabic) that I was a doctor, and this man shows me his ankle, full of burns. Ali explained to me that this man sprained his ankle, and the Bedouin way of treating sprains and fractures is to rub a special concoction of olive oil on the area, and then burn it. I told Ali to explain to his friend that not only am I a doctor who specializes in this area, but that I myself experienced a bad sprain a month ago, and that he should have done rehab and ultra sound instead. I end up giving a medical consult to a random Arab in the middle of the Wadi.
Moral of the Story: You can't escape your destiny, not in a foreign country where you don't speak the language, even on vacation.
Another Moral of the Story: Can I now write off this Petra trip as a Chiropractic business expense?
Photos cannot capture the sandstorms I witnessed on this trip. The phenomenon seem to appear out of nowhere and to be moved and motivated by nothing visible, except perhaps a will and magic of their own. On the drive to Acquba at the end of the day, a sandstorm literally crossed the highway, writhing in various smoky forms, but with purpose. I commented to Ali that it reminds me of the story of the genie, emerging from its bottle. Which started a whole new discussion about the Koran's view of angels, genies, spirits and the like. Each nation has good genies and bad genies, that speak the mother tongue of their chosen country. And a genie will only hurt you if you hurt them, kind of like killer sharks. Good to know, next time you throw a stone into the air, or a piece of garbage on the ground, you could be pissing off a genie.
Never mind Ali2, the point is that all aspects of nature have a soul of their own, and I absolutely learned and experienced proof of that in the past two days.
The return to Acquba and the border crossing were easy and uneventful; I have to compliment the tour company, I had an escort from beginning to end, right back to the door of the hotel in Eilat where I slept overnight. When I arrived at the hotel, a small kitten immediately gravitated toward me, sat on my (sweaty) lap, and purred itself to sleep; yet more reinforcement that I cannot truly escape my identity and destiny.
Final thought question: Why does Ali2 - Arab parents, born and bred in Jordan - speak English with an Irish brogue? And why can neither Ali properly pronounce the word, "investment"?
(End of Part II)
Monday, August 13, 2007
Ode to Felines
I come to praise the domesticated cat, not to throw a cup of water over his head. (Shakespeare)
If you have the opportunity to put your ear to the stomach of a purring cat, I highly recommend that you do so. That rumbling, content sound is the energy of the Universe, at peace.
I have had cats in the house since childhood - Oreo and Harold, of blessed memory, and Kitty, who disappeared to parts unknown with her boyfriend - and when I imagined my life as a "grown-up," there was never a question that felines would comprise a central part of that picture. A bit over five years ago, my friend Nili took in an intelligent, verbal, pregnant cat, who then gave birth to five healthy kittens; Nili was willing to keep the mother, but could not keep the litter, and I inherited the alpha male of her kittens, whom I named Harry after my previous cat.
(I am a good Ashkenazi Jew, naming children after lost and beloved relatives. My grandmother named the orginal animal Harold after a human professor and friend at Brown University.)
Harry, a tiger striped British Tabby with piercing green eyes, started out as a house cat, until he accidentally fell off the balcony from the third floor and discovered the garden and an entire territory over which he could rule. But I am his human mother since the age of one month, I donned the "Gloves of Malice" to teach him to fight; he still "milks" me as a massage, grooms himself while sitting next to me, speaks to me on a regular basis and sometimes gets so happy to see me, he drools. Those who dislike cats, claiming that they are a selfish and unfriendly bunch, have not been owned by them, and have not felt the unconditional love and sense of purpose that flows generously and continuously.
While Harry resents the home office, because it takes away attention that he should be receiving, he will often come into the treatment room and warm a patient's stomach, because he instinctively feels that cat therapy will only enhance the results for this particular Chiropractic client.
Before Harry had his small surgery, he had a brief window to flex his fatherhood muscles and helped conceive a kitten who looks eerily like him, and shares the same birthmark on the inside of his mouth. This kitten lived on the street for almost a year, and I found him one evening, run over by a car, his tail literally flattened (like in the cartoons) and his hip broken. Having no intention other than to save him - or have the vet put him out of his misery - I rushed him to an emergency veterinary clinic, where he received orthopaedic surgery, and had his tail removed. Two weeks later, after coaxing from the vet ("Who else will take in a cat with no tail?"), Sarel joined the family.
Sarel has never gotten over the insecurity of living on the street, and so he has destroyed several pieces of quality furniture, and must sample any food being eaten or prepared. He camps out in my suitcase when I pull it out to pack -to prevent me from leaving, of course - and gets asthma when he nervous and feeling confined. Just the rustling of a plastic bag sends him into a panic attack. Because he lived on the street, he is the more friendly of the two, and has brought the complication of street cats into my life: Sarel adopted a gold-eyed ginger tiger striped street kitten from birth, now a fully grown cat. While this cat is afraid of me, he eagerly accepts food from me and has begun to come closer to me when I leave the house, much like the taming of the fox in The Little Prince. This cat has also found a way to sneak into the house at night and eat their higher quality food, and I have been forced to find creative solutions to keep him out.
Before you call me a Crazy Cat Lady, or tell me that it is my fault if I have indeed fed cats on the street, allow me to explain why I have chosen to regularly leave piles of street cat food where they congregate: after Hurricane Katarina, and after giving money to agencies to help the human victims, I still felt that I could not connect or relate to the tragedy on an individual level. Then I passed by a soaked, bedraggled, and starving cat, and decided that my continuing charity would be distributing street cat food to the Jerusalem feline population, and performing an occasional cat rescue, knowing that I make a difference in their existence on a daily basis.
I do not expect a thank you card from these animals, watching them dig into the food satisfies and gladdens me in ways that I did not think possible. On an otherwise uneventful birthday last year, one of the cats - I had fed her regularly and she disappeared after she gave birth to her litter- presented her almost independent kittens to me, lining them up like the Von Trapp children in The Sound of Music. All five kittens stood politely in a row, while she meowed the equivalent of "this is the Human who will feed you and will take care of you now." The scene moved me to tears.
A cat lover will tell you that animals have a clear sense of the human who will hurt them, and the human who is sympathetic to the cause, an honorary feline. I seem to be broadcasting that billboard, because anywhere I go, in any city in Israel or in the United States, an injured cat will ask me for help, a hungry cat will ask me for food, and a bored cat will ask me for some petting and attention. I take pride in the knowledge that the Universe has blessed me like this, and will continue to enjoy this demi-cat designation.
Don't worry Mom, I do not see pets as a substitute for children and family, and I hope that some day, when I have my own human children, my cats will protect them as their own, as part of the family.
[Check out the "Cats, about Cats, People and Everything in Between" Exhibit at the Eretz Israel Museum in Tel Aviv, through December 31, 2007.]
If you have the opportunity to put your ear to the stomach of a purring cat, I highly recommend that you do so. That rumbling, content sound is the energy of the Universe, at peace.
I have had cats in the house since childhood - Oreo and Harold, of blessed memory, and Kitty, who disappeared to parts unknown with her boyfriend - and when I imagined my life as a "grown-up," there was never a question that felines would comprise a central part of that picture. A bit over five years ago, my friend Nili took in an intelligent, verbal, pregnant cat, who then gave birth to five healthy kittens; Nili was willing to keep the mother, but could not keep the litter, and I inherited the alpha male of her kittens, whom I named Harry after my previous cat.
(I am a good Ashkenazi Jew, naming children after lost and beloved relatives. My grandmother named the orginal animal Harold after a human professor and friend at Brown University.)
Harry, a tiger striped British Tabby with piercing green eyes, started out as a house cat, until he accidentally fell off the balcony from the third floor and discovered the garden and an entire territory over which he could rule. But I am his human mother since the age of one month, I donned the "Gloves of Malice" to teach him to fight; he still "milks" me as a massage, grooms himself while sitting next to me, speaks to me on a regular basis and sometimes gets so happy to see me, he drools. Those who dislike cats, claiming that they are a selfish and unfriendly bunch, have not been owned by them, and have not felt the unconditional love and sense of purpose that flows generously and continuously.
While Harry resents the home office, because it takes away attention that he should be receiving, he will often come into the treatment room and warm a patient's stomach, because he instinctively feels that cat therapy will only enhance the results for this particular Chiropractic client.
Before Harry had his small surgery, he had a brief window to flex his fatherhood muscles and helped conceive a kitten who looks eerily like him, and shares the same birthmark on the inside of his mouth. This kitten lived on the street for almost a year, and I found him one evening, run over by a car, his tail literally flattened (like in the cartoons) and his hip broken. Having no intention other than to save him - or have the vet put him out of his misery - I rushed him to an emergency veterinary clinic, where he received orthopaedic surgery, and had his tail removed. Two weeks later, after coaxing from the vet ("Who else will take in a cat with no tail?"), Sarel joined the family.
Sarel has never gotten over the insecurity of living on the street, and so he has destroyed several pieces of quality furniture, and must sample any food being eaten or prepared. He camps out in my suitcase when I pull it out to pack -to prevent me from leaving, of course - and gets asthma when he nervous and feeling confined. Just the rustling of a plastic bag sends him into a panic attack. Because he lived on the street, he is the more friendly of the two, and has brought the complication of street cats into my life: Sarel adopted a gold-eyed ginger tiger striped street kitten from birth, now a fully grown cat. While this cat is afraid of me, he eagerly accepts food from me and has begun to come closer to me when I leave the house, much like the taming of the fox in The Little Prince. This cat has also found a way to sneak into the house at night and eat their higher quality food, and I have been forced to find creative solutions to keep him out.
Before you call me a Crazy Cat Lady, or tell me that it is my fault if I have indeed fed cats on the street, allow me to explain why I have chosen to regularly leave piles of street cat food where they congregate: after Hurricane Katarina, and after giving money to agencies to help the human victims, I still felt that I could not connect or relate to the tragedy on an individual level. Then I passed by a soaked, bedraggled, and starving cat, and decided that my continuing charity would be distributing street cat food to the Jerusalem feline population, and performing an occasional cat rescue, knowing that I make a difference in their existence on a daily basis.
I do not expect a thank you card from these animals, watching them dig into the food satisfies and gladdens me in ways that I did not think possible. On an otherwise uneventful birthday last year, one of the cats - I had fed her regularly and she disappeared after she gave birth to her litter- presented her almost independent kittens to me, lining them up like the Von Trapp children in The Sound of Music. All five kittens stood politely in a row, while she meowed the equivalent of "this is the Human who will feed you and will take care of you now." The scene moved me to tears.
A cat lover will tell you that animals have a clear sense of the human who will hurt them, and the human who is sympathetic to the cause, an honorary feline. I seem to be broadcasting that billboard, because anywhere I go, in any city in Israel or in the United States, an injured cat will ask me for help, a hungry cat will ask me for food, and a bored cat will ask me for some petting and attention. I take pride in the knowledge that the Universe has blessed me like this, and will continue to enjoy this demi-cat designation.
Don't worry Mom, I do not see pets as a substitute for children and family, and I hope that some day, when I have my own human children, my cats will protect them as their own, as part of the family.
[Check out the "Cats, about Cats, People and Everything in Between" Exhibit at the Eretz Israel Museum in Tel Aviv, through December 31, 2007.]
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
How I Spent my Birthday
6 am After a series of unsuccessful negotiations, the new boss of the Labour Union decides to show that he can hold the country hostage, especially during tourist season. He declares a general strike, which shuts down: Public and Government offices, the Interior Ministry, the Israel Railway, garbage collection, Outpatient hospital clinics, the electric company (except for essential services), Customs, and the Land Authority. Closure of the Airport, ports and border crossings is delayed by 24 hours.
6:30 am I leave the house and take the bus (which has not been affected by the general strike), to meet my cousins and our merry band of travelers at the train station in Tel Aviv. I print up the bus schedule to Caesaria, just in case we have no other travel option.
8:30 am I meet my cousins and their friend Sarah at the train station, and we need to cross the street in order to get to our bus transfer point. The pedestrian crossing turns to red while we are in the middle of the crosswalk, and we scurry to the other side of the light, whereupon two female policeman pull us over for jaywalking. I get a slap on the wrist, because my last moving violation occurred in 2002, and the police woman starts writing out a ticket (100 shequel) for my cousin, who could only present her with an American driver's license. I explain to her that they are Americans, that they are in fact leaving the country tomorrow, and that we got stuck in the middle of the crossing, with no choice but to move forward. She lets my cousin go, no ticket, but I am instructed to tell him that I saved him from having a criminal record in Israel.
8:45 am While waiting for the last member of our group, a specialty taxi offers to take all seven of us for a single price, door to door service to our destination. Hooray, we travel with air conditioning, in style, for only 35 shequel each.
9:30 am Arrival at Caesaria, and immediately the two stray cats lounging at the front gate use their radar and realize that I would almost rather be spending time with felines than with human beings. They come up to me, and rub up against my leg, as my cousin (who is deathly allergic to cats, can't even breathe the same air as them) starts screaming, "Make them go away!"
9:45 am Forgetting for the moment that I am at an ancient archaeological site, I fall on some random rock formation and twist my left ankle, bruise my entire right side of my body. This is before we are meant to go snorkeling and walk around for several hours.
10:30 am Snorkeling and underwater archaeological tour of the ruins in Caesaria, highly recommended.
12 noon Weariness, salt water inhalation and my ankle is getting worse. We eat lunch.
1 pm Chris Noth, star of Law and Order and Sex in the City , with regular appearances in Israeli shampoo and aftershave ads, walks by our table and sits down for a cup of coffee. Despite the fact that he has sat down, I go over and apologize for disturbing him, and he pretends that he is some random Italian man who understands neither Hebrew or English. I quickly cover by saying, "sorry, you look like a friend of mine," and walk away.
1:30 pm I get birthday cake for dessert, very rich chocolate hazelnut creation. Yum.
2 pm My cousin's wife (pregnant) and I (f**ked up ankle) decide that we would like to see a few more archaeological sites, and then return to their home for a barbecue. She and her husband also realize that there will in fact be a strike tomorrow at the airport, and that they must rush home and pack and hope to get on an earlier flight, before the entire airport closes. We call our original taxi driver, who says we cannot count on him for a ride back, at that price; we scramble to find an alternative solution.
3:15 pm I pass by Chris Noth once again, at the ancient theatre, we smile at each other.
3:30 pm Walking way too much on an ankle that needs to be iced and propped up, perhaps even x-rayed. We find a cab driver who charges us 50 shequel each to take us back to TA. I practically faint in the car from the exhaustion, dehydration and pain.
5 pm Arrive at my cousins' home in Tel Aviv, giant chaos as they pack up the rest of the house in an hour and do a barbecue simultaneously, while I unfortunately, have to sit on my gluteus maximus. I put ice on my food and burst out crying, partially from the pain, partially from the fact that I need medical attention and am being ignored, and partially because doctors make the worst patients. I call a friend of mine who doesn't quite live close by, but has access to a car, and plead with him to pick me up and take me home.
6 pm Pickup, I hobble to his car. (G-d, I hate feeling like an invalid, and I am still learning how to ask for and accept help.)
6:30 pm Sitting in rush hour traffic, feeling nauseous and experiencing a headache, and pain in my legs. I decide that since, in theory, I have been able to put weight on my leg and I don't want to sit for hours with the striking night shift at the hospital, I would rather go home than get an x-ray.
7:45 pm Stop off at pharmacy, pick up brace for ankle and Advil. Today coincidentally is the Best Sale of the Whole F**king Year Sale, so the lines are long, people are pushing me and I almost lose my balance several times. I start to cry so my friend tells me to find a bench somewhere and he will stand on the checkout line.
8 pm Home, must deal with my own cats and unpack and continue to hobble myself into bed and throw some Arnica on the area of inflammation. Self-medicate with a single malt whiskey.
6:30 am I leave the house and take the bus (which has not been affected by the general strike), to meet my cousins and our merry band of travelers at the train station in Tel Aviv. I print up the bus schedule to Caesaria, just in case we have no other travel option.
8:30 am I meet my cousins and their friend Sarah at the train station, and we need to cross the street in order to get to our bus transfer point. The pedestrian crossing turns to red while we are in the middle of the crosswalk, and we scurry to the other side of the light, whereupon two female policeman pull us over for jaywalking. I get a slap on the wrist, because my last moving violation occurred in 2002, and the police woman starts writing out a ticket (100 shequel) for my cousin, who could only present her with an American driver's license. I explain to her that they are Americans, that they are in fact leaving the country tomorrow, and that we got stuck in the middle of the crossing, with no choice but to move forward. She lets my cousin go, no ticket, but I am instructed to tell him that I saved him from having a criminal record in Israel.
8:45 am While waiting for the last member of our group, a specialty taxi offers to take all seven of us for a single price, door to door service to our destination. Hooray, we travel with air conditioning, in style, for only 35 shequel each.
9:30 am Arrival at Caesaria, and immediately the two stray cats lounging at the front gate use their radar and realize that I would almost rather be spending time with felines than with human beings. They come up to me, and rub up against my leg, as my cousin (who is deathly allergic to cats, can't even breathe the same air as them) starts screaming, "Make them go away!"
9:45 am Forgetting for the moment that I am at an ancient archaeological site, I fall on some random rock formation and twist my left ankle, bruise my entire right side of my body. This is before we are meant to go snorkeling and walk around for several hours.
10:30 am Snorkeling and underwater archaeological tour of the ruins in Caesaria, highly recommended.
12 noon Weariness, salt water inhalation and my ankle is getting worse. We eat lunch.
1 pm Chris Noth, star of Law and Order and Sex in the City , with regular appearances in Israeli shampoo and aftershave ads, walks by our table and sits down for a cup of coffee. Despite the fact that he has sat down, I go over and apologize for disturbing him, and he pretends that he is some random Italian man who understands neither Hebrew or English. I quickly cover by saying, "sorry, you look like a friend of mine," and walk away.
1:30 pm I get birthday cake for dessert, very rich chocolate hazelnut creation. Yum.
2 pm My cousin's wife (pregnant) and I (f**ked up ankle) decide that we would like to see a few more archaeological sites, and then return to their home for a barbecue. She and her husband also realize that there will in fact be a strike tomorrow at the airport, and that they must rush home and pack and hope to get on an earlier flight, before the entire airport closes. We call our original taxi driver, who says we cannot count on him for a ride back, at that price; we scramble to find an alternative solution.
3:15 pm I pass by Chris Noth once again, at the ancient theatre, we smile at each other.
3:30 pm Walking way too much on an ankle that needs to be iced and propped up, perhaps even x-rayed. We find a cab driver who charges us 50 shequel each to take us back to TA. I practically faint in the car from the exhaustion, dehydration and pain.
5 pm Arrive at my cousins' home in Tel Aviv, giant chaos as they pack up the rest of the house in an hour and do a barbecue simultaneously, while I unfortunately, have to sit on my gluteus maximus. I put ice on my food and burst out crying, partially from the pain, partially from the fact that I need medical attention and am being ignored, and partially because doctors make the worst patients. I call a friend of mine who doesn't quite live close by, but has access to a car, and plead with him to pick me up and take me home.
6 pm Pickup, I hobble to his car. (G-d, I hate feeling like an invalid, and I am still learning how to ask for and accept help.)
6:30 pm Sitting in rush hour traffic, feeling nauseous and experiencing a headache, and pain in my legs. I decide that since, in theory, I have been able to put weight on my leg and I don't want to sit for hours with the striking night shift at the hospital, I would rather go home than get an x-ray.
7:45 pm Stop off at pharmacy, pick up brace for ankle and Advil. Today coincidentally is the Best Sale of the Whole F**king Year Sale, so the lines are long, people are pushing me and I almost lose my balance several times. I start to cry so my friend tells me to find a bench somewhere and he will stand on the checkout line.
8 pm Home, must deal with my own cats and unpack and continue to hobble myself into bed and throw some Arnica on the area of inflammation. Self-medicate with a single malt whiskey.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Oh To Be a Luddite or The Death of Chivalry
My Second Life Avatar - named after the literary anti-hero Holden Caulfield - has the long straight hair for which I have always wished, and she can fly, a feat of magic and fantasy that has been part of my ethos since I was a child and got lost in DC comics. Every morning before work and every evening as I am closing up the office I check four different email addresses. After checking my email, I check the multiple Jewish dating websites on which my profile is posted, to see if I have been winked at, emailed or "Hot Listed." Some of these sites allow men to randomly troll for me and stalk me, and some are supervised by matchmakers, who no longer have to meet with you or be on the same continent as you in order to propose a match.
Just in case my life wasn't full enough, I now manage my felines' social life, as they have recently received their own profile and email on Catster.com, a virtual pet community that has grown out of the MySpace concept. Harry and Sarel are able to receive virtual treats, write and share a blog about their life growing up in Jerusalem, and send and receive emails with their furry friends.
"I think, therefore I am" has been replaced with "I Palm Pilot, therefore I exist." If G-d forbid my Palm ever crashed, I am fairly certain that I would wink out of existence. Gone are the days when doctors recorded their day with pen and paper, wrote out hand receipts and kept business records that were good enough for the IRS. My patients can read all about my education , my philosophical approach to Chiropractic, and my techniques on the company website. And the number of hi tech clients I treat for RSI, Carpal Tunnel Syndrome and work related injuries grows exponentially.
When I shop on Amazon, the highly evolved Big Brother software immediately recommends a series of books, music, films and DVDs, clothing and electronic equipment, based upon my history of purchases. Most often, their recommendations are completely on target, or it is something I already own.
It scares me and saddens me. This same technology that has created a global community, and has made personal and professional communication move at the speed of a nano-second, has turned this generation and those to come into virtual reality addicts, anti-social couch potatoes who would rather IM, talk on their cell phone, send an SMS and email their network of friends - all at the same time - than actually spend physical time space with their friends and family. No wonder obesity, both childhood and adult, runs rampant anywhere where there is access to an ADSL line.
I can be reached by land line, fax, cell phone, Skype and email 24 hours a day. We human beings have lost our privacy, the luxury of time to mull over a business proposal, and the essential time we need to allow our body and mind to relax. We suffer from Adrenal Overload, as we strive toward more hours per day than the solar system allows.
I especially feel the degradation of social norms in my dating life. The separation of body from mind makes it simple to create a false identity: a man who "appears and feels younger than his chronological age" is actually 60 years old, missing several teeth and has no hair. A man who describes himself as "athletic" or "large boned" actually looks pregnant, as he has neglected his gut for too long. A person who lists his profession as an "environmental manager" is actually a garbage man; if a man writes that he is "exploring his options," he means to say that he is perpetually unemployed. A photo of a man with that movie star smile could have just as easily come from a picture frame he bought at CVS. Most Israeli men want to interview you over the phone, as if you are applying for a job, before they decide that it is even worth buying you a cup of coffee and speaking in person.
But how can you know the truth of a date or the possibility of a relationship, if you do not see each other, talk to each other, enjoy (or not) each other's company? I miss the days when I could go to a party or a meal with friends, meet a new person and converse, feel that chemistry, and with chivalry, be asked out on a proper date.
I cringe when I sound like I am of my grandparents' generation, "Kids these days..." but clearly the virtuality and invasive nature of the World Wide Web threatens the basis of our humanity, that is people experiencing life, and experiencing each other.
Just in case my life wasn't full enough, I now manage my felines' social life, as they have recently received their own profile and email on Catster.com, a virtual pet community that has grown out of the MySpace concept. Harry and Sarel are able to receive virtual treats, write and share a blog about their life growing up in Jerusalem, and send and receive emails with their furry friends.
"I think, therefore I am" has been replaced with "I Palm Pilot, therefore I exist." If G-d forbid my Palm ever crashed, I am fairly certain that I would wink out of existence. Gone are the days when doctors recorded their day with pen and paper, wrote out hand receipts and kept business records that were good enough for the IRS. My patients can read all about my education , my philosophical approach to Chiropractic, and my techniques on the company website. And the number of hi tech clients I treat for RSI, Carpal Tunnel Syndrome and work related injuries grows exponentially.
When I shop on Amazon, the highly evolved Big Brother software immediately recommends a series of books, music, films and DVDs, clothing and electronic equipment, based upon my history of purchases. Most often, their recommendations are completely on target, or it is something I already own.
It scares me and saddens me. This same technology that has created a global community, and has made personal and professional communication move at the speed of a nano-second, has turned this generation and those to come into virtual reality addicts, anti-social couch potatoes who would rather IM, talk on their cell phone, send an SMS and email their network of friends - all at the same time - than actually spend physical time space with their friends and family. No wonder obesity, both childhood and adult, runs rampant anywhere where there is access to an ADSL line.
I can be reached by land line, fax, cell phone, Skype and email 24 hours a day. We human beings have lost our privacy, the luxury of time to mull over a business proposal, and the essential time we need to allow our body and mind to relax. We suffer from Adrenal Overload, as we strive toward more hours per day than the solar system allows.
I especially feel the degradation of social norms in my dating life. The separation of body from mind makes it simple to create a false identity: a man who "appears and feels younger than his chronological age" is actually 60 years old, missing several teeth and has no hair. A man who describes himself as "athletic" or "large boned" actually looks pregnant, as he has neglected his gut for too long. A person who lists his profession as an "environmental manager" is actually a garbage man; if a man writes that he is "exploring his options," he means to say that he is perpetually unemployed. A photo of a man with that movie star smile could have just as easily come from a picture frame he bought at CVS. Most Israeli men want to interview you over the phone, as if you are applying for a job, before they decide that it is even worth buying you a cup of coffee and speaking in person.
But how can you know the truth of a date or the possibility of a relationship, if you do not see each other, talk to each other, enjoy (or not) each other's company? I miss the days when I could go to a party or a meal with friends, meet a new person and converse, feel that chemistry, and with chivalry, be asked out on a proper date.
I cringe when I sound like I am of my grandparents' generation, "Kids these days..." but clearly the virtuality and invasive nature of the World Wide Web threatens the basis of our humanity, that is people experiencing life, and experiencing each other.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
