I love the movie– you know, massive tidal wave flips over a cruise ship and survivors, including Shelley Winters, Red Buttons, and Pamela Sue Martin, have to climb their way to the top, er, now bottom of the ship.

Great Fun!

In any case, I’m hoping 2011 will bring a full-time teaching job for me; a substantial draft of my book; much creative inspiration; new friends and stronger ties to current friends; travel; bigger things for the writing community in San Diego; even greater love, closeness and appreciation for my wonderful husband, Ted; a vintage letterpress (anyone know where I can get one?); more visits with family; more reading for pleasure (so many books, so little time); more time spent in NYC; patience and understanding; health and prosperity; peace.

Below are some of my favorite photos and memories from the year (especially the bloody Justin Bieber that I made with a faux-wood stamp! and Hermia, my cat, 1991-2010).

Hermia had been with me through three states (Calif, Arizona, and New York, and back to Calif), numerous boyfriends and one husband. She’s lived on Manhattan’s Upper West Side and in a closet in Brooklyn. She’s flown in airplanes and the ridden in the front cab of a U-Haul. She’s survived a futon falling on her and did I mention we lived in Arizona? She’s met actors and authors, songwriters and singers, and porn stars. She has a Facebook page. She’s had her portrait done–in oils. She’s sat on Santa’s lap. She had two dads (Hermia Has Two Dads– could be a childrens’ book, no?).

She’s crapped on carpeting in LaJolla, hardwood floors in Brooklyn, and WeeWee Pads in Azalea Park.

She was my best friend.

Though let me tell you, I was never a cat person. I never wanted a cat. But that all changed in 1991 when I got her– she was just a few months old.

I also never thought I’d be writing a blog post about my cat. But pets change you. She was the strangest, funniest, weirdest, sweetest, most awesome cat ever. She rarely left my side at night in bed.

Her health had started going south in the last year– she became diabetic, she started losing use of her back legs off and on, she lost a ton of weight–was down to 3.9 pounds this last week. And this is a girl who in her heyday was weighing 18 pounds.

The day she died I took a nap with her. Almost two hours of just me and her. Hermia’s warm, tiny, fragile body next to mine. If I had to say goodbye to her that day, I’m glad we had those two hours.

I want to thank everyone, mostly on Facebook, who sent condolences and well wishes. For understanding that yes, she was just a cat, but she was also so much more.

In early August, I was at the drop-in writing group at San Diego Writers, Ink (called Brown Bag) and the prompt given was: You’re Watching Someone Sleep. And a couple of weeks later another prompt: write about Animal Dreams.

I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. I wrote about Hermia both times. Though I’ve been using my journal to write scenes from my novel. Somehow these prompts, and the timeliness of them, made me write about my cat. I’ve only done this once before– In college I tried to write a salacious story about Hermia seeing and hearing things she shouldn’t (regarding my dating woes…). It was a terrible story. But anyway, here’s what I wrote last month about Hermia. Allow me to indulge:

Aug. 10  I am the lightest sleeper. A hair can blow across the room–in another room, in fact, and I’ll wake up. And then there’s the cat. Who watches me while I sleep. I don’t know if it’s that I can sense she’s watching me, or that somehow we are connected psychically, so that I can hear her as she sends telepathic messages to me to wake up, to feed her, to pet her.

And then when she’s staring at me and she moves her whiskers, a move so tiny, so quiet, like that hair in the other room, yet it shakes me out of my sleep like an earthquake.

Aug. 24  Sometimes I wonder what my cat, Hermia, dreams of. Let me give you some context first. Hermia is 19 years and 4 months old. She was given to me in 1991 by a coworker/friend of mine, Sydny. Who asked if I could take his cat, Hermia, for  just a little while (a few months? I don’t remember anymore. And I don’t remember why. Maybe I imagined the whole scenario? Maybe he gave me Hermia?). Anyway, did I mention that this was over 19 years ago?

I was never much of a cat person. Growing up we had a few with names like Cinders, and Ralph, and of course, Felix. But I was never attached to any of them. They came and went as they pleased. Were aloof and not affectionate, and one scratched the hell out of me when I tried to pick it up one day. Eventually these cats just disappeared, ran away, died. A childhood friend told me we went through cats like most people go through paper towels.

So when this friend, Sydny, from work, asked if I could take his cat, at first I resisted. I was single, living in an apartment on my own. My first apartment after high school–I was working full time– I think at either Home Depot or Pier 1 Imports (no comments from the peanut gallery, please), and I was starting to date. The last thing I wanted was to meet some terrific guy and find out he was allergic to cats.

And then there was her name. Hermia. From Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. Hermia is one of the young lovers in the woods. My friend had been a drama major in college. I found it all so pretentious. Would I have to name my next cat Lysander? But eventually I gave in. Did I mention I had a terrible crush on this co-worker/friend? What can I say, I was 21.

So Hermia came to live with me in my 1 bedroom apartment on Essex Street in Hillcrest– behind Ichibans. We could smell the grease. We meaning Hermia and I.

Needless to say, Sydny never asked for Hermia back. Though he later moved just a few miles away from us in Brooklyn. Hermia said she didn’t remember him at all.

Hermia has been with me for almost two decades. I grew up with her. Through shredded couches and pee-stained rugs, through various sizes and shapes of litterboxes (and boyfriends…), through homes in Arizona, New York City, Brooklyn, San Diego. Through boyfriends and husbands (ok. One husband). From weight gains to weight loss (for both of us) through illness, heartache, triumph, loss–

Can I just pause for a minute and say I can’t believe, and never thought I’d be writing about my cat…

Anyway…

And now after 19 years and 4 months we’re back in San Diego where I imagine she’ll probably end her days.

So yes, I wonder what she dreams of now. As she sleeps, in the same place on my bed that she’s always slept– by my side– her once 18 pound body now shriveled down to 4 and a half pounds. She was once known as the Shelley Winters of cats, now we call her Jessica Tandy. The skin that hangs off of her like drapes. Her patchy fur, and the the purring that’s now down to the faintest of vibrations. She walks in circles, and sometimes stares at the wall for minutes at a time. She’s incontinent; we’ve lined half our bedroom in Wee Wee pads, but at night, when she sleeps, and I see her legs jerking and her whiskers twitching, what is she dreaming? About grassy front yards where she used to roam, and trees she used to climb and the arms of couches that she once clawed with vigor?

Hermia

1991-2010

Ted and Rob miss you! xoxo

Anyway, it was my cat Hermia’s 19th birthday yesterday, April 15. Yes, 19. Can you believe it?

I can’t. I was never a cat person. We had them growing up, off and on. Names like Cinders, and Felix, and Truffle (actually I made that last name up). But these cats came and went like roommates in a Brooklyn apartment. I never was that attached to any of them. I got Hermia from a friend who basically said (asked?): “I’m moving into a new place and my new housemate is allergic to cats but it’s only temporary…”

Well, temporary has now turned into 19 years.

Now I can’t imagine my life the last 19 years without her. Basically she and I grew up together. She’s seen me through 3 states, several boyfriends, and all kinds of drama, heartache, success. She’s an odd cat; for most of her life she was pretty darn fat. Obese some might say. She had this belly that hung down and brushed the floor when she walked. And she was a talker– talked all the time as if she were holding a conversation with you.

Me: Hi Hermia, how are you today?

Hermia: Mew. Mew. Mewwww. Reowrrr.

You get the picture.

We used to call her the Shelly Winters of cats. But now she’s more like the Jessica Tandy of cats.

Ok. I’m beginning to realize that I’m now devoting this blog post to my cat, which isn’t what I was planning to do; however, I do find it pretty amazing that she’s now 19 fricken years old, you know? Yes, she’s arthritic, cranky, poopy, skinny as a grasshopper, peeing everywhere, staring into space most of the time, but she’s actually pretty loving still, too. Sleeps right next to me, (well, um, in between me and Ted) and every once in a while let’s out a bit of a Meowrrr like the kitty I once knew.

Next post: my beanie cat collection!

Just kidding. Next post I’ll talk about writing/writers again. I promise.

a. Hermia, early 1990s

b. early 2000′s

c. mid-2000′s w/Betsy

d. today (check out that waist! most women would kill for that!!)

Been back from my residency in Vermont for two weeks now. Ooof, talk about withdrawal. Luckily, Ted made me dinners for the first two nights I was home (he was trying to ease me back into the real world; the world where three meals a day aren’t cooked for me and a world without continual access to a fully stocked salad bar).

It’s been a strange transition back. I had to jump into teaching again– though (sadly? happily?) only two classes. I guess sadly since It means less money. But I’ll be teaching a one night a week class for 5 weeks in March.

So I get back to teaching– two great classes, thank heavens. Get back to Ted. Get back to the kitties. Yes, Hermia is STILL alive–18 years 10 months, despite a few scares while I was gone and then one REALLY big scare last week involving too much insulin. Luckily she pulled through but not before I had said my teary goodbyes. A good dress rehearsal I suppose.

And now the writing. Getting back to it  has been tough. Mostly, I hope, because I’ve been so busy getting caught up with school. But there’s also just this whole transition back, out of that world where I had no responsibilities and could read for two hours and then write for two hours then read for two hours then write again.

Still, I came back with such incredible feedback and ideas about the book and more chapters. I’m ready to move forward with it. I also have decided i’m going to take a break every once in a while and write something short– a short story, an essay, a poem– in order to feel that sense of accomplishment more often. I miss that. I mean, I feel some sense of accomplishment when I finish a chapter or a really great scene or description or even line, but I miss the feeling of being done with something.

This week I revised a short story from several years ago; actually, I turned it into a short-short, in the hopes of sending it out to places. And i’ve got an idea for a short essay that I want to work on too– it involves this book, Shelley, Also Known As Shirley, a memoir by Shelley Winters (incidentally, it’s a book I first read when I was eleven. Do with that what you will…).

Is this procrastination? Is this going to keep me from my novel? Only time will tell, but I’m hoping not. I hope it will get me back into a regular routine of writing– like I had in Vermont. No make that a regular routine of CREATING.

I miss my Vermont friends. The snow. The fresh baked bread and chickpeas at the salad bar. But i’m glad to be home, too.

So much to say but my head is utterly pounding and the thoughts in my brain a-jumble — anxiety about travel tomorrow, the strange ritual of packing up after 5 weeks away, the  goodbyes to dozens of wonderful people. What is there to say? How to put it into words how important this residency was, how inspiring, how enlightening.

Some fragmented thoughts (Part 1):

I love snow (and it’s now snowing on our last night–yay!)

layering of clothes– forgot how fun it was to accessorize with a scarf–though I didn’t wear my hat as much as I should have (worried about bad hair)

learned so much about the characters in my book.

was inspired by the art and artists here: collage, painting, sculpture, jewelry, print making

decided I really want to buy a print-maker, print press (anybody have an old one they don’t want?)

felt pangs of jealousy that I wasn’t an artist making paintings or sculptures or other visual art

dance parties are fun again

in a pinch Jim Beam will do nicely

really worked on voice and language in my book

VSC has probably the nicest, funniest chef i’ve ever had the pleasure of working with (Go Mark!)–as well as everyone else in the kitchen.

Leni Zumas is my new favorite writer. If you haven’t read her, go out and get her book Farewell Navigator NOW.

People here were very interested in my book. WHEWWW!

I learned some new collage techniques, including ‘tearing.’

Learned the word Gesso. Also ‘underpainting.’

Ate a lot of salad while here.

Crashed into a ditch/snow bank but was rescued by friendly Vermonters.

Saw sled dogs up close and personal!

Twirled around in a black dress while having my picture taken.

Washed about 17, 294 dishes (ok, I just rinsed them).

Made photograms with Rachael!

Finally got good use of my duckboots!

Missed Ted.

Missed the kitties.

discovered Green Mountain organic distilled Vodka (awesome martinis)

the founders and employees of VSC are the greatest

**more about my work at VSC later…

Hope With Dick and Jane (postcard made by me, Nov. 2008)

Me and Ted, July 2008

And finally, my absolute favorite picture of the year: Ted and Betsy–Like Father, Like Daughter

Jackophobia:

The fear that somewhere,

somehow, Jack is watching you.

(Inspired by Gary Larson’s Far Side Cartoon)

I’ve got Cayenne Peppers ripening red. I’ve been researching (aka Googling) how to cook with Cayenne Peppers and came across some interesting ideas like this. But if anyone else has some good ideas for what to do with Fresh Grown Cayenne Peppers please let me know.

Here they are:

We’ve been eating the little teardrop yellow tomatoes– boy are they good.

My sister bought us a garden gnome.

We’ve also got Basil and Habanero peppers and Mint, but the Mint’s not doing so well.

Jack feels right at home among the vegetables.

Speaking of growth, our dear friends Sandi and Cheryl are getting married tonight in Corona, California and we’ll be there!

Sandi and I have been friends since High School. She was the shift leader at my very first job– at Weinerschnitzel– in the mid 80s.

(that’s me and a girl name Desiree–not Sandi–below in black and white–don’t you love the polyester visor?)

We’ve come a long way baby.

Sandi came out to NYC for mine and Ted’s wedding in Brooklyn in 2005 and we’ve been waiting for her and Cheryl to tie the knot.

Maid of honor is the wonderful Lolers, our Canadian friend. I’d like to think that it was us that brought Lolers and Sandi together– so they owe us big time! They met the weekend of our wedding (see the pic below of me and Lola) and have been inseparable (well except when they’re apart in Calif and Canada) ever since.

Can’t wait to see them and to celebrate their marriage! Their LEGAL marriage! Woo Hoo!

Amen.

Sleeping with cats is also what i’ve been doing the last two nights since Ted is in San Francisco for the weekend. With more space in the bed Betsy and Hermia have been flanking me– i’m terrified to roll over on one of them; no matter which way I roll they are right there.

I’ve also been doing some gardening. We don’t really have a yard, but we have a patio and i’ve been tending to the plants. About 6 weeks ago I bought some tomato plants. They were about six inches tall then, but now they are about two feet tall and one is growing a tomato!!! This is the first time i’ve ever grown a vegetable. I’m so exited. It’s called a patio tomato, and will hopefully turn red (it’s pea-green right now–see the pic on the left). I’ve also planted yellow tomatoes and peppers.

Friday I bought a lemon tree and re-potted it. I don’t know how long it will take to grow lemons (the guy who lives upstairs from us has a lemon tree in a big pot and it’s growing these huge lemons), but maybe by the time Ted and I move out of the apartment i’ll be able to plant the lemon tree in an actual yard.

I’ve also got a bougainvillea growing, several cacti and jade plants. You should have seen me out there, re-potting in my little green garden gloves, spraying for bugs, feeding the plants with Miracle-Gro, while Jack and Betsy sat in the sunshine. Here are some pictures of the cats in the ‘garden.’

Jack contemplates the tomatoes

sometimes Jack runs away from me and I have to chase him into other peopless’ patios– he’s especially partial to the patio belonging to the cute, blond, Scandinavian-looking surfer guy next door. Bad Jack! Bad!

Hermia thinks that rolling around in the dirt and grass and filth is detestable.

But she does miss Daddy.

I totally forgot it was Hermia’s Birthday today.

Two days of celebrations!She was born on April 15, 1991– which makes her 17 years old. But, according

to this website , she’s really 78 years old (in the human equivalent).

Here’s their chart:

Here’s a look at Hermia through the years:

1. (first picture) she’s just about a year old here.

2.  here, she’s about two.

3. this is hermia in the sink, from about 1997 or 98, when we lived in Arizona. She loves taking a bath.

4. in NYC, (hence the hard-wood floor) around 2000, so when she was about eight or nine. The lack of exercise took its toll on her once youthful, svelte figure.

5. this is around 2002 or 2003, b.c. (before the other cats), and shows a little of her cotton crotch

6. this is pretty much how she looked when we told her she was getting a little sister and brother.

7. this is the said –evil– step sister and step brother (jack and betsy).

8. she even asked us to send her back to Crate & Barrel, but they wouldn’t exchange her for a dish set no matter how hard we tried.

9. but now she’s learning to get along, sorta, with the other kids.

10. well, except jack. She’ll probably never accept jack (at least she’d never admit to it).

11. Did you know that last year Hermia had her portrait done? In oils. (by wonnnerful artist, Rachel Rifat).

12. for now, Hermia’s happy and content, if a little flabby and cranky, though she’s often quite lovable and never leaves my side at night.

13. except when she climbs down the ramp to eat or use the ladies room.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMIA!!