Archive | Spirit Matters

Philip Seymour Hoffman, So Much So Fast

The little I knew Philip Seymour Hoffman was from my gym, of all places. A struggle radiated from him in all his best performances, in his relationship to drugs and alcohol, even while we tried (miserably) to get in shape on adjacent treadmills. What distinguished him most was how valiantly he took us along on that struggle. It feels disrespectful to how effectively he worked while he was alive to say “what a waste,” though many no doubt will be inclined to do so. But he will be greatly missed, and I feel sorrow that we’ve been reminded in such a tragic way that sobriety is nothing that ever can be taken for granted.

Lux Lotus and Ruby Intuition for a New Year

Savvy media strategist and girl-about-town Lauren Cerand and I discussed my intuition practice for her blog, the swoony Lux Lotus. We covered everything under the pale winter sun, from the invention of timepieces to the superior psychic abilities of animals, and suffice it to say that she is so awfully brilliant that she makes everyone else seem so as well. Do check it out, kittens.

A Cat Lady Testifies: Love Is Love

Though normally an early riser, I could not wake up in these last weeks before daylight savings time. I slept through phone calls, alarm clocks, even my neighbors’ noisy morning sex. Finally, my cat Grace took matters in her own hands. Not by yowling or ruining furniture or biting my toes but by carefully dragging all her toys next to my head, one by one, until I finally opened my eyes. Each morning I was greeted by a pile of soft feathers and strings and catnip mice and her sweet, worried face—the gentlest landing from a flight of sleep I could imagine. It reminded me of how lucky I am to live with such a considerate, tender-hearted little being. And how proud I am to be a cat lady.

These days the words old maid or spinster may be dismissed as outdated, even cruel, but cat lady is still bandied about unreservedly and with the same intent: as a derogatory term for an unattached female. A single woman in a Mrs. Whatsit getup of coffee-stained schlubby layers who reads dog-eared paperbacks, never misses her shows, eats from cans along with her furry wards. Who hasn’t got laid in decades and couldn’t if she tried. Who languishes in a cramped, overheated, urine-stained apartment piled high with dirty dishes, cigarette smoke, ratty furniture, and, of course, cat hair.

If it sounds awful, so be it. That’s the mishegas that gets thrown my way because I am Of A Certain Age and remain unmarried, childless, and domestically solitary save for a feline cohabitant—especially now that nearly everyone can get married and have kids. Forget about the fact that I live in an amazing city, enjoy my work and friends, love my considerate and charismatic roommate. Because she is a cat, there exists a two-word phrase that people can use to dismiss my life.

I am cat lady, hear me purr. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy