Wednesday, July 31, 2019

My Baltimore Rant. Part one.



Recently my city has been under attack by the president and the people who like to pile on and dump on the city that I have made home for the last 25 years. It has been an informative discussion of things I surely have never heard before. I was never aware of our many shootings, our corrupt police force or even our rat problem.

But…all sarcasm aside, A couple thoughts…

• Read an editorial by a suburban visitor that listed the cities many woes and offered distorted takes on how we as residents feel about it. What caught my eye was the free admission that this person is not a city resident.

To which my not at all sarcastic self responds with “Then shut up.”

• Elijah Cummings by the way, is not the only representative who represents Baltimore. As it happens, John Sarbanes is the rep on my side of town. John Sarbanes is white. Elijah Cummings is black and investigating Trump. This whole thing has nothing to do with Baltimore. Trump doesn’t give a fuck about Baltimore. He never did.

• I do not live in a hellhole. My neighborhood is nice. There are many such neighborhoods in Baltimore. There are also many shitty ones. A unique feature of this town is that often the good and the bad are right next to each other. They alternate. I call it “good block/bad block.”

• I understand privilege factors in. I can’t help that. I will never completely understand others’ lives or problems. But I make the attempt to empathize, (which is more than I can say for some people.) I just don’t lose my mind over it.

Look…we know this place is fucked up. Many of us accept the challenge of living here and trying to make it work.

The difference between me and the suburbanite casually tossing “shithole” bombs at us is that I don’t use those things as a reason to hate on this city.

Next: What I hate about living in the city.

Tuesday, July 23, 2019

Cliff C. Cookson, RIP (2007-2019)

(Reposing this here for my non-Facebook followers.)

Today we say goodbye to our little buddy, Cliff, the cat who didn’t like us and didn’t really like anything but still hung around when he wanted. Oh, he was a tricky one. One minute he was aloof and staying just out of reach, the next he was rolling over and asking for pets…then biting your hand when you gave them up.
He mellowed out over the years as he came to realize we were only doing our best to give him the best life.
He became diabetic in his later years, which meant a lot of personal sacrifices for my wife and me. We each had to learn how to give him insulin after first poking him in the ear to check his blood sugar. This was twice a day, every day. (Michele got up at 4 am for almost 2 years to do this for him.) At first we were scared that he wouldn’t tolerate such close contact, but in time he came to a grudging acceptance of the whole routine.
By far Cliff’s best moments came as a companion to our other cat, Stella, when she got sick (partly why he earned the nickname “Buddy”). He stayed with her on her final night and day, not leaving her side until she passed. After this, he softened a little, even consenting to voluntarily hang out with us on the couch, letting us rub his belly while we were watching TV.
Oh, he was a pain in the ass. But he was also a good cat. He was a true friend, who kept watch over us and never once tried to escape the house. He was a favorite at the vet’s office, a place where he unfortunately spent lots of time…all the ladies there always complimented him on being so handsome.
He was a weirdo, preferring hard floors to beds, and old wallets to regular cat toys. Sometimes we wanted him to just be a normal cat who enjoyed normal cat things, but that was Cliff in a nutshell.
As I write this I can’t help but be sad that I will never see him again. But I will never forget him. Our little Buddy.
Love you, Cliff. Rest in peace.
Cliff C. Cookson, 2007-2019.