Hemingway struggled throughout his life, burying hurts, insecurities, uncertainty in his drinking. In this sense, he is like so many people today who run from something by sinking into something else. It isn't a pretty human habit, to be sure. This is where I pity my mentor.
Why do so many artists drink? Isn't it because when they open up a vein and spew the bloody pulse down on paper, it's then hard to stop the flow of emotion? I don't think too many people are able to remain fully open AND sane, unless they've achieved guru or saint status. It seems to be so tricky for humans, this opening of the heart. Most can only do it at times, and even then at the risk of peril.
Let's recall that back in his day, people didn't have all of the convenient diagnoses (depression, bipolar depression, anxiety disorder, et al.) on which to hang their drunken bodies or their DUI tickets. Medications for imbalance were still decades away. So people drank or took pills or overindulged in some sensory something, all while oddly seeking some release from the sensory and the everyday. Spirit was all around, all the time, but humans have trained their logical minds not to see, hear, or take comfort in anything that isn't entirely tangible.
Even today, this is a major pitfall for the bipedal creature.
These days biographers tend to recognize the history of suicide and drinking in Hemingway's family, granting him some small forgiveness for the genetic basis. Regardless of why, he was what he was; he suffered and caused suffering, too, like most. He paid a sizable price for being a genuis and an original thinker.
As a cat, I can spare him some judgment for those self-punishing mistakes. Can't you?
On writing and booze, from A Moveable Feast
"The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it. I ordered another rum St. James and . . . sharpened the pencil with a pencil sharpener with the shavings curling into the saucer under my drink. . . . After writing a story I was always empty and both sad and happy, as though I had made love, and I was sure this was a very good story although I would not know truly how good until I read it over the next day." -- Ernest Hemingway
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Sex, Sex, Sex
Could old Hemingway help it if he liked sex? Does that automatically deserve more criticism?
Well, I can see why he moved to France.
This topic of sex is one of the touchiest in the U.S. of A, and I'm trying to wrap my beautiful head (and mind!) around this problem. First off, didn't God make us to want to have sex? Was he wrong to do so?
I know, I know -- it's how, when, who, and how often that makes it all complicated, but let's just remember that we are all animals. . . and, well, men ARE a little different than the ladies. We know we're "dogs" in this regard, but that IS how God made US. But I repeat myself.
It's all back to the Puritan discomfort with pleasure, isn't it?
I'm harping on those Puritans again, but we're all still in recovery thanks to their bad seamanship!
I'm not sure what the future holds for me, but I'm ready to try the French lifestyle, just to see how it does feel to relax some of these rules and judgment. Think about it. Just how good might it feel?!? Unfortunately, I can only know in my dreams -- but if I were human, I'd be working on my French!
"If you are lucky enough to live in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." Ernest Hemingway to a friend in 1950
Well, I can see why he moved to France.
This topic of sex is one of the touchiest in the U.S. of A, and I'm trying to wrap my beautiful head (and mind!) around this problem. First off, didn't God make us to want to have sex? Was he wrong to do so?
I know, I know -- it's how, when, who, and how often that makes it all complicated, but let's just remember that we are all animals. . . and, well, men ARE a little different than the ladies. We know we're "dogs" in this regard, but that IS how God made US. But I repeat myself.
It's all back to the Puritan discomfort with pleasure, isn't it?
I'm harping on those Puritans again, but we're all still in recovery thanks to their bad seamanship!
I'm not sure what the future holds for me, but I'm ready to try the French lifestyle, just to see how it does feel to relax some of these rules and judgment. Think about it. Just how good might it feel?!? Unfortunately, I can only know in my dreams -- but if I were human, I'd be working on my French!
"If you are lucky enough to live in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." Ernest Hemingway to a friend in 1950
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Ah, to Sleep!
Have you missed me?
Well, given this horrible weather around Richmond, I've been taking part in the time-honored tradition of napping, one of God's gifts to us all.
Now, I know that many of you Puritan types think that naps are just sinful, a waste of precious time, when so many more important things could be accomplished. I'm sorry you feel this way because you are missing a very important part of the day -- that relaxed, drowsy, lazy period that should be savored to its fullest! Felines natually particpate in this healthy habit (our version of meditation), but perhaps you humans could learn from us on this one.
Hem had this part right, too. The guy knew the value of a good snooze and he sometimes slept on the second floor of his writing studio in Key West -- because it just felt so good to take a little shut-eye in the afternoon. Then, after a drink or two when he woke and wrote some more, he couldn't quite balance his way back across the catwalk to the mainhouse -- and had to stay the night. . . where he slept happily, I might add.
So -- time for me to move on to my ELEVENTH nap of the day, folks. Ta ta!
"I love to sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?"
Ernest Hemingway
Coming soon: two more S-related topics. . . .
Well, given this horrible weather around Richmond, I've been taking part in the time-honored tradition of napping, one of God's gifts to us all.
Now, I know that many of you Puritan types think that naps are just sinful, a waste of precious time, when so many more important things could be accomplished. I'm sorry you feel this way because you are missing a very important part of the day -- that relaxed, drowsy, lazy period that should be savored to its fullest! Felines natually particpate in this healthy habit (our version of meditation), but perhaps you humans could learn from us on this one.
Hem had this part right, too. The guy knew the value of a good snooze and he sometimes slept on the second floor of his writing studio in Key West -- because it just felt so good to take a little shut-eye in the afternoon. Then, after a drink or two when he woke and wrote some more, he couldn't quite balance his way back across the catwalk to the mainhouse -- and had to stay the night. . . where he slept happily, I might add.
So -- time for me to move on to my ELEVENTH nap of the day, folks. Ta ta!
"I love to sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?"
Ernest Hemingway
Coming soon: two more S-related topics. . . .
Saturday, July 17, 2010
A Hunting Man
Was it wrong for Hemingway to enjoy hunting?
As a cat, my immediate response is simply one word, PLEASE! Hunting is only natural, a function of being an animal, part of the biological blueprint.
But I recognize that humans have complicated this one. The further they move from seeing themselves as critters, the more angst they feel. Let me help here.
Firstly, Hem came by this sport honestly. He grew up in the woods and lakes of Michigan, where practically every male (and plenty of females) made hunting a way of life. He learned with his father; they hunted together; they ate what was killed. Although times have changed, let's give him that: he was a child of his era, 1899-1961.
Later, I admit, he did take the sport further to include hunting on safari, which many people consider an entirely different matter. This I can see. Sport is the point -- and we cringe when we think about the number of species that have become endangered through sport hunting. I understand why this is a delicate topic because I myself am an animal . . . and some people even consider killing mere housecats a sport!
But stop right there. Hemingway did not kill randomly on these safaris, nor did he do so without risking his own life. There is that. I'm glad this is no longer a popular sport, and I would venture to say that Hem would not continue the habit if he were alive today. But let's also remember that he was not alive when many of today's nature-related problems were known or discussed. I do not think we should judge him by our politically correct standards, do you?
So if you go to the Hemingway House in Key West and see the mounted heads and photos, try not to be too judgmental. Just look the other way and remember that our views of hunting are, like so many others, cultural.
"About morals, I know only htat what is moral is what you fell good after and what is immoral you feel bad after." Ernest Hemingway
As a cat, my immediate response is simply one word, PLEASE! Hunting is only natural, a function of being an animal, part of the biological blueprint.
But I recognize that humans have complicated this one. The further they move from seeing themselves as critters, the more angst they feel. Let me help here.
Firstly, Hem came by this sport honestly. He grew up in the woods and lakes of Michigan, where practically every male (and plenty of females) made hunting a way of life. He learned with his father; they hunted together; they ate what was killed. Although times have changed, let's give him that: he was a child of his era, 1899-1961.
Later, I admit, he did take the sport further to include hunting on safari, which many people consider an entirely different matter. This I can see. Sport is the point -- and we cringe when we think about the number of species that have become endangered through sport hunting. I understand why this is a delicate topic because I myself am an animal . . . and some people even consider killing mere housecats a sport!
But stop right there. Hemingway did not kill randomly on these safaris, nor did he do so without risking his own life. There is that. I'm glad this is no longer a popular sport, and I would venture to say that Hem would not continue the habit if he were alive today. But let's also remember that he was not alive when many of today's nature-related problems were known or discussed. I do not think we should judge him by our politically correct standards, do you?
So if you go to the Hemingway House in Key West and see the mounted heads and photos, try not to be too judgmental. Just look the other way and remember that our views of hunting are, like so many others, cultural.
"About morals, I know only htat what is moral is what you fell good after and what is immoral you feel bad after." Ernest Hemingway
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
A Ladies' Man?
Why are Hem and I so successful with the ladies? Are you kidding? What's not to love?!
We are handsome -- perfectly fur-covered, soft to the touch, pliant, and most importantly affectionate. So many men waste their time donning a cool look and attitude. Sure, that attracts some women, for awhile, but only until the women realize that's all there is, no more. Women need more than a tall, skinny, good-looking form. They want LIFE! They want real action, real humor, genuine feeling, something they understand -- not more of the silence and distance of the "cool" guy or the good-girl upbringing.
Take F. Scott, for example. Beautiful guy, but aloof, hard to know, a mystery that didn't last. Cool guys like James Dean do look nice at a party or on screen, but in real life they just wear women out.
And what else do Hem and I do? We listen. Sure, I roar and I purr, but I spend more time just looking at my lady and listening to what she has to say. That's a rare gift in these noisy times: to have someone give full attention and listen not just to the words but to the sentiment. There's nothing sexier to a woman than a sympathetic ear, let me tell you.
I've always practiced that, but ever since Tess brought me home from the SPCA, I have been here for her. I don't wait for her to need me either. I jump right up and go to her first. I sit and look into her eyes when she talks. And I can feel her gratitude, for the true man that I am, every single time.
And that's why Hem and I are never without a welcoming home, a warm bed, a woman's arms.
As Hem once said, "I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen."
We are handsome -- perfectly fur-covered, soft to the touch, pliant, and most importantly affectionate. So many men waste their time donning a cool look and attitude. Sure, that attracts some women, for awhile, but only until the women realize that's all there is, no more. Women need more than a tall, skinny, good-looking form. They want LIFE! They want real action, real humor, genuine feeling, something they understand -- not more of the silence and distance of the "cool" guy or the good-girl upbringing.
Take F. Scott, for example. Beautiful guy, but aloof, hard to know, a mystery that didn't last. Cool guys like James Dean do look nice at a party or on screen, but in real life they just wear women out.
And what else do Hem and I do? We listen. Sure, I roar and I purr, but I spend more time just looking at my lady and listening to what she has to say. That's a rare gift in these noisy times: to have someone give full attention and listen not just to the words but to the sentiment. There's nothing sexier to a woman than a sympathetic ear, let me tell you.
I've always practiced that, but ever since Tess brought me home from the SPCA, I have been here for her. I don't wait for her to need me either. I jump right up and go to her first. I sit and look into her eyes when she talks. And I can feel her gratitude, for the true man that I am, every single time.
And that's why Hem and I are never without a welcoming home, a warm bed, a woman's arms.
As Hem once said, "I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen."
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Why Hem?
How did I come to love an author, especially the controversial Hemingway? Well, my lady is a teacher of American lit and she's always talking about him, reading about him, reading his work, defending him, giving his name for restaurant reservations. I just listened at first, and I gradually realized our kindred spirits -- and here I am, joining in the cause.
Why do some people despise Hem, anyway? I've been observing, and I've reached a few conclusions:
1) Most males either love or hate Hem -- love him if they also like action, hate him if they're fearful or resentful of those with true gusto.
2) Most males AND females can't see beyond the macho facade and all that body fur. They think he's all brawn and bravado, lacking a heart. How untrue! I've already explained that he's a lover, not a fighter (see my first blog), and some of his best male characters (like Nick) are sweet and vulnerable. What does that tell you?
3) Artists are often misunderstood. People love to mock his writing style, but at least we can understand what he's writing! Please -- that's so much better than, say, Faulkner's prose. Hem operated on restraint, using the iceberg principle to draw his readers' into the puzzle with him, making them work to fill in the picture. A whole century of writers have benefitted from his example. Using only a few words is not a bad thing and surely didn't begin with Hem. Just look at Lao Tzu, Jesus, and Socrates.
I rest my case.
Why do some people despise Hem, anyway? I've been observing, and I've reached a few conclusions:
1) Most males either love or hate Hem -- love him if they also like action, hate him if they're fearful or resentful of those with true gusto.
2) Most males AND females can't see beyond the macho facade and all that body fur. They think he's all brawn and bravado, lacking a heart. How untrue! I've already explained that he's a lover, not a fighter (see my first blog), and some of his best male characters (like Nick) are sweet and vulnerable. What does that tell you?
3) Artists are often misunderstood. People love to mock his writing style, but at least we can understand what he's writing! Please -- that's so much better than, say, Faulkner's prose. Hem operated on restraint, using the iceberg principle to draw his readers' into the puzzle with him, making them work to fill in the picture. A whole century of writers have benefitted from his example. Using only a few words is not a bad thing and surely didn't begin with Hem. Just look at Lao Tzu, Jesus, and Socrates.
I rest my case.
Friday, July 9, 2010
True Identity
It's all about identity -- human life, that is. What's your name? What's your title? Where'd you go to school? Who's your papa? Where do you live? What's your sign? Identity is all of that but really it's so much more. There's a deeper part, who we know we are regardless of those details, the inner man, the true I.D.
In my case, that's Ernest Hemingway, the man, the literary star, the hunter, the lover, mas macho. He's an icon to some, a joke to others, but to me he's ME: I am the last living Hemingway, and proud to be.
So what if I happen to be in the body of a cat! In case you've forgotten, Hemingway liked cats, he adored cats -- just consider those six-toed wonders he brought to his Key West abode and let rule the place, even today. That's proof! He even brought home an Italian latrine (don't laugh!), cleaned it up, and made it a cat-only fountain. They have their very own, constant source of fresh, clear agua! No sharing with nasty dogs or drinking after humans. Respect!
Just because I look like a gray and white mega-cat on the outside doesn't mean that much. Many do see me for the sizable, lovable cat that I appear, but they don't often recognize that they are stroking true genius and manliness. I know it's hard to see beneath my gorgeous surface to man inside, so I just rub on their ankles, roar my monstrous purr, and circle back to my lady with loyalty. She rescued me from the D.C. pound and gave me a new home. She's my Hadley, my one and only true love.
Actually, she named me for another classic fat cat, Aristotle Onassis, nicknamed Telis. So close to accurate in spirit. Old Aristotle knew wheat it meant to travel the world, eat the best foods, enjoy a good hunt, lie back in the sun, enjoy the ride, and along the way find a beautiful woman like Jackie O. So I don't mind this misnomer.
But my identity IS larger, and I'm going to show you what I mean. Hem and I have never been much for playing small or unimportant. We know who WE are, and women love us! Just keep reading and I'll tell you more . . . .
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