Describe a *person* who has positively impacted your life.
She was both mother and father. Even when my father was alive, my mother was my father. Everything good that I’ve learned, I’ve learned from her. It was not a perfect relationship, but she was my best friend, and positively affected my life. My father, for his part, gave me these hands and these eyes, and this technical brain. Don’t get me wrong, he was impactful. Sort of like an asteroid hitting earth. Someone wise once said, “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” Mary Oliver.
Thanks for the darkness, dad.
Thanks for the light, Mom.
Mother and Child – an extract from The Three Ages of Woman by Gustav Klimt
Join me for Part One of a new series entitled, “Not My Cat™️.”
I first noticed Star in 2016, after new neighbors moved in. Star moved in with her two dog brothers and her human family. I walked past “her” house on many occasions. Shortly after Star and her family moved in, I noticed her sitting on the front stoop. Because I am unable to walk past a cat without calling out to it and trying to get it to come to me, I slowed down my pace in front of Star’s house. Star glanced over. She was intrigued, perhaps sensing I speak Cat, and made her way over to me. She sniffed then rubbed my hand. This was the beginning of our friendship. Much to my surprise, it was also the beginning of Star walking with me on my walks. I had never known a cat to walk with a person before, nor have I met another.
Star doing her thing
And so it went. I would round the corner and Star would strut at her own pace down the driveway to meet me, and we would commence our walk. The whole time, I whispered to her that she should go back home. It wasn’t safe. There were dogs and cars. She did often stop eventually and returned home on her own.
As spring turned to summer, I saw Star’s human father, and told him that I loved his cat. He told me that she runs the house. She was a feral stray at one point and she does what she wants. Her two dog brothers were much larger than she, but I witnessed Star corral the two dogs after they had escaped the fenced backyard. She went out to the driveway where they were, hissed and swatted at each of them until she could get them back to the fence. Star was very tiny, but very, very mighty. She reminded me of my own cat, Kitty. Kitty has been long since gone but Star had her personality. And star was aptly named.
Girl, bye or follow me – your choice
One sweltering summer day, I looked out my window and saw members of Star’s human family walking their two dogs. Then I saw Star trailing behind, her humans oblivious to her struggle to keep up. It was so very hot and I knew she was an elderly cat. I scrambled out of my house to get Star. I scooped her up, but she didn’t want to be scooped up. So, I tried to bring her some water. But she didn’t want any water. She kept walking, so I walked her home. We went very slowly as you can imagine an elderly cat in humid, hot weather would move. I felt awful that I could not pick her up, but she was not willing to be held. We reached her home and I knocked on the closed door. I had trouble holding back my anger and concern. I said, rather rudely, “I found your cat. She’s old and she’s hot and probably needs to come in and drink water immediately.” I was met with a couple of blank stairs from a couple of teenagers. I hope that they let Star in that day, even if she didn’t want to come in, and that she had all the water she could drink.
I didn’t see Star after that day. I walked daily, and as each day passed and I still didn’t see her, I knew that Star was among the stars. A star. I have a picture of Star hanging in my kitchen along with many photos of cats that I’ve met or have been owned by in my life. She fits right in. And yet, she doesn’t. She shines bright. ✨
Star was a Shepherd – a rare cat breed The photo I display on my kitchen wall
As tennis fans celebrate the return of Rafael Nadal to the game in 2024, for what is expected to be his final season, we look back to the year 2006. Rafael Nadal was ranked Number 2 in the world, and had just turned 20 years old two months’ prior. Rafael joined me for an informal interview over breakfast in the restaurant of a hotel in Mason, Ohio, home of the Cincinnati Masters (as it was known at that time).
Many thanks to Rafael Nadal for this interview, and I wish him well in the next phase of his life.
Thursday, August 17, 2006, 9:20AM
This morning I had breakfast with Rafa. Well, he had breakfast, I had water. Originally, we had planned to do a brief question and answer session last night in the atrium of the hotel where we are both staying here in Mason, Ohio, but plans got a bit muddled and a new time of 9:20 a.m. was established.
I arrive at the atrium at the designated time, with my pink notebook, digital camera and Micro RC Racer pen in tote (I demonstrated my mini race car pen for Rafa later. “Yes, I see your car pen,” he humored me.) Minutes later, Rafa ambles down the hall, lugging with him a large cardboard box and chatting on the phone. He points in the general direction of the restaurant, indicating I should follow.
My short legs struggle to keep up with his long strides, but we make it. We are seated at a table near the front and Rafa takes off for the buffet. I sip my water the waitress brings and wait patiently, a bit nervous because I’ve never interviewed anyone before. Rafa arrives with a box of Frosted Flakes and is no longer on the phone. The waitress returns to take Rafa’s beverage order and he surprises me with his answer: hot chocolate. “Funny!” I tell him.
“Read my shirt!” (The print of my shirt reads Yeah, yeah…just give me the chocolate!) “I saw that,” he smiled and laughed. The waitress returns with the hot chocolate and there is no whipped cream. I frown. “You can’t have hot chocolate without whipped cream…” Rafa agrees and asks nicely for some whipped cream. Following Rafa’s consumption of the now melted whipped cream, he then proceeds to pour the entire contents of his Frosted Flakes box into his hot chocolate.
I do a mild shift in my chair. “That’s interesting…” I say. Rafa assures me it is done like this in Spain all the time. The only difference, he says, is that the hot chocolate is made with milk, not with water. We both agree that would taste much better. I’ll have to try the Frosted Flakes/hot chocolate combination when I really need a sugar rush. As Rafa eats his breakfast, the “real” questions begin.
“Do you like this tournament? Do you feel this tournament is helpful to your preparation for the US Open?” Rafa nods, “Yes, I am happy here. I did not play that well in Toronto. My goal is to play well in the US Open.” He mentions to me later on that he has been practicing three and a half hours each day since before this Cincinnati tournament began. I then ask him what his favorite tournament is. He tells me he likes many of them and can’t choose just one. Just about that time, the first fan comes up for an autograph and Rafa diligently signs. “Does it bother you when people ask you for your autograph when you are eating?” I ask. He shakes off my question. “No, it does not. It does not bother me.” Next question: “What’s the weirdest thing a fan has ever given you?” He does not understand me, so he enlists the table of Spanish-speaking men next to ours for help.
The answer: “A rock.” I stare at him. “A rock. Somebody gave you a rock.” One of the men at the table piped up to Rafa, “A rock, just like you.” They all laughed. Rafa let out a small chuckle. He didn’t understand my next question either, and I felt badly that I didn’t know enough Spanish to help him. (My goal: learn Spanish for next time.) But it was an important one, I thought, so again, our friendly neighbors assist. “I want to know what makes him laugh. What kinds of things does he find funny?” Rafa responds, “A lot of different things.” I think he said he likes to laugh and I gave him the universal thumbs-up sign for that response.
“So, when you win a tournament, is it the same feeling each time, or is it just a bit different?” Still munching on his Frosted Flakes concoction, he says, “No, no, it is not always the same feeling each time.” And that was that. “Rafa, this is my first visit to this tournament and I notice sometimes it can be…well…a bit boring when there is no tennis to watch. What do you do for fun during tournaments?” Rafa replies, “I have my computer, I play golf…” I ask if he will go to King’s Island Amusement Park.
He scoffs a bit. “Oh, well, maybe if I lose I will go there.” Cleary his mind is on work, not play. My last question before the interview ended was a bit odd, apparently. “Rafa, can you wiggle your ears?” He stared at me blankly. I lifted my hair to demonstrate. Wiggle, wiggle.
He looked down to his cereal, almost disturbed, and clearly flustered. “No, no, I cannot do that.” Oops. I hope I haven’t violated some kind of ear conduct code. Sorry, Rafa! Then the interviewee asks the interviewer some questions. “Where do you live?” he asks. “About nine hours from here, in a place that looks very much like this place – boring! And here I travel all this way to end up in a place that looks like my home.”
He seemed sympathetic. He lives in Mallorca – he should be sympathetic. He is also sympathetic of my severe sunburn, telling me, “Well, it’s hot…” It’s getting close to the time when Rafa needs to leave for practice. One more fan walks up to the table and Rafa grapples with spelling out personalized autographs using English names for the letters.
He perseveres and gets it right. Rafa asks for the check, signs for it and we’re off. A hotel staff member takes a photo of Rafa and me (I poke him in the back and whisper for him to smile – he does), and he says, “Okay, Amy, see you soon,” or something to that effect. He was already on the move, eager to work off those Frosted Flakes on court, I’ll bet.
If you’re a tennis fan, you know that Rafael Nadal has been sidelined by injury for the past year.
Today, December 1, 2023, Rafael made the announcement that he will be returning to Brisbane, ahead of the 2024 Australian Open. Anyone who has followed Rafa on social media knows that he has been working hard to come back for one more year before retiring from tennis on his own terms. It’s not a secret that he – and most tennis fans everywhere – knows this is his final year on the pro tour. At 37 years of age, his body has essentially decided that it’s time to do other things. Rafa turned pro at the age of 14, which is a lot of mileage on a body. But, as one would expect from someone of Rafa’s ilk, he’s making one final push to achieve more. On his terms. I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t want to be forced out of my life’s calling, either.
I first became aware of Rafa Nadal during the Davis Cup competition when Rafa was 16 years old. I sat in my chair in my living room and stared in amazement at my television screen. I’ve been a tennis fan since I was 15 (which was 137 years ago), so I know when I see burgeoning greatness. But with Nadal, the greatness was already evident, the burgeoning had already happened, somewhere, somehow, without anyone seeing.
Since then, I have attended several tournaments where I have seen Rafael practice and play – there is a little distinction between the two, the ball is struck just as hard for a seemingly unrelenting amount of time. The quickness Rafa displayed, especially early in his career, was a marvel to witness. The sheer size of a tennis court doesn’t translate on a television. Sitting courtside, you become more aware, and standing on a court with a racket in your hands, you are painfully aware of the ground you must cover, but I digress. And I may be projecting, so please forgive me. I’m not able to chase down all the balls, but Rafael Nadal is otherworldly. He arrives to the court to battle. To chase every ball down, to attempt to hit every shot. When the score line reflects the opponent is winning, he still fights. The belief never leaves him. Never.
As I mentioned, I have attended several tournaments and have seen Rafa play firsthand. A most fortunate occasion occurred in 2006 at the Cincinnati Masters (as it was called then). I was given the opportunity to interview Rafa Nadal. He is intelligent, humble, funny, clumsy, and gracious. He has the heart of a warrior and his body that is now battle-proven (forget about tested – been there, done that) – is testament to his warrior spirit. But in 2006, Rafael Nadal was a youthful 20 years old, was not yet fluent in English, and I couldn’t speak much Spanish. More on that later.
I’ll leave you with this, for now. If you’ve ever shaken a professional tennis player’s hand, you’ll immediately notice the calluses. The blisters. The evidence of how hard they work every single day is just at your own perhaps smooth fingertips. The feel of hand of a warrior is a bit alarming. At the same time, as a tennis fan and as a less-than-mediocre tennis player myself, the feel of a hand of a warrior is exhilarating. To be able to sense with your own touch the mind, body and soul that goes into being a professional athlete is awe-inspiring.
I’m still in awe, but not about the calluses. I’m in awe at how long and successful a career Rafael has had, and how fortunate I have been to see it evolve. I am in awe of how time flies without realizing it even does. In his final year on the ATP tour, and in all endeavors to follow, I wish Rafael the very best.
In the next few days, I will be posting the interview that I conducted with Rafa back in 2006. It will be my contribution to the celebration of Rafa’s hugely successful tennis career. I’ll take you back to the beginning, as we look now to the end, with a smile on my face, and yes, a few tears. ¡Vamos, Rafa!
I think she did. I’ve told her to stay off the laptop numerous times. Usually she types something like, “bfnthrhfbdvrkihgdbd,” but I see this time she’s given it some thought
Well, it looks like she’s conducting a poll, and will be utilizing this information to convince me to buy the larger size of beef treats.
(She doesn’t know I bought the large bag of chicken-flavored treats, so I hope you understand that your answer to the question will be recorded and used at a later date.)
“It's Amy,” I said. 