Fear

Whenever I have to do anything in public, a reading, a performance, speaking, anything, it scares me so much that I want to leave the country.  And, on the other hand, when I don't do anything that scares me, life seems too tame.  So I have no choice - I have to put my work out into the world and risk rejection and risk shame.

Speaking of shame, I'm reading a great book by Brene Brown called "The Gifts of Imperfection."  The subtitle is "Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are."  

I'm very excited about the reading of my play and I'm also scared to death.  And I love that the actors are cast and the director is terrific and the theater is perfect and everyone's doing their jobs and all I really have to do at this point is show up.  Which is not an easy thing, especially when a trip to Borneo is on my mind.  Where is Borneo exactly? 

Where is spring?

This past winter was not an easy one.  Not because the weather was that bad, but because so much of it was involved in caring for Lola.  I can't say that I didn't love every moment with her, even at the end, when I knew it was her time - and I can say that life is a bit easier now, not having that responsibility. But I still miss her and I still wish that she would bark when I walked in the door, or make me laugh when she did something silly.

Last night I saw the film "Rabbit Hole" and it was about the loss of a child.  How you deal with loss is such an interesting subject to me now, after having spent so much time learning about it, experiencing it.  The film depicted two characters I didn't find particularly likable, but I did feel for them both, and understand their different ways of grieving.  I guess that's what I've learned - everyone grieves differently, and at their own pace.  

So I'm ready for spring, a new beginning.  I'm more than ready. 

More loss

I don't really have much to say about losing my beloved dog, Lola.  It hurts and I miss her AND it was a peaceful passing.  I was so lucky to be able to hold her and she didn't seem afraid, she seemed ready.  

I couldn't have asked for a more devoted or sweeter dog.  She was the light of our lives, the happiest, least neurotic being in our family.  I brought her home with Zoe and neglected to ask Steve if it was okay that we have a second dog.  Well, actually, I did ask many times and each time he said no.  So it was a bad breach in our marriage and it's something I would never do again in any relationship.  But it was also the best worst mistake I ever made.  Steve fell deeply in love with Lola and she enriched all our lives in ways we can't even begin to understand.  I doubt I could have made it through the past two years without her spirit, her joie de vivre.  No matter what physical impediments she had to deal with, she never stopped wagging her tail, enjoying every walk, meeting new people, barking at dogs, and happily picking up crap off the sidewalk.  


She was courageous and funny and I don't think anyone could resist her charms.  She lightened my life, got me out of bed in the morning, and made every walk an adventure. Even when I had to carry her outside, I felt it was a gift, like she had become my baby and I wanted only to care for her and give her the best life I could.  When it came to the time that I could no longer provide that, we (Abigail, my loftmate and I) knew we had to let go.


It was one of the most painful decisions of my life, but once I made it, I knew it was the right one.  Holding her at the end was a gift.  Comforting her as she took her last breath was the least I could do for the nine years of pleasure she gave me.  She wasn't an easy dog to train - she was sometimes loud and embarrassing when she barked at dogs five times her size. But she was my Lola, my sweet little girl and I will miss her every day and I am so thankful that she came into our lives and brought us so much light and happiness.  And now I have time to focus on Lucy again and try to give her the best life she can have without her little buddy.  Only she knows how much she misses Lola, how sad she is about the missing member of our little family. 

Goodbye Lola

Keep Standing Up

Today, on my way to take a lovely, long walk Central Park, on a beautiful winter day, I read this essay from Pema Chodron's book, "The Wisdom of No Escape," the first Pema book I ever read:

Keep Standing Up

I remember my first interview with my teacher Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche very well because I was hesitant to talk to him about what was really the problem in my life.  Instead, I wasted the whole interview chattering.  Every once in a while he said, "How's your meditation?" and I said, "Oh, fine," and then just chattered on. When it was almost over I blurted out, in the last half-second, "I'm having this terrible time and I'm full of anger."

Rinpoche walked me to toward the door and said, "Well, what that feels like is a big wave that comes along and knocks you down.  You find yourself lying in the bottom of the ocean with your face in the sand, and even though all the sand is going up your nose and into your mouth and your eyes and your ears, you stand up and you begin walking again.  The next wave comes and knocks you down.  The waves just keep coming, but each time you get knocked down, you stand up and keep walking.  After a while, you'll find that the waves appear to be getting smaller."  

That's how karma works.  If you keep lying there, you'll drown, but you don't even have the privilege of dying.  You just live with the sense of drowning all the time.  So don't get discouraged and think, "Well, I was feeling depressed and I was hiding under the covers, but then I got out of bed, I took a shower.  How come I'm not living in a Disney movie now?  I thought I was going to turn into Snow White.  How come I'm not living happily ever after?"  The waves keep coming and knocking you down, but you stand up again and with some sense of rousing yourself.  As Rinpoche said, "After a while, you find that the waves seem to be getting smaller."  That's really what happens.  

A day at a time, again

Last week, it looked like Lola (lot of L's there) wasn't going to survive the weekend and she is still here.  She perked up all week and though she's sleeping a lot, she's got a great appetite and she still loves affection.  Right now, she's sleeping on a little bed in my room and doesn't seem to want to move.  My heart hurts when I look at her and I am also so grateful for each day we have together.  

This was a good week.  My friends Karen, Abigail and I had a lovely meeting with a Mama Gena friend who is a Broadway producer. She couldn't have been more generous with her time and gave us great information.  And then yesterday, I helped a client find the most perfect apartment in a gorgeous building in Greenwich Village.  It's one of those celebrity buildings, or as my client's daughter calls them "The Famouses."  We went out to lunch at Otto afterward to celebrate.  She's a widow who has no interest in dating and I'm starting to enjoy dating.  She was married to a truly great man, a brilliant author and a very kind person.  I'm grateful to be working in fields that enable me to meet such fantastically interesting people just about every day!

Lola and Arlo

My beloved dog, Lola, (the beagle on the right) isn't doing too well these days.  We're getting close to the end.  I haven't been writing much because I've been dealing with so many ups and downs, but Lola is, by far, the hardest part of these cold winter days.  The lump on the side of her head, which started out like a small golf ball, is now like an orange.  She isn't eating her food, but will eat chicken, ham and liverwurst.  She can hardly walk, but she still wags her tail and she is still there.  Inside.  Lola is still Lola.  But with a brain tumor, it's only a matter of time before she's not and I have to make this decision before she is suffering.

One of my best friends, Julie, has made that decision about her beloved Arlo.  Today is the day.  We spoke on the phone yesterday and had a good cry. Arlo is truly one of the sweetest dogs I've ever known, a big hound/mutt. 

These creatures have been there for us through every life event for the past 13 (Arlo) and 9 (Lola) years.  They have given us unconditional love.  We have been their mommies and they have been our "kids."  

I can feel the grief beginning to come to the surface, but one of the greatest blessings in all of this sadness, is how much support and love we have around us.  Once again, my deepest gratitude is to my friends and neighbors, especially Abigail.  Lola has had a very good life and so has Arlo.  I'm lucky I still have my older dog, Lucy, but her time will have to come soon, too.  

I'm reminded of the phrase from Friends In Deed, the Sally Fisher quote: "The quality of our lives is not determined by the circumstances." The divorce goes on, my little dog is dying, my friend Julie is losing her beloved dog, it's one of the coldest Januaries I can recall, I'm filled with sadness, and yet, I appreciate so much in life, too.  The sun is shining.  We had friends over last night for delicious homemade Mexican food.  I'm living in my city, the one I love and I live in my wonderful neighborhood, surrounded by people I've known for over twenty years.  I work for an incredibly lovely person, in an office filled with great people.  My play is having a reading this spring.  And for today, Lola is curled up on the rug nearby and I can go over and rub her neck and her belly.  And tell her how much I love her.  

I just heard from Julie that Arlo is gone.  She said it was painless and swift. They raised a glass to Arlo afterward and I do too.  Rest in peace, Arlo.