Does It Get Better?

Just finished reading a book about death and dying by Nancy Cobb called, In Lieu of Flowers.
A conversation for the living.

I especially enjoyed the chapter entitled, The Saints and Poets.  Here, Cobb talks about one of her favorite authors, Annie Dillard.  In an article Dillard wrote for the New York Times Book Review, a decade ago, she says, "Write as if you were dying."  Dillard, like other writers of her ilk, are prone to telling the naked truth and give voice to their own astonishment.  It's a good way for connecting with others about the human condition. 

Cobb goes on to say, ". . .the world would be a kinder place if we could all apply Dillard's writing advice to our lives, like a poultice to a wounded spirit.  How many more times, after all, will we watch a harvest moon ease over the horizon and erupt into a full-blown gold or catch a winter sunrise as it turns a field of snow to sparkling?  Only when we name these wonders do we realize how evanescent their brightness, how finite their encores." (P. 85)

I liked that thought and read it over and over again.  Felt it worthy enough to include in my blog.  Cobb has the right idea.  Life is fleeting and should be enjoyed to the max.  No one will regret not working more hours on their deathbed but may regret not kissing or hugging loved ones or spending time with cherished pets and pals.  It's the relationships we keep and share that bring us true joy.  Whether with a human or  furry friend, it's the sharing and caring that matters.

Like my time with Suzy.  A better friend I couldn't have.  A truer pal I couldn't find.  A more devoted darling I couldn't imagine.  My heart belongs to you.  True blue.

Anniversary of 9/11

So much sadness.  Especially today.
The 8th anniversary of the demise of the World Trade Center.  I remember stopping there on my way to see the sights of NYC about 10 years ago. 

What an imposing structure.  I remember beautiful fountains in the courtyard and gleaming steel and glass as far up as the eye could see.  There was a Marriott Hotel next to the towers (also destroyed) & flowers all around. Quite beautiful. Like Suzy.

Of course not in the same way.  Suzy led a happy, healthy, protected life.  She had everything a pup could want---and more.  She was loved from the moment we met 'til the moment we parted.  She was adored and cherished, and she knew it and reciprocated her love back to me.

Not so with the trade center.  It was taken viciously and hastily.  With aggression and anger.  Our beautiful landmark was destroyed with vengence and malice.  Ignorance and stupidity.  For no reason that made any sense.  Now it's gone.

And, so is Suzy. 

My heart aches for both.

Movin' Slowly

Today I went to the zoo.  I love animals and usually feel better when I'm around them. 
When I came home, I eagerly downloaded all the photos and started editing like I always do.  There's always a few that are no-brainers and can be deleted instantly. There's a fence in the background or someone's leg is in the shot or another animal's back or some kind of interference to detract from the subject.  Zap. Gone!


In the batch I took today, I noticed there were many more that either needed to be deleted or that I just didn't care for.  I spent about an hour on my initial once-over edit.  But, I can tell, from that time, that I don't have more than a dozen or so outstanding ones.  Of course, I'm critical of my own work but, still, I usually have more that I like than that.


I think I'm depressed, and it's showing up in my work.  Of course, at the time, I thought I was taking a good picture, but when I came home I wasn't as thrilled as I normally am after a day at the zoo.  I started thinking about it and came up with the fact that I feel a hole in my heart, now, and think of Suzy all the time.  Not having anyone to grieve with, too, increases my down time, I think.  Of course well-meaning friends and neighbors have offered their condolences but, still, I'm alone this mourning.


Will allow myself time to be sad and time to reflect on all the happy years we shared.  Suzy's still with me. For, absence of presence does not mean absence of heart.

Labor Day and the Coming of Autumn

First fall in 14 years without Suzy.  How will it feel to hear the rustle of leaves without her by my side?  To see the bright reds and golds and feel the crisp autumn
air without my best friend nearby?

Autumn is a time of change. For leaves, for lives. We welcome the crimson Maples, gold Aspens and kalidoscopic color all around our favorite trunks and branches. We welcome cider mills and crackling fires, packing up shorts and sun dresses and snuggling into soft sweaters and down comforters.


We put off cleaning out our garages and gutters, raking up mounds of leaves and sorting out long-forgotten papers and piles scattered around our homes.  The pleasure principle is still alive and well. We move toward that which makes us happy, feels good and is comfortable. And we shirk that which causes too much work, worry, or uneasiness around our hearts.


So, then, where does grief fall? Surely not under "pleasure." Yet, not readily avoidable like cleaning out cupboards or passing on lima beans.  Rather, inescapable.  Like fog over a bay, it can be both treacherous and beautiful. Dangerous and captivating. Blinding yet myteriously moving.  So like Buddhists recommend, make friends with your demons.  Make peace with your past.  Make loving connections with everyone you meet. Robert Frost wrote a poem that captures the essence of change and grief.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.