My daily commute (on those rare days when I go to the office) takes me down Constitution Avenue, past the Lincoln Memorial and the reflecting pool and the White House and the Washington Monument. This past week, as I drove by these familiar sights, I noticed the white flags carpeting the Monument grounds. I had heard of the tribute to the 700,000+ lives lost to COVID and had vaguely thought I might go and check it out; seeing it in my peripheral vision as I drove by cemented the plan. So, my husband and I drove downtown today to take our dog for her morning walk among the fluttering markers laid out in the shadow of one of the nation's most iconic structures. The perfection of the day -- autumn is D.C.'s best season -- made the sea of loss all the more poignant, as did the notes to their lost loved ones people had written on some of the flags. More than once in the past five years, I have felt that we are living through a pivotal moment in American history. This visual reminder of the impact of the pandemic really brought that thought home.
Words of Love
If you google it, you'll learn that there are 8 different words to express love. Most of us are familiar with Eros (romantic love), Philos (the love of fellow humans), and even Agape (spiritual or selfless love). We've probably heard of obsessive love (Mania), but there is also a word for enduring love (Pragma), playful love (Ludus), self love (Philautia), and familiar love (Storge).
There is not, however, a word for love of an animal.
There ought to be.
There is something magical about the way it feels to love an animal companion, and to know - truly know - that they love you back. It lifts the soul to have with another species of God's creation a connection so deep, so true, so real that you can communicate with one another without words, such that the slightest shift of light in their eye or tilt of their ear conveys everything they need you to know about what they are feeling, and the almost imperceptible shift in your mood tells them when to lie beside you, or lick your hand, or just gaze up at you with love.
Why isn't there a special word for that?
We loved - I loved - John Smith so completely. He wove himself into the fabric of our family and left an enduring mark. I will never forget his distinctive underbite (the result of an injury he sustained as a pup), his over-the-top energy, his boundless enthusiasm for EVERYTHING (especially the daily walk, car rides, and Starbucks puppacinos), his determination to cling to life no matter how many times it threw him a curve ball. His notoriously bad habits. HIs loud, penetrating snore. The sound of his short, sharp bark. His warm, soft, body and the way the back of his ears smelled so sweet and his paws smelled like popcorn. The feel of him stretched out alongside me on the bed, shoving me over against Dave so that he could have more room because, after all, didn’t he have as much claim to territory as the rest of us? And the look in his eyes when he wanted me to know just how much he loved me, and that he understood just how much I loved him.
The decision to end his mortal life this week was as difficult a thing as I have ever had to do. John awoke on his last morning still displaying his characteristic zest for life; unfortunately, despite his optimism, the tumor that had been growing rapidly on his leg had finally reached a point that it could no longer be treated or contained. That it was, inevitably, the right time did not make it any easier. He will always, always, be missed. He will also always, always be loved, in that special way that does not have a word. Rest in peace, my beautiful pup. I will see you again someday.
April 3, 2021
Spring is in the air. Over the last two weeks, the cherry blossoms, daffodils, and tulips have emerged in all their colorful array, perennial symbols of hope and renewal. But just as they reached their peak beauty, a day or two of cold, windy, and rainy weather passed through D.C. Nature echos life; the emergent flowers troubled by the lingering bad weather strike me as an appropriate allegory for this (second) Covid spring. The vaccine brings hope for the future but the rising “fourth wave” reminds us that winter isn’t quite over yet. Stay well, until we can safely move on to the next season of our lives.
January 6, 2021
We all had high hopes for 2021. And then, on January 6, 2021, rioters stormed the U.S. Capitol. It was a sickening sight, a reminder of how fragile our democracy has become over the course of the last four years. Fragile, but not broken. Hours later, the Congress resumed its duties. And three days later, when this photo was taken, all was calm on Capitol Hill, with flags and scaffolding back in place for the inauguration of our 46th President, Joe Biden.
Malibu Thanksgiving
This year, we spent Thanksgiving week in southern California, in a small condo overlooking the ocean in Malibu. The sunshine and sea air almost tricked us into thinking that summer really is endless. But walking along the beach, I found a fallen leaf lying in the surf, a small reminder that winter inevitably will come.
Fall Friday, October 2020
2020 - the year of the pandemic. What a difficult year this has been. Way back in March, when we all suddenly found ourselves quarantined, separated from loved ones, concerned about our health, unsure about the future, and unable to buy toilet paper, a good friend who is a therapist suggested taking several steps every day to help stay centered and reduce anxiety. Those five steps were to spend time outdoors, exercise, make a list of things for which to be grateful, connect with family or friends, and identify things beyond your control and let go of them. As the months have passed, I have tried to keep these things in mind. I’ll be honest - spending time outdoors and exercising every day have always been part of my routine, and connecting daily with people via phone or text has been easy, if a somewhat unsatisfying substitute for meeting in person. But remembering every day to be grateful for something, and identifying things beyond my control that I need to release have proven to be challenging practices. This weekend, though, it all came together. A dear friend invited me and two others to spend a few days at her home on the Chesapeake Bay. Yes, it was a little scary being with people outside of my “bubble.” However, the other invited friends have been very cautious for months, the group was small, and we would be spending a good part of our time outdoors, so I decided that it was safe enough. I recognized the need to give up complete control of my environment, if even just for one weekend. I was so grateful for the opportunity to share a bottle of wine, a delicious meal, and hours of in-person conversation after months of “virtual” coffee and wine “gatherings.” The best part, though, was still the part that comes easiest to me - time outside, getting fresh air and exercise. We spent a gorgeous afternoon walking around a small local farm, taking photos in the pumpkin patch and reveling in the beautiful fall weather.
Amsterdam, October 2018
I was lucky enough to spend a Fall weekend in Amsterdam for the second year in a row. There’s so much to see and do in this wonderful city. Not surprisingly, I spent a lot of time dodging the ever-present cyclists; I spent a fair amount of time photographing them, too. Although they ride with purpose, they are seemingly in no hurry to get where they are going. Their bikes are simple, straightforward - nothing fancy or expensive. Unlike cyclists in the U.S., the Dutch don’t sport tight bike shorts and bright jerseys; they dress for work, or school, or wherever it is they are going. Their baskets are full of groceries, or packages, or pets, or sometimes children. They seem so not stressed about it all. What a great way to cruise through life.
