Dea and I share two very different experiences in NYC during the pandemic
My amazing dog, Dea had an appointment yesterday morning. SHE got an appointment at her “doggie hairdresser” or groomers. Wow is she lucky even though she pretends it is a day of doom and gloom. But this time, during the covid-19 pandemic, it was like she was a secret agent being passed into a safe house. When we arrived at the store for her appointment, as Dea and I were waiting outside, I called the store to tell them we were there and then a hand wearing a glove suddenly appeared as it stretched itself outside the door to take Dea’s leash from me. The door closed and Dea was safely ensconced inside. It happened so quickly that Dea didn’t have time to react as she usually does with her sudden worrying behavior, that she knows pulls at all my mommy heart strings every time, to get her out of there- that is until the second I leave. From that moment on, her body posture and tail raise up and she begins to play with the handler. What a little actress she is. (They tell me that every time I come to pick her up when she is finished).
I used to stress the entire time Dea was at the groomers until I found this place. While there, Dea gets “the works” meaning her beauty day begins with a thorough brushing and then an oatmeal bath, fluffing and drying and then a perfect puppy cut. Then her ear hair is softly pulled out and her nails and dew claws trimmed, leaving her paws looking a million times better than my own hands at this point.
It’s been 10 weeks since I set foot in my hairdresser and even longer since I had a manicure and could I use a day like that! But it is not in the cards for a while until NYC is able to open up safely more businesses due to the corona virus. My day was rather different; I too had an appointment but it was at my urgent care facility down the block for the covid-19 antibody test. I was so relieved that I could finally get the test to see if I have any immunity to the corona virus. I was ill in Mach with mild symptoms of something and would be so relieved to know that I have the antibodies. Like with Dea, it was contactless because I had previously registered on line with all my information. When I arrived, I didn’t have to even sign in and I was put into an exam room. When the doctor came in he asked me some basic questions as to why I wanted this test and finally drew the blood sample for the antibody test. I wouldn’t know the results for about a week, he said.
When Dea was finished about three hours after I dropped her off, I had to call the facility from outside to let them know I was there waiting for her and a hand wearing a glove thrust itself outside the door with my dog on her leash. Dea is gorgeous after the groomers (she is equally so every day) but she smells as clean as spring flowers without any perfume. Her thick coat of black hair is soft like plush velvet. She knows how beautiful she looks too as she prances down the sidewalk eager to go home.
Both our days were important and needed. But as much as I can’t wait for my antibody blood test results, I daydream about going back to the hairdresser too.
No, not a real fever where one is very sick, especially now, but rather a dancing disco fever. I was a disco queen in my late teens and early twenties and I am not embarrassed to admit it. Dancing made me happy and I would go into another world and dance away most of the night. Over the years so many of my boy- friends made fun of me for my love of disco music. But, who is laughing now? I live in NYC as we are all in the midst of the covid-19 pandemic and I am so thankful that I kept many of my 70’s disco dancing albums, especially Saturday Night Fever where one can dance to almost all the music on the album by the Bee Gee’s, Tavares, The Tramps singing Disco Inferno and really let loose with Ralph McDonald’s Calypso Breakdown. 
As I was going out today to buy fish at a local market on the Upper West Side in Manhattan, of course donning a mask and gloves, due to the corona virus, there was already a line outside stretching half way around the block, as we distanced ourselves six feet from one another.
Living alone may not be as difficult for me as it is for some others but honestly of late it has been a challenge. The reason I have been able to adjust to living alone after my marriage ended and over other periods of my life goes back to my childhood. When I was six years old my parents divorced and my older brother and sister went to live with my father. It was just me and my mother until she remarried my step-father. There was an existential loneliness and neediness present in my life throughout my childhood, and while my mother was physically present, I was probably needier as a six-year-old child. This was because I felt as if I had lost my entire family, requiring more emotionally than my mother was able to give.
Reinvention is both scary and wonderful: In some ways you get to be a whole new person, and see life from a very different vantage point. The trick is to accept that reinvention is possible—and that it is completely in your own hands. Change is not easy for any of us. We get in a groove, and coast. No question, it takes guts.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever write a book—let alone a memoir. However, when I moved alone to Rome, Italy many years ago, my instincts told me to keep a daily diary because one day I would use it in some form. So yes indeed: I wrote in my journal every day for the almost three years I lived abroad. When I decided to pursue my book I relied upon my diaries to supplement my memories and help transport me back to the various experiences I had living in Rome.
When my last serious relationship ended, the first thing I did was to book a flight to Italy, using my points. I got a great deal on Alitalia and knew exactly what I needed to do: go hiking in Sicily with a group of like-minded people, and of course a wonderful experienced guide. Being in nature always helps me with whatever life challenges I am going through.
Look, I know there are an infinite number of worst things to endure in life. However, allow me to vent a bit—you may even be able to relate if you too love your morning caffeine “fix.” Being ordered by my physician to lay off coffee was like losing my best friend—one who gets me up and feeling good every day of the year.
It was 1995 and I recently celebrated my 38th birthday when I moved to Italy. I was frankly terrified, since I was moving to another country alone. But on what was perhaps an even deeper, more meaningful level, I was more afraid of the inertia and sadness in my life and acting career up to that point. Just nine months previously I had gone hiking in Italy with a group of fellow hiking enthusiasts from all over the world, and on that trip had fallen madly in love with the country.