Archive for category: a place called grace blog

I am a planner and I planned this four night three and a half day break from the city (Manhattan) with my dog Dea. We were going not far but far enough that it felt like a real break in the action- to a dog friendly hotel in CT. 

As usual, I packed way too much but, in all fairness, I had to bring some of Dea’s favorite squeaky toys, especially her turquoise elephant and giraffe rope toy, an abundance of wee- wee pads, and her kibble all measured out into separate bags along with a can of soft food to mix in.  Plus, cookies, of course, for both of us.

We were excited to exit the city (Manhattan) after being in quarantine since March.  We got there easily in a car and the hotel looked pristine and elegant and all the hotel workers wore masks along with the guests, now mandatory for both. The hotel even had an Illy coffee machine in the lobby. If any of you have read my book, A Place Called Grace, then you will remember how I needed my one and a half cups of super strong coffee each morning. Seeing this machine made me feel immediately contented and relieved.  Read more

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). Read more

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.

The man behind me was wearing a N95 mask so I asked him how or where he got it. He reported he was Italian, from Venice, but living in NYC and had gotten the masks in Italy. He was personable and we began to chat from six feet away. It was the first time that I ever tried to speak Italian with a mask covering my nose and mouth. He even understood my muffled Italian which was flattering and said “you speak Italian well,” the phrase all the Italians used to tell me when I lived in Rome, knowing full well that I didn’t. But it passed the time until we could enter the store to buy food. Read more

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.

I married young and loved being with my husband as part of a real couple, but the relationship didn’t work for many reasons. Since then, I have had many love affairs, some I thought might end in a re-marriage or living together full time. They all lasted about three or four years: during these relationships, I compromised as best I could and tried to adjust my ways to better fit theirs. It was tiring and not making me happy. The pain when it ended was so difficult because of my attachment issues. Read more

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.

The key reason I attempted to write about my time living abroad, was largely due to my relationship with an octogenarian named Grace. She became one of the most important people in my life after the devastating death of my brother, and she not only urged me to write my memoir, but took an active part as my one woman “focus group.” From the outset Grace encouraged me to show her my writing. I was terrified she might think I was a terrible writer and to not continue writing. To my astonishment and joy, she really liked my writing samples that I showed her. Read more