woman • book • dog

 

December 2 • 2023 

In my late twenties, after a truly horrendous depression which took me to my knees, literally, I had a therapist who helped me find my way back to standing on my own two feet. He was tall and funny, a gay man in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania which at the time probably wasn't all that great for him. He would occasionally call me Blanche, which I loved because I come from a family of multiple nicknames. If you join my family at a gathering for the first time you might find yourself confused about who is who. 

But this is not about my therapist, or nicknames. It could be about our sweet new pack member, Daisy (more on her this month), but this meditation is a continuation on practices and how they can keep us grounded, somewhat sane, maybe even save us. 

I can say that writing has saved my life many times over. 

And for that I am deeply grateful. For that I've been devoted to this simple practice of writing every day for over thirty years. I've written in all kinds of notebooks: gorgeous journals from Italy, leather journals with tie clasps and thick ivory paper, small books that I could hold in the palm of my hand, large black sketchbooks, orange books, plain old composition books with graph paper, lined paper, pages with tiny dots. I paint pictures and make my own covers. 

At times, I've written on legal pads because I thought this stuff is so embarrassing, so whiny and mean, I can't put the words in a book. But all that stuff shows up in my journals too. 

Along with the story of the woman I met in the bean aisle. Her long coat was a tangerine color. She was tiny, older, and needed help reaching a can of red beans on the top shelf. 

The things we remember. 

I remember her. 

Dr. Falbo was the one who coined woman • book • dog.

That trinity felt, and still feels, the most sane, settling, calm. Though I always found myself with a lover after my first marriage ended, those sweet men didn't tend to end up fully in the equation of my life. At that time, I had my first daughter to care for. It was the two of us until I found Che in a motel lobby and brought him home for us... (another dog story) 

Writing is a map into, and out of, the Self. It's a way to remember, and lay things down.

I need both. Daily. 

I am blessed with a beloved husband, family and friends. So many blessings, seen and unseen. And now, after months of grieving over the loss and absence of our dog, Chewy, back in February, (another dog story), there's a new dog at my feet. Daisy.🌼

And a notebook on my lap.

Just when you think, I'm not doing that again, you do. 

love♥️

b 🐝