I’ve been paying close attention to the weather lately. Over the last few days, frost has claimed the last of the nasturtiums outside the kitchen door. The maple tree, as of yesterday, is bare, save for two golden leaves stubbornly clinging.
“The leaves fell so much earlier than usual this year,” I’ve been saying to my husband, as if we’ve been deprived of something; an extra week of gazing at them perhaps. “It’s gotten colder sooner.” He doesn’t believe me, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.
And then it occurs to me: I have a record.
It was just a year ago that two young filmmakers from Boston drove up to our house in New Hampshire to shoot the book trailer for Magical Journey. I was watching the weather pretty closely that week, too, worried it would be freezing by the time we finally had a shot list together and that late October would prove too stark and wintry to allow for the kind of carefree outdoor moments I’d been envisioning.
I haven’t watched the video myself for a year, not since the day I okayed the final cut and sent it off to my publisher to post on YouTube, with fingers crossed that it might inspire a few book sales. Perhaps some movie stars get used to seeing themselves on film or hearing the sound of their own recorded voices, but I doubt I ever will. It’s easier not to look.
A year ago, making a book trailer was just another item on my pre-publication to-do list, one more thing to worry about getting right and submitting by the deadline. This morning though, aware of all that’s changed since we spent a day filming footage for a three-minute movie, I clicked on the link and allowed myself a different kind of magical journey: a short trip back in time.
I have no idea if this brief excerpt ever moved anyone to buy a copy of my book. Unlike the video I made for The Gift of an Ordinary Day, which surprised everyone by going viral — with well over 2 million views despite its nearly 8-minute length –this one has had a far smaller audience. But I have to admit: sales or not, I’m grateful now for one October day in my life that was not only lived, but captured for eternity.
Watching the film that resulted from that day of shooting, I’m reminded once again of something I know deep in my heart to be true: it is the ordinary stuff of life that is most precious – the light through the kitchen window, a walk in the woods with a friend, tossing a ball for a beloved dog to catch, raking leaves into a fragrant pile, a chat over a cup of tea, a son’s quick kiss on his way out the door.
As I type these words, I can’t help but marvel at how relentless change is. How inevitable, how eternal, how unpredictable. I think of our two sons, each of them living now in distant states and following paths neither could have foreseen a year ago. They check in, have been texting with their dad during the World Series games, ask us to send a few things from home. But the ties that bind are lengthening, stretching, and growing thinner all the time. Change propels us forward, urging us to unfold, to grow, to risk. Change separates us, too, demanding that we release our hold on what’s over.
And, at the same time, change challenges us to surrender, to accept, to soften into what is. Bright fall days give way to grey winter afternoons. The last leaves finally do drift from the trees. The ground hardens over, the sky darkens, a season ends.
Our dog Gracie, so eager to show off her fielding skills a year ago, tearing across the yard to snatch a ball out of the air, is thirteen and battling a sudden, advanced cancer. A week ago, we almost lost her. And then to everyone’s astonishment, she rallied, responding to good care, a barrage of drugs, and an enormous gush of love. (I always said I’d never cook for a dog. Last night, Gracie had beef stew for dinner, which she lapped — delicately, out of a spoon — while lying down on the dining room rug.)
“We have to take it day by day,” the kindly veterinarian warned last week as I took notes about her chemo treatments and wrote down what side effects to watch for and the schedule for her pills at home.
For the time being, she is doing well enough, holding her own. But as I sit next to her on the floor, kissing her nose and feeling with my fingertips to see if the lymph nodes on her neck are shrinking, the words “day by day” assume their own resonance. This, after all, is the way each one of us must approach our lives, appreciating all that we have for as long as we can. Day by day. Hour by hour. Precious moment by precious moment.
I will write more about Gracie. For now, though, I think I’ll simply say this: how glad I am that the need to make a book trailer last fall prompted us to catch our dear, fleet-footed girl on film when she was still healthy and in her prime. And how grateful I am for every quiet, pain-free day she is granted now.
As two fellow dog lovers reminded me last week, “She will let you know when it’s time to say good-bye.” I will trust in the truth of that and hope, for her sake and for ours, that we are wise and gracious enough then to let her go.
Meanwhile, for the record, it’s Steve who’s right. The hard frost came and the last of the autumn leaves fell this month just as they did one year ago. It happened the very same week, in fact, while the October Hunter’s moon waned in a cold, clear, star-strewn night sky. It is only in my own imagination, faulty and greedy as it is, that I’ve been short-changed — yearning as always for a few more mild hours, another golden day, a little more sweetness, a bit more time.
News. . .
It is a special pleasure to contribute to a new venture, especially one as elegant and eloquent as the lovely digital magazine Compose. The second issue, just published, is a treat for anyone who appreciates good writing. It is certainly a treat for me, as I find myself here in the excellent company of some writers who are both dear friends and esteemed colleagues, including Beth Kephart with an excerpt from her terrific new book Handling the Truth, and Marion Roach, who offers some of the best time-management advice for writers I’ve read anywhere. My own essay, about mean mail (ouch, yes, I’ve gotten some) is here. Take a look, and then please do share the magazine with your friends. If ever there was a publication deserving of some good word of mouth, this is it!
Congratulations to Gina Ricks, winner of a signed copy of “Ready for Air” by Kate Hopper. And a heartfelt thanks to all who took time last week to share intimate, moving stories about challenges faced and survived, losses endured, and lessons learned in life’s darkest moments. Your comments touched my heart. If I could have answered every one of them, I would have. Instead, as things turned out, I was making many trips to the vet, nursing our beloved Gracie, and adapting in ways large and small to our own “new normal.” Meanwhile, you reached out and wrote to one another, offering kindness and compassion and conversation. Thank you, dear readers, for being here and for making all those caring connections in this space. I am honored to share this online “home” with you!
I am so sorry to hear about Gracie. I have been reading about her for so long I feel as though I know her.
As always you have captured the heart at the center of both the beauty and the challenge, the gift of time’s passing and its eviscerating loss. I can’t believe it’s been a year since I watched your trailer, which I lived as much as your first.
Sending you and Gracie lots of love.
I also have two grown boys finding their way. Your wonderful stories mimic my own. After high school, they both went away to college and grew up before my eyes. After graduation, they moved back home, tweaked their resumes, and searched for their dream jobs. Our job as parents wasn’t over as we discovered we were still needed to help launch them. They are on their own now, supporting themselves, and yet the launching continues. Just like you, my boys grew up with our beloved border collie, Eddie. Eddie passed in September of 2012 and I still think about him and miss him daily. He was a proud and loyal dog, as most border collies are. He never left my side. He taught all of us about love and loyalty. He was a buddy to our boys and was by their side when they were sad. You will indeed know when Gracie’s time is up. You just know. She will tell you. I wish you the very best.
As a dog owner and lover who has lost 2 Golden Retriever’s to the same battle, I feel your pain. She will let you know when it’s time..never an easy decision no matter the circumstances. It’s amazing what our 4 legged furry family members bring to our lives and add to our families. You and Gracie are in my thoughts…
My Jack and I are thinking of you and your Gracie. Meow.
Some people write with the spare strokes of a Japanese Woodcut; I think your writing is more Monet or Renoir – conjuring color and air, texture, mood and expression. As I deal with a son who is finishing his last year of high school and a hound who is down to a single eye, a questing nose and a huge heart, I treasure your words. I would wish you luck with Gracie — and I do — but it isn’t about luck. Just the blessing of having, in the uncomplicated love and acceptance of a dog, a model for our own hearts.
Mark thank you for capturing what Katrina’s writing is able to do. Warm thoughts to all of you as you launch children and say goodbye to your pets.
Thank you again for your heartfelt words. Best of health to your sweet Gracie.
You are a very beautiful person…. inside and out.
Sending my heartfelt love and comfort to you. I am sharing this journey right now with my 17-year-old poodle-bichon. Scully has kidney disease and, like Gracie, she is holding her own. I have had her since she was 5 weeks old (her mother was injured and could not feed her) and she has been with me through more moves than I can count, the birth of my child, the end of my marriage and the loss of her two older siblings. Our dogs are the BEST possible reflection of love. . . Peace be with you and all around.
Day by day, my friend. Yes, absolutely.
Should’ve known better than to read your post right before I have to leave for work- your beautiful words always touch so deeply they make me cry. Thank you for, once again, reminding us all to treasure what we have while we still have it.
I always look forward to your insightful words of wisdom. Last year, at this time, I
was recuperating from a long-delayed knee replacement. This year we just got home from a marvelous trip to London and Paris. Who would have thought? My two children turn 22 and 25 this month. They are young adults finding their own way in the world. One still lives at home till a better job comes along. The leaves change color, and we find new things to do with our time. We take long drives to nowhere special and go bird-watching. We appreciate those we love and the time we have.
Thinking of you as you walk the journey with Gracie. We have done that walk with two dogs. For us, we have done the walk with my parents. For the past three weeks we have done the walk with my father-in-law. Cancer rapidly took over his body and he left us on Tues of this week. We will buy him early next week and watch with joy as our oldest son will get married at the end of the week. Talk about changes….
You are right tho about the little moments…they seem to be the ones that I remember most. Good luck with Gracie
I hate goodbyes even though they are such a part of life. I don’t like anyone dying, not even a pet, because they are family members too.
A kitten recently found and adopted us. Miya is her name. She’s very sweet and likes to be cuddled.
I can’t imagine losing her, I think it will break my heart.
I’m sorry for what you’re going through. You must be very sad at this impending loss.
I am very sad for you, too.
Katrina, I am so sorry to read this news about Gracie. I have never had a pet, but love many people who do and so have an inkling of the way they inhabit and enrich one’s life. I wish you both many peaceful moments in the days ahead, as the days grow shorter and the tree limbs barer. xo
We also have two children starting on their journeys into adulthood and a 13 year old black lab, Oreo, who was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer 2 years ago….given 4-6months to live….and is still with us…..I give thanks for each day we have with our gentle guy…..So much a part of our children’s lives……I can feel your pain…..
My heart goes out to you and Gracie. We lost our yellow lab Bailey two years ago, and like you, all we wanted was for her to let us know when it was her time to go – an she did. She had a seizure in our yard the day after we got home from a week’s vacation. She wasn’t sick a day before then, and although the decision to put her down was awful and sudden, we are thankful that she didn’t suffer over weeks or months. You will know when the time is, and it will be one of the hardest things you will ever do – but Gracie will feel your love and let you know it’ll be okay. I hope your boys will have the chance to say goodbye when it’s time, she is such a part of their lives. I too feel like I know her from your writing and videos. You are not alone…
Thanks for the thought-provoking words about change. I lost my dog “Samson” 2 years ago, and still think about him every day. I’m thankful that he was gracious enough to make an appearance in my first documentary “Single Creek.” 🙂 Here is a tender moment I flimed with him 2 days before he died — http://youtu.be/IIecWGUaafY
And by the way, your friends are correct – your pet will let you know when they are ready to go. God bless you and Gracie.
Katrina,
I am thinking of you and Gracie tonight. I have been where you are–loving and caring for a dear furry friend as they cope with illness. We lost our dog Aztec to cancer three years ago. How well I recall the days he and I spent together as his life slowed down. There is grace in experiencing such days. I am glad I was there. You have taught me so much about living in the moment, and loving a dog is all about the present. Sending love and care across the miles to you and Gracie.
Much love,
hmbalison (Alison in Half Moon Bay)
p.s. I have LOVED The View from My Window. It is a treasure.
What a beautiful tribute to your precious pup. Brings tears and smiles. Thank you for sharing. Sending love to you all.
My heart is hurting for your loss of sweet Gracie. Our pets are family and best friends. They love us in spite of our faults, bad moods and much more. I truly believe they go to The Rainbow Bridge. Free of all pain and run free and happy until that day we meet them again. I pray your pain gets easier each day with all your beautiful memories. And soon all your tears turn to tears of laughter remembering all the funny things Gracie and you use to share.
I will be praying those days come before you know it. Take care and God Bless you and precious Gracie waiting at The Rainbow Bridge for you to throw yet one more tennis ball for her to catch.
Love & prayers.
We lost our dog last October and there are still so many things that pop up and make mne smile about things she used to do or ways she enriched our family.