Dogless in Studio City: sharing the sidewalks with the neighborhood dogs.

There is something to be said about spending time with one's self. By that I mean; without the distraction of daily chores, without that inner dialog of mind chatter, without family or friends, and most certainly without that universal embryological chore, our CELL. Sadly, I learned that I had to add to that list, learning to walk without a dog at my side. This seemingly small challenge has been like climbing K2 in the dead of winter. I can not remember a time in my life when I ventured outside by myself for the simply pleasure of a stroll around the neighborhood.  

Now, I have been walking my neighborhood for over ten years, and you might  think in that time I would have at least met my neighbors. Maybe even moved their unwanted yard sale junk to my pile of yard sale junk  in the garage,or watched as their children grew, or signed some petition for the River Project when the city cut funding. The answer is no. I hate to admit that I am a product of Los Angeles, its cyberspace community, and the ever growing cocoon syndrome. If it were not for the hundreds of dogs held within a couple square acres, no body in Studio City would venture beyond their 50' x 75'-plus plot of land.

Sadly however, the solitary silence that rises from the concert was paid for by the passing of my dear Jack Russell, Rhea. But within this new territory comes enlightenment. The neighborhood dogs who had filed down the same streets that Rhea and I once walked, seem to instinctively know my loss. They see me as a human in need of a little dog love. Yes, I tell them in my intuitive dog voice, I am currently dog-less in Studio City.  To their owners, walking dogless is a moniker similar to proclaiming to be a communist in the '60's. There is an unspoken horror over my affliction.  Then, as if by magic or maybe just a need to expose my wound, they  stop, and allow their dogs to bestow their sympathy on the poor dogless woman. These, the same people who once cross to the other side of the street to avoid contact (supposedly a dog owner courtesy), now embrace our union.

To my surprise I found another world in which was shared by other dog owners. We shared, I listened, and  they proclaimed similar grief over the loss of a beloved animal. There was comfort in numbers, and now on my dog-less walks, I am  guaranteed a daily dose of  dog slobbers, and a smattering of dog stories that make me smile.

Dogless in Studio City: learning to walk by myself.

Rhea Wisdom: "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." Marcel Proust                         

Rhea Wisdom: "Trouble knocked on the door, but, hearing laughter, hurried away." Ben Franklin

Creating Space: a small Tribute to a larger than life personality

"I have a simple philosophy; empty what's full, fill what's empty, and scratch where it itches." Alice Roosevelt Longworth

During the first few weeks after Rhea's passing my emotions swelled like a freight train building momentum as it headed down a steep grade. I decided to focus that energy like I had done for the passing of my favorite Uncle. I designed and emailed a tribute to my friends and family. It might surprise you to know that I was overwhelmed by the cards and notes expressing sympathy for my loss.

Photos are really no more than small memories captured on paper, which through the years clutter our bookshelves and tabletops, until that moment of inspiration when we decide to organize our life. Usually, this divine intervention comes in the form of a traumatic event, a mental unsettling, or in my case those estrogen deficient moments that rise to the surface without warning. In the past I had attempted to organize my life by creating several photo albums. But in the case of Rhea's passing, this creation grew a personality all its own. As I revisited our lives through my photos, I was amazed at how cathartic the experience. That is when, to my horror, the obsession took hold. I realized how few pictures I actually had of my beloved Jack Russell.

During the first week, I spent my days lost in gathering photos from family and friends, than cataloging them like a research project for my next book. The world of photography had changed dramatically in the last 14 years, to say the least, and thus a rose my next problem. How best to create Rhea's final tribute.

I finally had to move on, with all (far more than one needed) non-digital images in hand, I headed off to my local Staples. There, I employed the expertise of my friendly Staples person to solve the dilemma of my multimedia chaos. The answer seemed simple, we made a high quality scan of each photo, and saved the images to a CD (not expensive). At this point my choices for a tribute were many(only in digital format): mouse pads to Calendars, slide-shows to T-shirts and coffee mugs. I chose a hardcover photo book from Shutterfly.com.

If you are savvy with Microsoft Publisher, a world of creative exercises is opened to you. You can create an entire page using multiple photos and text, then save it in jpeg format (I posted example in thelast post). But if you are computer challenged, done give up! Shutterfly is very user friendly with step by step tutorials. It is like scrapbooking, only digital. You can crop, color correct, resize and correct redeye. If you are a scrapbooker (my Idol) and already have memory pages, just have Staples scan the completed works, then upload the photo for an entire page of your book. These hardcover(or softcover) books are beautiful, and a nice addition to your coffee table or library. However for me, the journey was all about the process of creating my very special tribute. The creation of this tribute acted much like a pressure valve releasing my grief in small doses, no more than I could handle at any one time.

The creation of my small 8x8 book was a very personal journey, and it gave me a safe place to house my grief. A sanctuary for the tears I shed over my loss. This tribute to my best friend became a memorial. Rhea's eulogy, celebrating a journey traveled with abundant energy and curiosity, a life well lived. Use this tool, as I did, to help you let go. For it is in letting go that we empty what's full, and make room to fill the emptiness with the next generation of Jack Russell.

Walking with Rhea: 4 paws on the ground Tribute photobook.