Padroneggiare l'arte dell'isolamento

During COVID-19 - Florence, Italy. February - May 2020

Padroneggiare l'arte dell'isolamento durante COVID-19

Sono solo. Eppure non sono solo. Almeno, questo è ciò che la gente sta dicendo ora con le crisi COVID-19. Siamo tutti insieme. Quando mi guardo intorno, non vedo più il mio cagnolino Luna con me. Se n'è andata e io sono sola. Ma c'è qualcosa di curioso in quello che è successo a tutti noi da questa pandemia, almeno per me personalmente. Quando parlo con amici e parenti, è solo allora che ci sentiamo insieme.

 Mi sveglio e mi preparo per la giornata in anticipo, che ora, in qualche modo, mi sembra di essere atterrato nel re-make del Giorno della marmotta. Faccio il mio caffè, ascolto le notizie o leggo il New York Times e altri giornali. Cerco di evitare negatività. Ritrovo a riflettere su ciò che abbiamo fatto al nostro pianeta e alla sua gente, la divisione sprezzante tra coloro che hanno molto e quelli che hanno molto meno.

 Ringrazio Dio per la tecnologia, per avere un computer e un telefono cellulare per connettersi con amici e familiari ogni volta che ho bisogno di sentirmi connesso, per scopi di apprendimento e per il mio lavoro. Se le mie apparecchiature elettroniche fossero persone, le abbraccerei così profondamente che si spezzerebbero.

 Penso a coloro che hanno sacrificato molto più di quanto siamo in questo momento, gli eroi delle guerre del passato, e penso a quanto sia fortunata la maggior parte di noi a stare a casa in un posto sicuro, sperando di rimanere in salute da questo virus e di stare con il nostro i propri cari, o almeno, parlando con loro. La mia gratitudine è enorme. Sono così fortunato Penso a tutti gli operatori sanitari che sacrificano le loro vite ogni giorno per salvare gli altri e il mio cuore è pieno di gratitudine per la loro devozione.

 Mi distraggo guardando i miei amici che i piccioni si sistemano sui tetti e li guardo proteggersi dalla pioggia. Sto imparando nuovi strumenti con Photoshop e lavoro sulle mie foto. Scrivo un 'po.  Leggo libri, studio italiano o ascolto podcast. Ascolto una selezione diversificata di musica e alzo il volume più alto possibile per attutire il rumore dei vicini al piano di sotto.

 Cerco di cucinare pasti interessanti e salutari, ma devo ammetterlo, faccio uno spuntino quando guardo le serie TV e bevo più vino ora. Qualcuno una volta ha detto che non dovresti mai bere da solo. Ma sono solo e ora bevo. Prego che un giorno guarderemo indietro a questo momento della nostra vita e saremo orgogliosi del modo in cui ci siamo adattati. Prego che scopriremo qualcosa di potente in noi stessi e troveremo un nuovo modo di vivere di nuovo insieme nel mondo.

ENGLISH VERSION

Mastering the Art of Isolation During COVID-19

 I am alone. Yet I am not alone. At least, that's what people are saying now with COVID-19 crises. We are all together. When I look around, I no longer see my little dog Luna with me. She is gone and I am alone. But there is something curious about what has happened to all of us since this pandemic, at least for me personally. When I speak with friends and family, it is only then I sense we are in this together.

 I wake up and prepare for the day ahead, which now, somehow, seems to me to have landed in the re-make of Groundhog Day. [Groundhog Day]. I make my coffee, listen to the news or read the New York Times and other newspapers. I try to avoid negativity. I find myself reflecting on what we have done to our planet and its people, the scornful division between those who have a lot and those who have a lot less.

 I thank God for the technology, for having a computer and a cell phone to connect with friends and family whenever I need to feel connected, for learning purposes and for my job. If my electronic devices were people, I would embrace them so deeply that they would break.

 I think of those who have sacrificed far more than we are right now, the heroes of past wars, and I think how lucky most of us are to stay at home in a safe place, hoping to stay healthy from this virus and to be with our loved ones, or at least, talking to them. My gratitude is enormous. I am so lucky. I think of all the health workers who sacrifice their lives every day to save others and my heart is full of gratitude for their devotion.

 I get distracted by watching my friends that the pigeons settle on the roofs and watch them protect themselves from the rain. I am learning new tools with Photoshop and working on my photos. I write a bit. I read books, study Italian or listen to podcasts. I listen to a diverse selection of music and raise the volume as high as possible to muffle the noise of the neighbors downstairs.

 I try to cook interesting and healthy meals, but I have to admit it, I snack when I watch TV shows and drink more wine now. Someone once said that you should never drink alone. But I am alone and now I drink. I pray that someday we will look back on this moment in our lives and be proud of the way we have adapted. I pray that we will discover something powerful in ourselves and find a new way of living together in the world.

LOVE & LOSS in The Time of COVID-19

WE were still attending our 4-hour language classes at Michelangelo Institute in February of this year, but I feared, once I read the news coming from China about a new virus, this time, it was going to be much more serious. I knew instinctively because I had survived the SARS outbreak when I was living in Beijing at the time and I wrote about those unsettling days. I knew we would be hearing from our headmaster soon we would have to be studying virtually. Indeed, the news came to all of us one Friday morning as more and more students gathered in the lounge area for the announcement, in the second to the last week of February, that the school would be closed until further notice. Most people were dismayed whilst we were strangely delighted.

I say “we” because my doggie Luna, was attending the classes with me, as she had been during the first six months of studying Italian when we first moved here together from Los Angeles. Every day, at 8:15, we left our apartment to walk together across Ponte Trinità, traverse through one of my favourite spots on the map of Florence; Tornabuoni Plazza, and navigate our way through the corridors of this city towards Via Ghibellina, happily skipping alongside history, galleries and museums, designer boutiques, and artisanal shops, she smiling up at me joyfully as we moved over the cobblestone streets, me, eager to make it on time to class, and she, gayly sniffing her way through every inch of the sliver of sidewalks, and tirelessly pulling on the lead, yanking me back a pace or two to discover new spots where, as one friend said, “She was reading the newspapers left for her by other dogs!” This was our daily regimen for the first year we lived in this Renaissance city. Luna had just turned thirteen then. 

On inclement weather days, or when leaving the apartment late, or, just for the fun of taking it, we took the C3 bus together from Piazza Pitti. Luna had an instinctive habit of skirting the crowds jammed inside, to jump into the spot of space next to the bus driver where, quite often, those who were dog friendly, she brought smiles to the conductors’ faces, and they got a kick out of petting her sitting calmly beside them. When she did this, the sombre moods of the passengers on the transport would find themselves smiling, as if starting their day like this was truly quite out of the ordinary. She knew she was safer in her reserved seating, and I recognized once again, how smart she was to protect herself against being knocked about by the suitcases or bags carried roughly onto the bus by tourists and locals heading to their destinations. She would hop off the bus with me at our stop right in front of the entrance of the Institute and continue to leap up three flights of stairs with an effortless puppy agility. She had always been so healthy and lively, even after being diagnosed with a heart murmur four years before we left for Italy. “She can live a long and healthy life, just as humans who have heart murmurs do!”, said her cardiologist, and she never showed signs of aging, as if she were the Dorian Grey Dog breed of a contemporary time. Whenever asked how old my pup was, the expressions of surprise came to everyone. 

  Once inside, after greeting my fellow classmates, we would take our seats inside the classroom and Luna always found a safe corner to lie down, usually underneath an empty chair, or on top of the coat I would place on the floor for her to be warm inside the unheated classroom. No one would have known there was a dog in the class because Luna was the kind of pup who was so sweet and docile, she never disrupted, and everyone grew to know her and love her. One of my classmates from Brazil painted a striking portrait of her as a superb surprise. She must have taken a photo of her to paint from because the image of Luna matched perfectly to her new puppy groomed cut. 

Luna had come into my life when I was living a transcontinental life in Los Angeles and Beijing. I was happily married, and my husband and I were about to celebrate our third wedding anniversary and his birthday, as well as his obtaining his MBA from the University of Southern California. While he prepared for graduation, I set about to find the perfect breed for when we returned more permanently to Los Angeles, and because we were living away from the United States, it was not possible to go to rescue places, so I began looking through countless sites for dog breeds I had just fallen in love with; the Coton de Tulear. From the first photographs I saw of this tiny bit of fluff with one side of her face and ear dark grey and the other completely white, she looked like the yin and yang symbol. I knew she was the one for us. We made arrangements to have her flown from Oregon to Orange County, as this was the only breeder who had puppies available at the time, we planned to have one. I know it’s not cool in these days to say one has gotten a pet from a breeder, but we were not willing to take any chances for our first pet together, and the traits of being hypo-allergenic non-shedding, super friendly pets were perfect for our mobile lifestyle. We were building a home whilst also being able to leave the nest when needed, and imagining Luna coming everywhere with us.

  From the moment I held her in my arms I knew this bond was going to be a love story unlike any I had ever experienced. She had the perfect life then, a mommy and daddy who adored her, a mother-in-law that fussed over her, a beautiful villa in Newport Coast with terraced gardens, and ample room to run throughout the terra-cotta tiled floors of the large house, or to take walks and run through nearby green fields. How she loved to run wild in circles, round and round she would go to cries of “Run, run, run.” We dove into becoming parents of a little puppy buying books on training, toys, and all the paraphernalia one needs to supply a happy home and safe haven for their pet, as if parents expecting their first child. Our training sessions were so much fun because Luna learned quickly with every command encouragingly given to her. She loved her reward treats when she caught on to new tricks. My closest girlfriends became her comforting aunties who loved taking care of her if we were traveling for a few weeks, big brother and sister doggie friends she would have sleepovers with, in Santa Monica, or Pacific Palisades, and the best veterinarian care a dog owner could ask for. 

When we launched the Morono Kiang Gallery in 2007, Luna became the “gallery dog” and was never without one of us being by her side. We took her everywhere; events, gallery openings, friends’ homes and dinner parties, rides to the parks, weekend getaways, and even when she was only 3 months old, she took her first flight to be a part of my nephew’s graduation. My life was enriched by the love I had for my husband, our gallery business together, the gorgeous lifestyle, the interesting life we shared in China, and the perfect addition of our little Luna Anniversario puppy who was just turning two years old.

Luna was not only the light of my life, she gave me the courage and comfort I desperately needed when I lost everything 3 years later to an incomprehensible demise of the 9 years my husband and I had been together building a home and business, the loss of my professional identity and my gallery, and a shocking diagnosis of breast cancer 3 years later. Because of the severity of the bottom falling out, we adjusted to the fluctuations of having to reinvent our lives, finding our way, just the two of us now, enfolding one another.

One moment we were returning to my mother’s home in New Hampshire as a gesture of finding a safe haven, and then, once the divorce was finalized, we jettisoned off on an adventure for a year in St. Helena in the wine country of Napa Valley whilst I worked on developing a production project for California and the Chinese television market. After a blissful year among the heavenly wine valley, it was time to return to Los Angeles to start all over again, which is when I faced cancer treatments. Luna came along with me to all my chemotherapy sessions, giving me unfathomable devotion, reassurance and a reason to take on this chapter of my life with courage and grace. She nestled into the large reclining leather hospital chair, her head on my lap, as if to make sure I stayed the course. At times, some of my most wonderful friends would meet me at the clinic and sit with me for the support anyone facing these trials, would be blessed to have. Two weeks after the first meeting with my UCLA doctors to explain their progressive protocol, and following my first round of treatment, I began to lose my hair. While Luna’s healthy coat was flowing long and brilliantly white, mine fell into my hand in clumps as I pulled my hand through it, the mirror in front of me reflecting my face fraught with despair. 

I immediately went to the hair salon next to the apartment building with my friend Georgia, who lived in the flat next door who had become my saviour during this episode and asked them to shave my head completely. And then Georgia took it upon herself to closely shave it again twice more to get rid of the unsightly and uncomfortable stubble. I was afraid Luna would not recognize me for some idiotic reasoning, but she loved me just as I was. I chose to bravely sail through this health storm with Luna as the guardian at the gate of enduring this physical alteration, and I chose to keep up a stylish appearance, wearing designer scarves around my head, a custom made wig, my signature sunglasses, and proper makeup to keep my spirit and the way I viewed myself every day, as glamorous as possible. I fed my brain with the power of positive thinking that I was right now, at the moment of diagnosis, cancer-free. I had my Little Fluff to care for after all.  

Returning home from the chemotherapy treatments, Luna would easily jump onto the bed and rest atop the highest pillows, as if finding the safest spot in the house where she could survey the comings and goings of the visiting care-givers and friends, and she would lick my head as I fell asleep, as if her mission to remove the toxins that had been ritually injected into my system. If she heard or saw me weeping, which in those days, despite the bravado I showed, may have been far too often, she would put her head on my shoulder and lick my tears away, giving me a look of unmistakable intuitive compassion.

  When friends would come by to bring prepared foods or to prepare a spot of tea and toast, and stay with me for a while to shatter the loneliness, she would jump off the bed and run from the front door of the apartment into the courtyard laced with lush gardens and thriving green vegetation California style, to jump and kiss like crazy, her many adoring aunties, and then proceed to run back into the apartment in an immediate search for her favourite toys to bring to them to play with her. Although it might have appeared to some that Luna appeared to be a froufrou fluffy pup who lounged as a lap dog while her mommy ate bonbons and read fashion magazines, she was quite a feisty, hearty, independent little girl. She preferred finding her solo comfort zones, save for visitor times when she showed how affectionate and cuddly she could be with her favourite friends, or when we would go to bed at night, and then it was all about her wanting to be with me, high atop the pillows. Whilst the studio was filled with light-hearted conversation, she clearly wanted to participate as well, making soft squeaky sounds, as if to express how much she loved company and wanted to be a part of whatever we were sharing. Luna was seven years old at this time.

  Over the years of changes, challenges and the chaos of rebuilding our lives, we were literally never without one or the other. We became the couple in place of the coupledom I had lost. We became joined at the hip, as one would say, a sight recognized as Karon and Luna, an extension of one or the other, as society would identify a couple who were always seen together. She had her favourite shops she would pull me into, remembering the treats she had been given inside, and she was shown so much love by everyone who greeted her. She became a gallery doggie again when I became a showroom manager in the interior design world in West Hollywood, greeting all visitors with equal parts of keen tail-wagging and turning excitedly in circles to the delight of all. She was terrifically happy to hang-out with me all day long, or to take brief walks for lunches with designers, clients, and friends in the trendy nearby outdoor cafés. She was enthusiastically accepted to join me at the luxury designer showrooms because she was so well-behaved and adorable to be around. I think Luna was the main attraction and my calling card for an incredible number of hip happenings in this profession, during those years of adjustment, acceptance, and adoration. 

  After years of wanting to relocate to Europe, I took a holiday in Rome for almost a month. It was the longest stretch of time without her by my side, yet I was comforted in knowing Luna was safely enjoying time with her dog-sitter Carleen who had a small white puppy named Snuggles with whom Luna became fast friends. When I returned home from the escape to Rome and found her eagerly waiting for me in our Brentwood apartment, I was thrilled to see her so excited to see me, and I loved having her once more at the tippy top of the pillows, watching over me. The arms of Europe were wrapped around me upon my return, and I knew it was time for me to make a life-changing move, to leave the pain of loss that defined Los Angeles, for me, and to give us the chance to taste a new adventure. 

  Florence seemed the ideal Italian re-boot for upgrading and opening new horizons in our lives. Advice of friends who had lived in Florence, or who knew me and my cultural interests well, felt this spot on the map of Italia was coded as the correct choice. A large part of this decision also came from intense research into life with a dog in this Renaissance landscape, how I intended to make the landing safely padded. From the articles I read, there was much emphasis placed on how the Florentines loved to pamper their pets, how relaxed life could become for both of us. Dogs were accepted almost everywhere. I would not have to worry about leaving her alone whilst I was at school. The severity of restrictions in restaurants, cafés, hotels, apartments, and galleries that I found in the United States were non-existent in Florence. We were moving to an historical art and cultural capital in Italy, and ready to take a leap of faith that our Italian journey would kick-start a brilliant new life in the country of my ancestors, whilst continuing to secure my dual-citizenship I had been working on from America. 

  Visions of train travel together, stays in cozy Airbnb homes near the ocean, discovering the Tuscan countryside and its classical vistas of vineyards and hillside ochre-colored villas by car, the appeal of becoming a native, began to take root in my heart. Apart from the passion of envisioning these scenarios, and as if snapping my fingers to make it come true, it seemed overnight, the enormous plans to put into play for this kind of relocation fell into place, and within 3 months, were ready to move out of our studio apartment at Casa Bella in Brentwood, the neighborhood we loved and had made our new home in, leaving behind the memories of the apartment I had completely refurnished and redecorated, the inviting terrace with all of my garden furniture and flowering trellis plants, the walks in our hood surrounded by the lush green varietals of California, our comfort zone of familiar and favorite stores, and our cherished friends we would surely miss, Luna especially since she was the kind of dog that loved to be a part of a gathering, a central part of a family, as I had always wanted to be, hers was an original trait that drew me to wanting her. 

  Our life in Florence took flight on May 19, 2018, in a unique and modern flat on Via Ricasole, opposite the Duomo where we were daily besieged by groups of outrageously noisy tourists. Luna faithfully braved our initial month of acclimation getting completely lost in the city despite Google maps, the absence of going potty on green grass, dodging pedestrians along the way of exploring our new home, yet she adapted easily to our new digs. A month later we set up temporary housing in the artisanal district of The Oltrarno, where even before arriving in Florence I felt destined to find a long-term apartment in this neighborhood. For another four months, we loved life on Via Della Sprone, in the heart of Piazza della Passerà, where Luna and I made friends with the surrounding shop, restaurant, or café owners, and where lively jazz concerts entertained in the Piazza during the long hot summer nights. After our moves from the initial apartments, and my determined search to find the home I had envisioned for us, fortune smiled on me in the form of an email from a real estate agent that showcased a stunningly modern, architecturally re-designed high-ceilinged flat on Via Santa Maria, in a neighborhood I had walked through with Luna in our first few explorative months, having an intrinsic sense that this was where I would one day find ourselves. 

  The moment I viewed the apartment with my friend Jennifer, who was visiting me in Florence over the Christmas holidays, I told myself this was the home for Luna and me. I stopped searching for anything else and trusted that my application to take up residence would be accepted. I had been searching for a long-term apartment for the past 8 months and I only had one month left before we had to leave the loft of a new acquaintance on Borgo Della Stella, which buttressed Piazza Carmine, which I loved to walk to in the early morning or evenings and watch Luna run freely without her lead, and where I loved to listen to my music on my iPods, and dance around the Piazza with her as there were hardly any people there at those hours. This time, the belief that our luck had turned a corner paid off. 

  After a three meetings with the owner whom I later became friends with, after thirty-six other candidates applied for this flat, and after she had shown so much affection for Luna, having no problem with accepting a puppy in the flat, I was notified by our mutual agent Stefano, who petitioned me as the best applicant, he called me to tell me the apartment was mine. We moved into the top floor flat of Via Santa Maria, 21, apartment 8, on February 1st, 2019, and life in this lofty place brought genuine gratitude into my heart each and every day, the chance to work from home, to share every precious moment with Luna who now had a proper home with generous space of an open plan setting to explore, to take long explorative walks throughout the city together, to visit gardens and sites we embraced with a nourished sense of belonging. We took trips to Milan or the seaside of Livorno with friends, toured vineyards and their surrounding small hamlets enjoyed an unexpected private wine-tasting, voyaged by rail to Rome, Lucca, Sienna, Bologna, Arezzo, the Tuscan Riviera, Castiglioncello, and to the hillside suburban heights in Fiesole, or Piazza Michelangelo, watched the magic of fireworks along the Lungarno, and began to meet new friends. 

  Luna was most likely the only dog to have been allowed to walk with me through the Bardini Gardens before being noticed at the top of the hill where we had settled to look at the panorama with a bowl of water and an aperitif. At the entrance, the counter to purchase tickets was high and she came along with me inside the elevator to the 1st floor to begin our garden journey, making it impossible for anyone at the entry to have noticed her. The photographs of her in the enchanting environment remain as a memory of this exclusive escapade. 

  Luna was approaching fourteen at this stage in our lives. A few months after we had settled into our new home, on one of our morning walks just around the corner of our street, she suddenly collapsed on the sidewalk, screeching in pain. I Instantly remembered our cardiologist in Los Angeles telling me several years ago, that Luna could live a long and healthy life even with a heart murmur, yet I should be aware if she started collapsing, it would be a sign to me that the stage of her diagnosis had advanced, prompting an upgrade to her medicine, and monitoring her closely. My heart felt as if it had jumped into my throat as I picked her listless body up in my arms and saw her head flop over my elbow. We were so new in the neighborhood, I had no idea where I could go with her, or who might be of some help. Desperate cries of panic mingled with my trembling voice telling her not to leave me, praying for her to stay with me. I walked to the bookshop called Ta Ta Ta as I had recently made acquaintances with the ladies who owned the shop, only to see it was closed during lunch hours, but when I turned to look elsewhere for help, I saw Fiama riding towards me on her bike. She quickly opened the door to the shop and called a cab as I placed Luna on the small sofa, and within seconds of entering, she had resumed to her normal self, breathing a bit heavier, yet appearing to have recovered. The taxi arrived and we set about to the 24-hour veterinary clinic with a choking anxiety that my darling little girl could die at any moment.

  Once they gave her injections to calm her heart, they had to shave a part of her belly to administer the ultra-sound and they provided her some comfort as well as giving her antibiotics. It was heartbreaking to see her in this state. The doctors were completely encouraging, and yet they determined it would be best to keep a 24-hour watch over her and so she was held for the next two days of observation and treatment. Coming home without her and being alone in our home for the first time was most frightening. I called my friend Andrea and asked if he would be free to take me to the clinic to bring her home, and he was happy to help me. We watched her run out of the procedure room door towards me, pulling the lead of the doctor who had treated her, and she was wagging her tail, jumping on me, and she looked as if she had just come from being groomed, happy and healthy as ever.  Andrea stayed with me at the apartment for a bit to make sure we were going to be okay and then he called that night and the next day to check up on us. I was terribly relieved to tell him she was doing great.

  Our lives were altered dramatically after that episode in March 2019. She was released with a new protocol to treat the accelerated heart murmur to be taken every eight hours every day for the rest of her life. Thankfully, I was not going to classes any longer and I set about to manage her new routine as if my occupation were her private nurse. The doctors advised me even though she loved to go for walks and showed outward signs of being energetic, I needed to eliminate our habitual long walks during the day, and avoid taking her with me if meeting friends for dinners or drinks as it was important to keep her calm. Before this dramatic change, when we walked up the four flights of stairs together, Luna would hop up the eight steps ahead of me and turn around and wait for me on each platform before heading up again on her own. In that gesture, she reminded me of a sheep dog, herding me to join her. Now, her lifeline depended on the regimen of this medicine every eight hours, which meant I either had to be home with her at those times, or if we were out together, I would have the meds with me for her to take. The adjustment was in place and her quality of life remained positive. We were both resting easier now.

  I found myself making the most of every single moment I had with her, knowing deep in my heart, we were both facing the end rather than the beginning of our story together and I became even more doting on her, making this new challenge for us, as graceful as possible. I never wanted any fears I held to transmit to her as I was keenly aware of how sensitive she was to me. Luna was now approaching fifteen years. 

  Luna became the partner in life I had always hoped to have with a husband. She loved me unconditionally, warts and all, in the worst of times and in the best of times because she always knew my heart had been broken by the chapters of loss, I had experienced in a part of these fifteen years. She became the warm welcome I returned home to when I left her with a dog sitter, or when I was invited to an event inappropriate for her to join, or most recently, when I travelled home to New England for the December holidays in 2019 to visit my family and I could not take her because the journey would have been too much for her. She had experienced two more attacks like the one she had on the sidewalk, saved by my presence and her medication, rallying quickly to my relief, and I knew an international flight was out of the question. 

  One of my friends in Florence had found a fabulous pet sitter named Patricia, who had a large farmhouse in the countryside about forty-five minutes from the city, and after three test trials where we would leave Luna for an hour or so and have a nice lunch in the town, I felt comforted she would be well cared for and much loved by this experienced habitat for animals owner. The time away from her was not without concern, and I missed her terribly even when I was in high spirits seeing New York City again and enjoying memorable moments with family. 

  When I finally returned and brought her back to our apartment, it was palpable how much my absence had affected her. I set about to nurse her back to a simple life of well-being and familiarity. She must have had thoughts of abandonment when she was left behind no matter how kind Patricia had been to her. I made home-cooked meals mixed with natural canned foods which she loved, and her appetite was fantastic, sometimes eating three meals a day and drinking so much more water because of the medicine. I pampered her and settled back into the reassurance we were going to be fine with time and intense loving care. 

  I would often find her hiding underneath the large bathroom counter in my master bathroom, and I loved the way she silently followed me wherever I was at any given moment in our home, or when she asked me to help her hop up on the right end of the sofa in the living room whilst I worked or watched Netflix or the news. Not that she couldn’t do this on her own mind you, for whenever I left her for a bit to make grocery shopping without having to carry her as well as my shopping trolley, she found a way to jump not only on the sofa, but also the double bed in our bedroom. 

  Our walks became limited to stay close in our neighborhood for shopping in the Santo Spirito and San Frediano areas, and sometimes I would feel the need to carry her and hold her close to my chest and kiss her on her head and on her fluffy ears as we walked back home. She still loved to run up the four flights of stairs in our apartment building, but our veterinarian told me to either carry her, or hold the lead to guide her to a slower pace. Because Luna had the best of spirits, the sweetest nature, no one would have ever guessed she was ailing. She always looked so filled with light, bright-eyed, such gorgeous eyes and bushy-tailed, her paws tapping the pavement as she pranced along, fearlessly eager to approach other dogs. Everyone loved to see her come into their shops and the friends we had already made were so eager to make a fuss over her and her tail wagged a warm welcome. She had become a Florentine.

  After so many months of not taking formal language lessons, it was time to ramp up my desire to improve my Italian as it had slipped during the months we both tended to hibernate in our home, splendidly enjoying the days and months that passed in this new chapter of our life together. I had my comfort in Luna and Luna had her security in me. I could never, nor did I ever want to imagine my life without her. But then the outbreak of this deadly virus came marching into Italy with a force no one could have anticipated. Luna made her presence once more in the school, but this time by riding our bus every day together and then returning on the same bus, taking a ten minute walk home from the stop on the Lungarno near Ponte Carraia, passing Piazza Santo Spirito, and most often, me wanting to pick her up to carry her home to protect her heart even more. 

  No sooner had we began a familiar routine of the initial two months of learning, we were now being advised we needed to shelter in place at home. Oddly so, I was relieved. Before the pandemic struck, I had become accustomed to sealing myself away safely in my beautiful flat, isolation being a choice rather than an infringement to flatten the curve of this epidemic. For me, there was not the same adjustment period as others were about to live through. 

  Even though Luna loved taking the bus, and being in the company of others, as she was such a social animal, I would need to find a balance of working from home, learning online, and fulltime caregiving and enjoying every moment with my Little Fluff. She was happy to take in the sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling dining room windows, or to watch our friends the pigeons outside the window when she perched herself on the high pillows of the sofa, or when she was smarter than her mommy to go to bed at about 9:30 or 10:00 every night, either scooting underneath the bench at the end of my bed, or on her pillows underneath the glassed top bedside table. Even though the interaction was not as rigorous as it was when she was a puppy, there was an unmatched sense of her presence, her comforting spirit that eased my sense of isolation or calmed the chaos of what the world outside was beginning to experience. It seemed the perfect time for us to shelter in place together and I was not saddened by this sacrifice because she was going to muster through this by my side. We were a team, Luna and me. We had a silent language no one else could understand, and we had become masterful in reading each other’s moods. It was why, one night, when the cough she started experiencing a few weeks earlier, and had been taking anti-inflammatory medicine for, suddenly, this one fretful night, became unbearable. She was coughing so severely I called our veterinarian during the early evening and he said he would want to see her the next day.  

  Neither one of us could sleep. I would lie down beside her and without words or fussing over her, I showed her silently that her mommy was here, and she would be okay. I said prayers throughout the night, tears rolling down my cheeks, I put bowls of water nearby to make it easier for her. Apart from the cough, she had shown signs of a magnificent turnaround in her health. She was eating so well and still eager for her treats, hopping at times as if she were youthful again, chasing me in the living room and playing with her toys. She found a spot on the cool floor in the kitchen and after several hours, seemed to have surpassed the crises. I crawled back into bed near three and fell asleep with the notion to bring her to the vet the next day, my mind a bit more at peace that her coughing had stopped. It was Saturday. My alarm was always set for seven in the morning to give the first pills of the day, so when I turned off the sound, I looked underneath the bench for her and underneath the bedside table, but she wasn’t there. At times, she liked to sleep on her bed in the living room, or strangely enough, she had adopted the norm of sleeping in the folds of the drapery fabric that fell over the floor by the large windows. 

  I went into the big room and when I saw the look in her eyes, my heart stopped. She was standing, gasping for breath, looking at me as if to say, “I need help mommy. I’m in pain.” I had never seen her like this before, and I knew the coughing had taken a heavy toll on her heart. In an instant I knew this was it. This was the moment I had never wanted to face, not alone, nor with anyone who might have been a new romance in my life. It grabbed me by the throat. The panic struck severely as I picked her up and tried to pretend with the meds everything would settle down as it always had before, but this time was different. She was uncomfortable and her breathing was heavy. I wrapped her in a large towel underneath her as I knew somehow instinctively, she might lose continence. Surely, she did. Franticly, I called one of my girlfriends who knew my vet, and she told me to take a cab to his office and they would meet me outside where I could give Luna to them. I had spoken to him six months ago about what options I would have should Luna leave this earth and decided, in order to be prepared, I would want to have her ashes. 

  I slipped her favorite blanket over her and I held her in my arms as I heard her take two deep exhales of letting giving in to letting go, and wept from the depths of my soul for I was watching the life slowly drain out painlessly and peacefully from my little Sweet Pea, my Principessa, my Honeybun, my Little Scoot, my Luna Moon, my Xiao Gou Gou, as she continued to look at me with her telling eyes filled with the message that she was leaving me alone and how much she was more saddened by that than by departing this life she was blessed to have. Eyes that told me how grateful she was for sharing her life with a loving mother, for all the adventures we lived through were now at an end. The life of the threads of our bond were being drained as I wrapped her in my arms and told her countless times how much I thanked her for being such a good girl, how much I loved her and would miss her. I thanked her for taking such good care of her mommy, and telling her God would protect and love her, that we would be together one day.

  It took almost an hour for my sweet little love to completely leave and throughout this time my pain had to make room for action, the sobering action to get dressed to leave with her, the dreadful action of holding her lifeless body in my arms for our last journey together, as I walked down the flights of stairs, and stepped outside to wait for the cab, the sharp pain of seeing a friend of mine on her morning walk with her doggie Nikei whom Luna had become friends with, her saddened expression leaving me speechless, all of us now wearing masks and gloves to avoid contracting COVID-19. There I was, riding through one of the world’s most beautiful cities, this Florence we both had embraced, and I could not see anything in front of me, looking down at my adorable baby girl in my arms, sobbing desperately in the cab on the way to the vet’s to give the love of my life away for her final and solo chapter of life. 

  There were people on the sidewalks when I stepped out of the cab, the driver kindly waiting for me as he knew the horror I was experiencing, and it seemed for me there was nothing but a blur surrounding this surreal moment, as if I had been thrust into the center of a worm hole in space and could only see the arms of my vet reaching out towards me to take my precious Luna from me. 

  As I stepped back into the cab all I wanted to do was crawl into the past where we had been so happy together. When I opened the door to my apartment, I saw reminders of the love I had just lost, engulfing me everywhere. Her dog bowls, her beds, favorite toys, and yet, she was gone. I had begun my shelter in place – inside my bed, crying myself to sleep every night, afraid to even go into the bedroom without the nocturn habits we had formed together, afraid to wake up and not see the docile face of my sweet Luna I counted on surviving this rotten time we were about to face together. I still saw her everywhere in my mind, I felt this loss could not be happening to me now, not at this frightening time Italy and the rest of the world would be going through. Luna and I would have been celebrating her fifteenth birthday the very next week and now, on March 13, 2020, I said goodbye to the greatest love I had ever known.  

  I do not feel guilty or ashamed about saying this. I grieved immensely when I lost my father so early in his life, and then four years ago, when I had to say goodbye to my darling mother, I was in agony, but we lived on east and west coasts where for years, we would see each other on special occasions, or holidays, and such, and once the funerals were behind us and I returned to my home in Los Angeles, my life continued where it left off; surrounded by work and friends, and the comfort of distance to drive away the sorrow.

  Luna was with me every single day of my life for the past fifteen years, through all of the transformations and traumas, all of the joys and exciting variations of a life fully lived, and strengthened by each other to become warriors adapting to wherever we travelled because she and I knew we had each other. We had someone else to live for and cherish. I do not have that now. 

  Two months later, the #StayHome and #SmartWorking parameters in Italy have been eased to allow us to wander about the streets again without the restrictions of staying in our immediate neighborhoods or necessities shopping. When this pandemic swept over Italy and we were forced to remain home, I welcomed it and envisioned the joy of taking little Lunes out for her brief walks with me, or taking her travelling again on new ventures to see more of this magnificent country, to continue turning the pages of our Italian journey together. That chapter has come to a close, and for now, my grief has grasped hold of me and has taken me on a different immanent journey, one of inescapable solitude and sorrow. 

  Everyone who owns a pet tells you that their dog or cat is special. As it should be, it is understandable. But when everyone who had ever met Luna tells me this wholeheartedly, and speaks volumes of what a sweetheart little puppy she was, how her personality and character were so unique, so filled with charm, marvelous and merry, how much joy she gave to them, and how they loved her so, I look at the images I took of her in our many settings and seasons shared of life, I see what I have always known about her more fully, and although I am a photographer who took numerous photos of my Little Bubble of white fluff who gave me all of her heart and soul until her last dying day, I tell myself I should have taken a thousands more, as there will never be enough. 

  It’s ten o’clock in the evening now. The eerie silence of her absence sweeps through the flat as I look around me, as if searching for the shadow of my girl, I hear the sound of my voice crying out, “Come on! Let’s go! You want to go beddie with mommy Little Fluff? Good night Sweetpea. Sleep tight my baby girl. Sweet dreams. Mommy loves you so much Luna Moon!”

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MY SICK ROMAN HOLIDAY

12/18/17 - 1/5/18

A True Story

            I’ve always been embarrassed to say I am an Italian-American who has never been to Italy. “You’ve NEVER been to Italy?” was the question that followed my statement that I’ve traveled to so many places and lived in foreign countries, but never have I seen Italy. I always said I wanted to go there when I was in love.

            A few decades after my 20’s, I realized all I needed was to be in love with myself! Forget the men. They’ve come, and sadly, gone; but, I’ve evolved, forged forward with dignity and bravado. It was time to stop using this as an excuse. The crazy part of this journey however, came in the form of destination by default. I spent the better part of last year obsessed with, passionate about, and studying the language and culture of Turkey, and I had booked travel and lodging in Istanbul for three weeks during the winter holidays. I found the perfect Ottoman-style home which had been featured in Maison France magazine [high-end designer style, colorful and in a diverse World Heritage neighborhood where a James Bond film was shot!], booked a round-trip ticket, and was ready to set sail in the Bosporus. That is, until the political storm between Turkey and the United States blocked my visa application. Within three days, amidst shedding understandable tears, I impassively altered my plans to head to Rome. 

            I think I was the only person traveling to Rome who was crestfallen she wasn’t going to Istanbul. My friends and family made sighs of relief because they were more concerned about my traveling as an American who was heading to a hotbed of political upheaval. Despite my insistence this was an international, sophisticated city, how I knew how to blend in without having to wear a hijab, their concerns were heartfelt, and I reluctantly accepted this coup de destin of flying to the Eternal City. Although I wasn’t Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, I related to her being out of control and captive in her position in the castle until she fled to the arms of Gregory Peck. The one inspiring thought was the idea of taking photos in Rome. As a life-long published photographer who was uninspired by Los Angeles, I was eager to witness and capture the history and beauty of Rome.

            British Airways flight number B6553 departing to Heathrow did not appear to show the signs of business class comfort. The airline, as well as the crew, looked as if on their last voyage before retirement. Although efficient and courteous, their warm smiles did not disguise the truly disappointing food we were served. By the time I arrived in Rome, I was starving, and asking for aspirin as I felt a cold or flu settling in.

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"Each time I looked through the lens, I found myself stealing images of angels and archangels dancing overhead, or madonnas caressing their child, earthen terra-cotta colored facades and age-old textures guiding me to capture more of Rome than I had the time for. I will return and my eyes will be focused upon the details of devouring this Roman masterpiece of a city. " Karon Morono