Stacy Horn

I dragged myself out of the apartment to run errands and was rewarded by coming upon a shoot for the HBO show Girls. This is Lena Dunham, the show’s creator and the star. FYI, they’re shooting a half a block away from Carrie’s Sex and the City apartment. Update: The actress on the left is Rita Wilson. That’s been bugging me. I can rest now.

The actress on the right is Allison Williams, daughter of news anchor Brian Williams. Thanks to Jon Stewart, whenever I think of Brian Williams I will always think and see “the giant head of Brian Williams”.

Here is a wonderful article about a man who is able to hear music for the first time. The song to reach his ears before any other was, apparently, the Lacrimosa from Mozart’s Requiem. Mozart died when he was nine bars into the Lacrimosa section of the Requiem, and it was completed by his friend Franz Xaver Süssmayr. Those nine bars were crucial and informative however, and Süssmayr’s completion feels pretty seamless (to me).

Given the text, the Lacrimosa sections of Requiems frequently bring out the most tender work a composer can muster. It’s a call for mercy on judgement day. The latin translates to:

Full of tears shall be that day
On which from ashes shall arise
The guilty man to be judged;
Therefore, O God, have mercy on him.
Gentle Lord Jesus,
grant them eternal rest. Amen.

Here is what Austin Chapman, the young man in the article, has to say about hearing it (and music) for the first time:

“When Mozart’s Lacrimosa came on, I was blown away by the beauty of it. At one point of the song, it sounded like angels singing and I suddenly realized that this was the first time I was able to appreciate music. Tears rolled down my face and I tried to hide it. But when I looked over I saw that there wasn’t a dry eye in the car.”

The picture below is of the beginning of the Highline (abandoned elevated railroad tracks that were turned into a public park). I went out to read, because I needed to get out of the house, and I needed to do something other than drown in my missing-Buddy-sorrow.

I started what is turning out to be a perfect, magical book. It’s called Jim the Boy and it’s the coming of age story of a ten year old boy in North Carolina during the depression. Seriously, it’s a treasure. Lucky me to have Howard hand this book to me at this particular point in time. It is soothing my heart. I’m going back to curl up on the couch and finish it now.

I wonder if I’m alone in this? One of the things I’ve been doing since Buddy died is obsessing about all the decisions I made about his care and what I could have done differently. It’s insane but it’s a common response to death.

Then I thought, ‘What if I had somehow managed to buy him a couple more months?’ Let’s say it’s October and he’s just died. What would I have gained? What would he have gained? I think it would feel like those two months never happened. Don’t get me wrong, I would give anything for two more months, I’m just saying that had I gotten them, in October I would not be appreciating them, I’d be exactly where I am now.

The only response is what we’re always told to do: appreciate the moment you have now. IE, in October, those two months wouldn’t do me any good. But they would have been great as they happened.

A Ted Talk that made me feel happy for a few minutes.

Some photographs that blew my mind for a few minutes.

Yesterday I asked Finney, “Who’s the cutest cat in the whole wide world?” In the past, whenever I’ve asked him this I always followed it with, “You are! Tied with Buddy, of course.” But yesterday it was just, “You are.”

It’s been very rough. I’ve been going through the motions, although I have to say, going through the motions helps even if I don’t get any pleasure from them.

For instance, I’ve been swimming a couple of times. I haven’t been able to work myself up to swimming as much as I normally would, but when I swim, even though I don’t enjoy it, I feel less devastated afterwards. The endorphins are doing their job in a different way. Instead of bringing joy, they lessen the pain.

Finney seems fine. He’s getting more attention and of course he’s happy about that. I guess he’s always been waiting to become the king of the desk. Oh that doctor thing is just for a standard yearly checkup. I’m fine!

Molly Ringwald once said some very nice things to me about my book Waiting For My Cats to Die (we met at a party). I remember her comments immediately made me think: she wants to write.

Well, her first novel, When It Happens to You, came out this month. Congratulations! It seems to be getting mixed reviews, but that’s fine. All my books do. Waiting For My Cats to Die has alternately been described as funny and heartwarming and as the most depressing book the reviewer had ever read.

One of Ringwald’s mixed reviews sold me however, and here’s why. Everyone who reads my blog knows my cat Buddy just died. A friend, who meant well, told me that it might be good to remember at this time that there are a lot worse things than losing a cat. I wanted to tell him, as a friend, to never say anything like that to a grieving person again.

One of the stories in When It Happens to You is about grief. I don’t know what kind of grief, but the reviewer says this:

When it happens to you, the narrator explains, you will not be comforted by reminding yourself of real tragedies, of floods and earthquakes and land mines. “Your heart doesn’t think,” Ringwald writes. “Your heart is stupid. It doesn’t consider the relativity of tragedy when it breaks.”

Amen, Molly. The heart can’t weigh which grief merits how much mourning. It just breaks. I would buy the book based on that insight alone. What others are saying about her book:

“When It Happens to You is absolutely lovely, a smart, emotionally sophisticated, intricately dovetailed novel of stories. World, I’m telling you now: Molly Ringwald is the real deal.” (Lauren Groff, author of Arcadia )

“Molly Ringwald’s eight electric stories are alive with Joycean insight-piercing, epiphanic moments of terror, humor, and transcendence. Together they offer a deeply moving portrait of modern life.” (Eleanor Henderson, author of Ten Thousand Saints )

Ringwald also wrote an interesting and thoughtful op-ed comparing writing to acting.
—

I took this yesterday while I was doing the laundry. I’m comforted when the weather matches my feelings. Sunshine is an insult. Tonight I’m going to a pet bereavement group. Hopefully. I was told to call first in case it gets cancelled.