Five Great Reasons to Stay Home on Memorial Day Weekend

As I write this piece, I am happily, sloppily at home in my workout gear (actually post workout this time, instead of "workout hopeful".) I am not stuck in traffic or having an anxiety attack about the weather forecast or busily packing and unpacking. 

Yes, I'm aware it's the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend: the unofficial start of the Summer Season. And, yes, I'm opting to stay at home. And if you are bummed about your boring plans, feeling left out because no invited you to the "party of the season" or frustrated because you need to stay in the city for work or family, I'm here to tell you my five top reasons why you are going to have a great time at home:

1. No Traffic = More Time to Play
As I said before, you avoid traffic. Unless you leave in the middle of the night, you are bound to hit massive traffic jams this week regardless of the direction you head. Just getting out of Manhattan could take two hours. So you arrive at the beach, the mountains, Atlantic City -- wherever --  tired, dirty and cranky. So you've already lost Friday and forget about Monday too. If you stay at home, you have all four glorious days to enjoy. Even if you work a full day on Friday, you're super psyched about the time off, and you're probably not working much because the boss is gone already.

2. The Apocalypse Fantasy Weekend
I don't mean to be morbid, but if you're anything like me, you may harbor rather sick fantasy of being one of the lone survivors of the apocalypse and having the entire city to yourself. Well, staying in Manhattan on a holiday weekend allows you to get a sneak peak of what that would be like. Want to go to that hot new restaurant? No reservation, no problem. On a weekend like this, chances are you can stroll right in. Take in that show at the MOMA without the crowds and lines. Stroll down the Hudson River promenade with your border collie without dogging hordes of skaterborders and oblivious double-stroller i-phone-checking moms. The city is all yours for a few days - so go for it!

3. Keep your Vanity
In my heyday I'd head down to the Jersey Shore for a big beach bonanza on Memorial Day. But that moment would come where I'd have to don a bathing suit for the first time in the season...argh. With very little previous sun exposure, my skin in the month of May is the color of spoiled milk. So I'd lay on the beach self-consciously desperate for a quick tan. Of course, I'd wind up getting massively burned. That's no way to kick off summer. At home, I can wander around in my shorts and a T-shirt picking up some sun in my lonely city without anyone staring. Perhaps if it warms up, I can even go on my roof and get a tan. After all we all know my neighbors will be out of town so there'll be no one to gawk. Bring on the glow!

4. Rest
It's been a long hard winter. Why not rest up on this 3-day'er and get primed for a busy, exciting summer. Sleep in for a few days, take some naps, sit by the river and watch the boats go by -- even better, sit in a park and watch the sailors in for Fleet Week!

5. Opting out = No Envy or Disapppointment
As a New Yorker you know that even if you're having a great time, someone is having a better, fancier, more special time. If you're rubbing elbows with Sarah Jessica Parker at a book fair in Rhinebeck, your best friend is taking a selfie with Beyonce at a black-tie gala in the Hamptons. You can't win. All this build-up for the "first weekend of the summer!!!" will eventually let you down. And the eventual comparisons with your coworkers and neighbors will make you feel "less than." So opt out. Be above it. On Tuesday just say, "oh I can't be bothered with all that Memorial Day nonsense year after year."  Because in New York, jaded always wins no matter what. 

So stop checking weather.com, quit debating about whether to take your wedges or strappy sandals. Put on come flip flops and join me in having a fun, spontaneous free and easy holiday. 

Happy Memorial Day!

The Dreaded Backslide

As many of you know, last year I revolutionized the way I ate (whole foods, smaller portions, healthier meals, fewer desserts,) adopted new habits like mindful eating, and started a fitness regimen which included aerobic exercise (walking) and strength training. I wound up losing 34 pounds, felt great and had to buy a totally new wardrobe (kind of a good news/bad news situation.)

My Old "Before" Shot

Last October, I decided I was at my ideal weight, so I stopped weighing, measuring and logging my food. But I was scared. I knew how to gain weight (clearly) and I now knew how to lose weight, but maintaining this new size was uncharted territory. How much more would I be able to eat without gaining back any of the pounds I worked so hard to lose? Could I have pizza and dessert more often...if so how frequently? 

Suddenly -- out of nowhere -- the holiday season came like a hurricane. Never in my life had I been invited to so many parties and gatherings, all testing my new resolve. I did ok, but I definitely ate more than I had during my "dieting" period. But I was too chicken to get on the scale and see what had happened to my body. My weekly weigh-ins were exciting when I was on the downward path, but now...? I just couldn't face the truth. 

Then in January I hit a bit of an emotional slump. I decided (against everything I knew) that the pressure to exercise each day was hurting me so I jettisoned that healthy habit -- one which most likely could have addressed my depression -- like a burning lunar module. 

My Old "After" shot

And slowly my old habits crept in: larger portions, using more butter than I know is wise, having not just one but TWO desserts each night (I often crave a salty snack like chips after a cupcake) and mindlessly nibbling while I cook. When I finally summoned the courage to weigh myself some time in the late winter, I had gained back about five pounds.  I wasn't surprised, but I was disappointed. But not disappointed enough to reach a bottom.

I told myself that things would need to change. I added back in my strength training (as the walking always continued thanks to my Border Collie, Rollo,) but not with same consistency. But that was the only concession. Even though I knew how I was able to lose the weight, I couldn't find the willingness to go back to those habits again -- habits that never felt oppressive, oddly.

So my unhealthy behavior continued. And I basically kept quiet, only telling a few people close to me -- and probably not telling the whole story. The funny thing is, now that I'm a health coach, I know better and perhaps that made me more unwilling to admit defeat and ask for help. 

Two weeks ago, before a one-week vacation at the beach with my family, I got serious and I weighed myself again -- now I was up to a seven-pound weight gain. I needed this dose of reality to try to stem the temptations I would encounter living with my Mom (who offers candy every five minutes) and in close proximity to the best ice cream in the state.  Did this self knowledge work? Well, no because I took no other action but that.  I am up another pound and a half. I have gained back nearly 25% of what I lost. It isn't so much the number that scares me, but how insidious and fast the backslide can happen.

My New "Before"

So today is my Day One:  the day that I am officially surrendering and starting over. I started my day with "BollyBlast" a new workout I record from the TV show on the Veria network. I measured out the ingredients in my breakfast and recorded them in MyFitness Pal (the app that changed my life.) And I am telling the whole world that I backslid. 

Perhaps, this can be your day one too. I would love the company, support and encouragement as I try to drop those extra eight or nine (maybe ten) pounds. Although, I'm eager to lose this unwelcome fat, I have given myself no timeline, because what's most important is that I re-adopt the habits that made me feel my absolute best. 

And, I am comforting myself with the knowledge that now I can better empathize with my health coaching clients that have experience a backslide, too. Very humbling.

Best, Karen

As always, for more information on health coaching and healthy eating visit  Wellbeings With Karen Azeez

Sending out an SOS

Why is it so hard to ask for help?  There’s an old parable (are there any new ones, actually?) about a man sitting on the roof of his house during a hurricane. He is watching and worrying as flood waters rise and rise. He implores his God to help him. A few minutes later a neighbor comes by with his ladder and a SUV and says “climb down and we’ll drive you to safety,” the man refuses explaining that God will save him. An hour later as the water reaches the windows a family in row boat paddles by and implores him to jump in. Again our man stays put, relying on his God to save him.  At the end of the day a helicopter hovers over and the man still refuses to go.  He is now alone in the dark. The foundation of his house is about to collapse and he will be sucked into the muddy waters.  He cries, “why God did you forsake me!” God answers: “I sent you a ladder, a boat and a helicopter, what more did you want?” 

I think about this parable a lot as I suffer with my problems alone. Perhaps assistance isn't floating by my window as blatantly as in this above story, but it’s there all the time. I have caring friends, family and neighbors with myriad skills, talents and experience. So why don’t I – and so many people like me – ask for it?

Asking for help certainly leaves us in a vulnerable position. Perhaps people will say no. Perhaps they will judge us for not knowing the answer ourselves. Or maybe we’ll feel beholden to the favor-giver. And to these excuses I say: so what?

If someone says no, they say no. Go on to someone else. Don’t take it personally because it probably isn’t personal. And, if it is, well then you have a valuable new piece of information (that friend is no friend.) And the same is true if they judge us – screw ‘em!  They’re just exhibiting some form of their own insecurity if they need to criticize you for needing help or information.

Sure I love being a know-it-all, but you don’t get to know much at all if you don’t ask questions. After all you can’t google everything (or can you?) It’s actually quite liberating to be at a party or gathering and when someone mentions dark matter to say, “what exactly is dark matter?”  Now I have an opportunity to understand dark matter (well, at least hear about what it is…)

And as for being indebted…well that isn’t really so bad is it. Most friends will be happy to give (it boosts their self-esteem after all) but even if they expect something in return, then you have a chance to be the hero next. Not a bad deal, when you think of it.

I remember several years ago when I was I first began a journey into self-discovery. I was really trying to be a more open and honest person when I was struck with a nasty case of food poisoning. My friend – and pseudo spiritual guide -- Ann insisted on visiting with ginger ale and sorbet to soothe my turbulent tummy.  After accepting these gifts gratefully, I said, “see, I’m making progress, I can ask for help now!” She laughed sympathetically and pointed out that I didn’t ask. Well, accepting the help was still enormous progress for me.

Today I am ready to progress even more.  I find myself needing some help and I’m asking for my friends to rally behind me. It’s time to launch my business as a health coach and I need my friends to coach me on marketing and to help spread the word.  I’d rather not ask. I’d rather the universe just send me clients.  But that’s not how it works.  

I need cheerleaders and I am hoping some of you will apply. All you need to do is share my blog posts on health and wellness with your facebook friends, and/or help me find other blogs and online magazines where I can be a guest blogger/writer. Maybe you have a connection with a gym or spa or doctor’s office where they could use my services as a coach or to hold a workshop on weight loss, sleep, stress, nutrition and home cooking?  Maybe you yourself are interested in coaching or have a friend, coworker or parent that could use help and could make a referral.  Or maybe you’re a marketing wiz and have other ideas of how I can spread the word. 

If you’re interested visit my website: www.karenazeezwellbeings.com for more info on what I do, then we can talk or message about how you can help.

Honestly, I can’t do this alone – and it’s a good exercise in humility and self-growth to have a team to rely on. So are you ready to be my cheerleader?

Walking The Talk

Today something very exciting happened to me: I was accepted into my first CSA. No, it’s not some sort of graduate program, spy ring or Mensa group. It’s Community Sponsored Agriculture. For those unfamiliar with CSAs, basically you are investing upfront in a farmer’s growing season by buying shares of their crop. Each Tuesday starting in June, I’ll go to an appointed spot and pick my veggies and fruit for the week.  I’ve wanted to do this since last fall when I first read about them. As a city girl, I didn’t understand why I had to wait until spring.  Anyway…I knew there were only 65 slots available and lots of competition for the Tribeca CSA. So when I found out I could buy my share today I was nearly as excited as the day I was accepted to Colgate University.

Very Exciting!!!!

Coming down off the CSA high, I began to wonder why I was that thrilled – after all, it’s just vegetables, not a four-year education.  First, I thought that as someone who will always view herself (in part) as a misfit toy, I just love being accepted anywhere by any group.  Seriously, if I was brought up in the wrong neighborhood I would have been an easy recruit for the Bloods or Crips.  So knowing that I could be part of not just a CSA, but the Tribeca CSA, well…it meant that I was part of the community – my community -- and that felt pretty great.

But soon I realized that acceptance wasn’t the whole story.  Those of you devoted friends and readers following my story over the last few years know that I have become devoted to healthier eating and living. This passion is why I became a health coach and launched my own practice. By joining the CSA, I was “walking the talk.” I was making a commitment, not only to including fresh, local, organic produce into my life on a weekly basis, but I am actually helping to support the farmers that make it possible. To me this is truly exhilarating.  And that is perhaps why I am a bit of a geek, too.

But looking back, this is nothing new. Even as a small child, my integrity – or walking the talk -- was vastly important to me.  Living in a single parent household, nearly on the brink of poverty, my integrity was often the one thing I could hold onto in what felt like a sea of chaos.  My mother loves to tell the tale of me terrorizing the neighborhood on my big wheel when I was five. She overheard the seven and eight-year old boys whisper, “watch out for that one!”  I don’t remember the details as clearly today, but I know I was defending the honor of my girl friends who had been picked on by these budding hoodlums (honestly, in Mill Basin it’s doubtful they would grow up to be anything but accountants and dentists.) I wanted those boys to know they couldn’t mess with me or my friends – and I needed to do something about it. And so I circled them like a hungry vulture on my big wheel until twilight.

That’s why, at my amazing birthday celebration last week, one of the most touching things said about me (by my dear friend Rita) was that I “walk the talk.”  I may not be easy going (as was also remarked) or patient; I can be shy and fearful at times.  And, I know that I am often highly opinionated and arrogant. But I do back up those opinions with actions.  

In this blog, I’ve written about my commitment to voting. I’m out there every election day: primaries, run-offs, whatever rain or shine, long line or ghost town. I recycle and always find good homes for cast-off furniture or clothes. I clean with homemade natural products.   I have participated in countless boycotts and protests.  I support the causes I believe in with money, time and by spreading the word.

But lest you think that my integrity is spotless, think again.  I know my walking the talk is not 100% -- no one’s perfect. For example, I just can’t quite bring myself to compost. I know there are ways to do so in Manhattan but they are a bit too daunting for a space-challenged germaphobe.

And then there’s leather. For years, as a non-meat eater, I convinced myself that buying leather products was ok because they were just by-products of the meat industry and would go to waste anyway. But recently after learning the horrors of factory farming, I decided I couldn’t reconcile my participation in any part of it. (CAVEAT: we are talking about my beliefs – I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything…really.) That being said, last week I did buy myself a gorgeous new leather handbag with a generous birthday gift card that came my way. I literally forgot my pledge. It was as if my love of fashion completely obliterated my memory like that wand in the movie “Men in Black.”

evidence of my imperfection

Well it just reminds me that I’m a work in progress. Maybe next time, I'll have the strength and determination to opt for a canvas bag or "vegan leather" sandals. And maybe I'll get over my qualms and figure out the composting conundrum. But maybe not. And that's ok too. Integrity is attractive, but perfectionism is not so pretty. 

If I was perfect, I’d doubt I’d have any friends at all. And, more importantly, it reminds me to love all my friends and family not despite their flaws but because of them – and that’s perhaps the best way I can walk the talk.

I would love it if you would share ways that you walk the talk or ways you’d like to begin doing so. And, if  you're interested in joining a CSA visit Just Food: http://www.justfood.org/csaloc

50 Reasons to Celebrate Turning 50

In a scant week from now I will be 50 years old, one half century, five decades – no matter how I say it, it sounds pretty terrifying. But there are definitely dozens of reasons to be happy where I am. And so to convince myself and my many, many friends joining me in this milestone here goes: 50 Reasons to Celebrate Turning 50

1. I don’t ever have to live through my difficult childhood years again
2. I don’t ever have to live though my traumatic and awkward teen years again
3. I don’t ever have to live through the confusion and drama of my 20s again
4. I don’t ever have to live though the challenging transformative/redemptive years of my 30s again
5. I already know algebra and geometry and never have to sit through a math class again
6. I can study whatever I want
7. I know what I want to be when I grow up
8. I understand what true friendship is and have many amazing, loyal and loving friends to show for it
9. I know how to set boundaries with emotional vampires
10. I was born before calculators so I can add, divide, multiply and subtract in my head
11. I was born before the internet so I can look things up in books or ask experts for answers
12. I was born before Yelp so I can ask human beings for real recommendations
13. I can read a map – a real map
14. I was born before cell phones so I know how to show up on time and keep appointments
15. I was born before cell phones so I know how to read or sit in quiet contemplation while waiting in airport terminals, doctor’s offices and movie theaters.
16. I was born before email so I know how to handwrite a proper thank-you or condolence note
17. After years of experimentations, I know what clothes look good and me and don’t feel the need to try a Bolero jacket
18. I can dress for comfort and appropriateness instead of trying to be cute or sexy all the time (and still be fashionable, of course.)
19. I have a wardrobe full of beautiful, fine quality items that suit all occassions
20. I am happy with my body (finally) and I don’t feel the need to compete with 20-year olds
21.  I have 50 years-worth of knowledge in music, politics, TV and movies
22. I have read War and Peace and been to the Shakespeare festival in Stratford, Ontario
23. I had to take Home Ec so I know how to sew and cook
24. I had to take Phys Ed so I know how to climb a rope and square dance
25. I grew up in the Watergate era so I learned how to question authority
26. I grew up during the Viet Nam War so I know that protests work and that our voice matters
27. I grew up during the second wave of feminism so I know that I matter and not to believe media portrayals of women etc.
28. I am a baby boomer: the most influential demographic
29. I have a long and distinguished resume and have made a difference in my community through my work
30. I know what I’m talking about…and when I don’t, I ask questions
31. I have experienced loss and can now help someone with their grief
32. I have been through a kitchen reno and can help someone avoid pitfalls
33. I sold a house and can offer my experience
34. I have hosted a wedding and am always willing to help brides (and grooms!)
35. I had “a procedure” and can now help someone who is afraid of having surgery (no, it wasn’t plastic surgery!)
36. I have started and ended and started new businesses
37. I survived 9/11, the crash of 2008 and Hurricane Sandy – and I’m more resilient and more grateful for it.
38. I can paint my own apartment and unclog a toilet or shower drain
39. I know that everything passes and to not fear bad phases or hold on to good ones too dearly
40. I know that I am not God and I’m happy about it
41. I have learned how to forgive and feel lighter every day that I do
42. I know the importance of daily sunlight, water and movement
43. I know that I am part of the universe
44. I am not afraid to share my views on nutrition, politics, feminism, animal rights, Downton Abbey or anything else that matters to me, but I can allow you your opinion too (finally!)
45. I have seen babies grow into wonderful adult human beings
46. I have watched my city transform itself again and again
47. I have been to 16 countries and hiked the Grand Canyon and I’m ready for more
48. I kick ass in Words with Friends, Scrabble and Quiz Up
49. I am still flexible enough to do the Camel Pose
50. Most importantly, I have many more years ahead to learn, make mistakes, love, forgive, eat great food and laugh with my dog

Have birthday to all my buddies born in 1964!!!

P.S. And speaking of new businesses...don't forget to visit my new health coaching website: www.karenazeezwellbeings.com 

Have a great Saturday

Why We Should Abolish Valentine’s Day: A Middleclass Manifesto

Do you really know anyone who likes Valentine’s day? Seriously, because I don’t. Maybe there’s some poor soul I have never met or will never meet .  I envision her as some crafty cock-eyed optimist living in Kansas who makes her own glittery greeting cards and just loves everything from Country music to Martha Stewart to collectible dolls.

Valentine’s Day is a scourge on this earth and causes more ill-will than love. Personally, I believe that Valentine’s Day was the actual cause of the Valentine’s Day massacre. From the moment we are innocent school children we are bombarded with the fear and dread associated with this made-up holiday. When I was young, V-Day cards were exchanged between classmates – not universally and democratically as they are done now, but as a popularity contest. At five years old you learned just how likable and attractive you were to your classmates by the amount (or lack of) of cards you received. This either led to 20 years of low self-esteem (if you received few or no cards) or 20 years of exaggerated self-importance and reliance on good looks (if you received many.) Neither is healthy, of course.

Nowadays, kids must bring cards for everyone in their class so no feelings are hurt. But what’s the message there: don’t trust an expression of affection because it’s probably forced. You’ll never really know who likes you and who doesn't.

Moving on to adult life…Valentine’s Day supposedly is meant to celebrate love, specifically romantic love (but that doesn't stop Hallmark from marketing V-Day trinkets and cards to grandparents and office mates.) The irony here is that if you are involved in a romantic love relationship, you don’t really need more celebration – having the romance alone is the prize.  And, if you don’t have that kind of love in your life at the moment, you wind up feeling like some misfit toy, depressed and unloved. Feh.

And for those single folks who think that couples are actually enjoying the day, think again. There’s way too much pressure to make it perfect – or at least better than your friends or that bitch who works down the hall and gets the 100 long-stem red roses and will be whisked off to a suite at the Mandarin Oriental, when you will be dining at Empire Szechuan.

And God forbid you are in a serious relationship but are not engaged. Oh Lordy! Even if you are not ready for such a commitment, there’s no way you won’t be wondering if he’s going to pop the question on this day of days. And if for some reason, you are able to push it out of your mind; your friends will surely pick up the ball and run with it.  I know of what I speak. I was with my dearest Steve for a year when V-Day 2006 rolled around. All my girlfriends were convinced I would get a proposal, when I knew full well that this was not Steve’s style. Even if he understood the so-called significance of the day, he wouldn't know what to do or he would've been sending signals for weeks. He’s just not a plan-it-all kind and keep it secret kind of guy. Nor is he one for cliché and convention. But this didn't matter. February 15^th I was forced to answer a barrage of hopefully inquisitive phone calls from well-meaning (I hope) friends. Double  Feh.

Then there are us married folks. I guess this is supposed to be the day when we stop our hurried lives and acknowledge the one with whom we've pledge to share our lives. Well, that’s pretty sad. I don’t care how many kids or meetings or business trips you have, if you are in love (as I am, by the way,) expressing your love and devotion should not happen on one specific day of the calendar – honestly it should be an everyday occurrence. I don’t mean that you have to take a page from some cheesy couples’ romance guide by greeting your mate at the door in a crimson negligee or a whipped cream bikini (what a waste of dessert topping!) I’m talking about actually showing the person you love that you love him or her by folding their shirts, or remembering their big meeting, or noticing their haircut, or rubbing their feet or just making eye contact while they’re telling you something important. Not to get too personal or sappy, but I try tell my husband how much I love him and hug him before we get out of bed just to start the day off right. I know that in a few hours – or minutes, depending on the day – I will be criticizing him for leaving dirty tissues on the counter or for forgetting to take his boots off when he comes back in from the morning dog walk.  

It’s so odd to me that we are being told that we should express our love through greeting cards, flowers, candy and jewelry. What do these things really have to do with love at all? They are pretty and ephemeral with no deep meaning. But they do cost a bunch of money – so that’s making Wall Street happy, right?

So how am I spending V-Day?  As I write this, my husband and I are in separate parts of Manhattan.  I am in our condo downtown and he is in the hospital room of a dying man.  About a week ago, an older man we know from our community took a bad fall and has been in an induced coma.  A few of our friends have been checking on him ever since. This poor guy has lived a tough and kind of checkered life and no one really knows if he has family or not. So when the doctors decided to pull the plug today, my husband and his buddy decided to be there for him as he leaves this world.

Honestly, it’s a fitting way for us to spend V-Day. It is a reminder to me of just one of the 842 reasons why I love my husband so much and how lucky I am to have found someone of such great compassion and character. You can keep your Godiva and keepsake lockets, I just want the opportunity to comfort him when he eventually comes home. That's a gift unparalleled value, as far as I am concerned.

And, one last thing,  if no one else tells you today that they love you, know that I do.

Seven Ways My Dog Changed My Life

Earlier this month I my husband and I celebrated the birth of our six year-old.  Our pride and joy, the apple of our eye…our border collie, Rollo.


We often call Rollo our furry baby and joke that we are a “mixed-species family.” I’m sure our attitude towards our beloved pup inspires a bit of ridicule from friends and family but we don’t care. We know we are nuts about the boy (as we call him) and we are ever grateful for how he’s changed our lives.


Throughout my life I have been no stranger to change. I chose to go from an enormous New York City public high school to a tiny, ivy-covered elitist liberal arts college. I spent a year studying in Eastern Europe before the wall came down. I’ve done crap loads of self-exploration, self-improvement and self-care. I’ve started and ended business and recently chucked a 25-year career to go back to school.  And I’ve probably had 14 different hair colors to boot.


But, one of the most drastic changes to my life (and 98 % for the better) came when we adopted our dog.  Seriously.  So, to honor his birthday and perhaps give a push to some of you out there ready to make the same life-altering move I offer you this list of Seven Ways My Dog Changed My Life:

#1  Rollo Killed the Hermit

Unless you have a little fluff ball of a dog that is content using a Wee Wee Pad, every dog parent knows that no matter the weather or how tired and sore you are, you are going out.  And, although at times I have cursed this fate – like during any storm, or middle-of-the-night emergencies, or his early morning phase – I know that overall, Rollo was able to banish our hermit tendencies for good. I am a couch potato who married a homebody. And left to our own devices, we’d spend every moment cuddled up watching a Breaking Bad Marathon. Rollo gets us out into the sunshine and into society. We experience life in all its facets, good, bad and oblivious on the streets of New York. We witness wildlife (mostly squirrels and pigeons, but also geese, ducks, sea gulls and some other more exotic faunae.) We watch our neighborhood change as new stores open and close – honestly, we have probably covered every square inch of real estate below Canal street from the Seaport to the Hudson.  And, we even have an adventure or two, like when Rollo and I got accidentally locked in a warehouse on Pier 40 or when we helped a drunk girl get into a cab safely.  No matter how exciting it is to watch Walter White’s escapades, it is much more satisfying to live our own.

#2 Rollo is my Personal Trainer

Exercise regimens come and go. In the past several years, I’ve belonged to NY Sports, I’ve taken yoga and I’ve bought myriad workout DVDs.  But no matter what I will always have my own furry personal trainer demanding I walk anywhere from 20 minutes to 2 hours a day.  So when I can’t find a new yoga instructor, I get bored of Zumba or Boot Camp, I know that I will never be without some exercise in my life and I am grateful for that – and so are my heart and lungs.

#3 Rollo is my Cruise Director

Just like the Love Boat’s Julie, Rollo conspires to introduce us to new and fascinating people all the time. Before Rollo came to live with us, we used to nod politely at our neighbor , Rita, whose door was a mere three feet from ours. That was the extent of the relationship after many years of sharing a narrow corridor. But after his arrival, he would bark loudly and excitedly whenever she arrived home and wouldn’t cease until we opened the door and greeted her. A simple hello (and a few licks) turned into small friendly chats, which turned into sharing my turkey chili when she came home very late and tired, which eventually metamorphosed into dinners at each other’s home and watching Downton Abbey and Top Chef together each week and accompanying each other to scary MRIs and emergency room visits – in other words – a true and loving friendship.  We also befriended the neighborhood dog walker who, despite the fact that she was born in the Congo, seems to be my long, lost sister (well in attitude anyway!) There are also countless neighbors, merchants and other Tribeca dog owners who know us (Rollo by name and me by association!) and are happy to see us in our travels. Rollo has turned a lonely, cold city into Mayberry for me.  

#4 Rollo Forced Me to Grow Up

Despite the fact, that I was in my mid-forties when we adopted Rollo, my general lack of responsibility (except for my job) kept me in a state of latent adolescence.  I could stay out all night if I wanted to, sleep all day, forget  to eat and not get dressed without any real consequences (well, on the weekend mostly.) Once we adopted this sweet, vulnerable creature all that changed. All of a sudden his life, his health and happiness were my and Steve’s responsibility (thank God I have a partner in this.) Within days I had to find a good vet and trainer, learn what food suited him have an ample stock at all times, keep his water bowl filled (heck, buy him a water bowl!) I had to educate myself on all things canine.  It was so stressful for me those first few weeks that I lost seven pounds! Now that I kind of have it down, I don’t stress as much but I am still responsible for his care and well-being. And that makes me a different kind of person. I am tethered, I am important and I am an adult. Sure, it means that I can’t jet off to Cozumel at the drop of a hat, but being Rollo’s Mommy (mocking can begin now) is a role that I am honored to play. It provides a new, deeper meaning to my life (aside from being Steve’s wife and Barb’s daughter etc.)

#5 Rollo is My Guru

Very few of us have the luxury of the kind of uninterrupted silence and calmness that allows us to have epiphanies and work out deep emotions. I do.  Often when Rollo and I are together, we find long stretches of New York pavement where we are alone (or at least in the company of a few intrepid joggers or other dog walkers.) It is in these blissful moments by the Hudson that my fevered brain can rest and my jumbled thoughts can dance before my subconscious and turn into good ideas. Sometimes I share these notions with Rollo. And although he can’t really speak, I often can gauge whether or not he approves.  Then there are the days when I am fostering a painful resentment or on the horns of a thorny dilemma.  I also confess my inner turmoil to Rollo who listens intently and without judgment. By the time we return home, I have found that most of my dark thoughts have dissipated. And it’s much cheaper than psychotherapy (believe me!)

#6 Rollo Taught Me Balance

Being the kind of overprotective doggie parents that we are, Steve and I bought a shelf’s worth of dog books in our first year with Rollo. What I took away from the many experts I read was that each dog needs three things to thrive: discipline, food and fun. And, over the years, I have found that the same rules apply to me, as well.  While Rollo is happiest when his walks and meals fall into a consistent routine I am also most content when I rise at the same time, take my exercise routinely and eat at normal intervals.  Rollo and I have invented a few games that he insists we play each day. In the morning he likes to be jump on the bed and be covered in our blankets, at which time I must ask nervously, “where’s Rollo?! Where’s Rollo?” Then he pokes his head out and we all laugh (repeat three times.) At night, after the last walk of the day, I must chase him back into the bedroom, jump on the bed with him facing the window and bark at the security guard at the Bank of America across Greenwich Street.  No matter how tired I am or how many times we performed this odd task, I laugh heartedly and am magically filled with renewed energy.  I am sure there were times before Rollo (B.R.) that I would go an entire day without laughing. Now, I’m sure that never happens. Never.  I laugh, I giggle and I make up songs about him on a daily basis.

#7 Rollo Keeps me in the Moment

When you have a lively, intense 65-pound animal at the end of a leash you have be aware and awake at all times. Especially, when this beloved beast has a propensity to lunge at skateboarders (and who can blame him?) I have developed a method to keep us (and others) safe as we walk the mean streets of lower Manhattan: I scan the horizon and then I look at our feet and what’s directly ahead and around us. I repeat this ritual a thousand times during our walks. If I see a wild child speeding along recklessly on his scooter a block away I cross the street. By looking down and around, I deftly avoid walking into to other dog’s poo or deep murky puddles. And, so,  we arrive home unscathed.  This method has helped me stay aware and awake in my own life as well. Each day I must look ahead and prepare for what’s coming, but I must also stay grounded and avoid the everyday pitfalls that can throw me off.  While I plan for my new business, I must also sweep the floor so I don’t track spilled chia seeds all over the apartment. 

A loving dog owner once remarked that, given the relatively short time dogs, live that as soon as we fall in love with them, we can hear the clock ticking. Although, I try to push aside this rather somber thought, what I take away is from that that every moment I have with him – and everyone I love, in fact – is precious and to be cherished. That keeps me in the moment and in gratitude.

So Happy Birthday Rollo, and thank you for sharing your life with all of us.