I am in Harlem.
I am sipping a dry, white French Bordeaux.
I haven't eaten much today. A handful of nuts, a salad, and eggs and toast for dinner.
Tomorrow I will go grocery shopping.
I just took Gordon, my "god-dog", to the park. I am house and dogsitting for Matt and Christy, my friends from the Actors Co-Op, until Tuesday. I have been here for over a week, with the exception of Thursday through Saturday when I was in Los Angeles.

It was wonderful to be in LA after a full four months. I loved sleeping in my bed. I actually loved cleaning my house. I loved being home. It was also all very strange.

Chester died last Tuesday. He never fully recovered from whatever ailed him -- we now think it cancer -- and Charlie made the difficult decision to have him put to sleep. In the end, it was Charlie and Lisa in the room with Chester as he died. Niki sat in the waiting room. I was in New York, only to return two days later.

Charlie took Chester's death very hard. When I arrived in Los Angeles the house was a total disaster. Chester's medicine was a bit strewn out in the laundry room; there were sheets and blankets that were dirty and piled in a corner; that had been used for a makeshift hospice bed for Chester. Dishes in the sink were crusted with the remnants of Charlie's attempts at getting Chester to eat anything -- beef liver, cooked hamburger. Anything Chester wanted.

In the end, the big, sweet dog went in the car and Charlie came home minus his best friend.

There is something to be said for a man and his dog. I do mean to be sexist in this sense. I loved Chester, too, but Charlie really loved Chester. They had a special relationship. When I pulled up to my house in my filthy Toyota Corolla (hadn't been washed since I left in February), I started to cry. No Chester to greet me at the gate. No Chester to stand in my way and demand his rear end scratched before he would allow you to pass. No excited tail-wagging or barking in that deep bass tone of his voice. Just silence. Stillness.

Memories are all we have left.

And then the family drama set in. Oh, Lord, what a weekend it has been. We hope the war will end soon.

Until then, I am back in New York. It is a beautiful day. Charlie is in Yemen, being dangerous and mysterious. I have learned not to worry about him. He will be OK. I love him fiercely and I support him 100% and I can only really say that with full conviction now because he does the same for me. I am beyond blessed to have Charlie as my husband, to have someone who understands who I am and what I am capable of. I have probably not been very fair to him in complaining about his trips all the time. I get it now, as I am the one who is away.

I will now curl up on the couch with Gordon and watch a movie. On Thursday night, Charlie and I watched "He's Just Not That Into You" and neither of us really liked it. It was cutesey and quirky, but overall pretty stupid. Sometimes stupid is refreshing, though.

Sundays are lovely and quiet in New York. It is 8:00 pm and the sun is still fairly high in the sky. Gordon and I will take a stroll after the movie is over and probably chat with the toothless homeless man who hangs out on the corner of 125th and 5th. He's cool. Sho 'nuff.