Rain and Tiffany's

Just before walking down the stairs, I stopped to listen. I missed the rain. I complained about it all the time before, how it never rained in Salt Lake, and seemed to rain all the time on the East Coast. Most especially, it seems to rain there for the whole day, once a drop falls, you’re in for it – but those drops always caught me so unexpectedly. I can remember countless times I’d be without my umbrella, or caught slipping in my flip flops. Here, I’ve never used my umbrella, I don’t even know where it (one of two) is, since moving here.

There’s something contemplative about all that rain. The subway rides, and the walks to and from, you stop being surrounded by people. It’s the subtle nuances I miss the most. Perhaps, subtle is the wrong word, since nothing in New York is subtle, and the differences between Salt Lake and New York couldn’t be more contrasting. It rained this morning, for a brief moment. I was still in bed, determined (although awake) not to get out of bed at the call of my alarm clock, but on my own time. This, I also answered in my head to the terrible cats that meow at my door in the morning so I’ll get up and feed them breakfast. The cats are the downside of house sitting. The upside, is they allow me the freakish amount of control over my own life that I inexplicably need to assert. They will wait for their breakfast until I decide to feed it to them. So instead, I stress in my bed about what I should be doing so that I’m not late for this or am sure to complete that for work.

Tonight, I came home early, just as another brief rainstorm was finishing up, determined to finish a grant. Instead, I took a small trip to New York, via the weekly New York Magazine gifted us by our landlord there. It has somehow found its way, via mail-forwarding systems, to Utah. The Fall Preview includes a look at an upcoming Capote film, among other exciting things only relevant to New York. Apparently, his hardest work was a non-fiction about a Midwestern murder, the Midwest was also cast darkly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s as the oppressive, limiting yet unenlightened loving home of Holly Golightly. I’m guessing it has some significance for Mr. Capote, or symbolizes some lack of freedom. While I contend Utah to be the West, it is not far off from its agrarian rooted, red state neighbors. There’s a moment where Holly is torn by her love for her family and her desire to be free. In the end, though, she’s most heartbroken as she finds she cannot be separated from the one who loved her unconditionally – her cat.

To my doom, then I must go, for hating cats. However, I have found the same attachment, to my dog. My dog of 12 years is suffering severely from cancer. In a new twist on life and love, it seems for pets, we still have the choice in whether or not to help them survive painfully or help them die peacefully. My mom is very concise about the whole thing, and the decision comes easy to a woman you expect to be the most compassionate. Her view of life is so scientific, and perhaps much less attached, seeing it come and go as an ER Doctor for 30 years. My life is short so far, and my dog was a part of more than half of it, and my best friend for far too much of it during my awkward adolescent years. The choice might perhaps be somewhat easy to make, but it is difficult to make. It seems this might be her last week, and sadly, she is too sick to spend it lazing in the park or eating Bacon. I guess I never realized I had so much in common with Ms. Golightly, and am continually reformulating my opinions of the West.