A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas

Every once in a harvest moon, I come across a writer that knocks me over and rattles my creative cage and makes me think, "oh my goodness, there is someone out there that is reading my thoughts and WRITING THEM DOWN!"  Abigail Thomas is one of these writers.  I have been devouring her memoirs after revisiting A Three Dog Life for the second time after reading it for the first time almost ten years ago.  I was too young then.  Even after finally owning my divorce and accepting my soul, old and wrinkly, I wasn’t able to grab onto the nuggets of truth that I would find in the pages of that book.  The grief.  I was missing what it was like to experience real grief.  And now I get it.  And so I can’t stop reading this woman.

Throw in amazing word assemblage and a true gift for storytelling, and there you have the makings of a weekend spent snuggled in my chair with a couple dozen cups of tea.  I’m kind of obsessed with her.  Before I began writing this review, I decided that I would also write to her.  I’ve never had to the urge to write to an author before this.  Also, she’s in her seventies and I don’t want her to die before I’ve had the chance to thank her. 

Because this:

“I didn’t start writing until I was forty-seven.  I had always wanted to write but thought you needed a degree, or membership in a club nobody had asked me to join.  I thought God had to touch you on the forehead, I thought you needed to have something specific to say, something important, and I thought you needed all that laid out from the git-go.  It was a long time before I realized that you don’t have to start right, you just have to start.”

And this:

“When I was young, the future was where all the good stuff was kept, the party clothes, the pretty china, the family silver, the grown-up jobs.  The future was a land of its own, and we couldn’t wait to get there.  Not that youth wasn’t great, but it came with disadvantages; I remember the feeling I was missing something really good that was going on somewhere else, somewhere I wasn’t.  I remember feeling life passing me by.  I remember impatience.  I don’t feel that way now.  If something interesting is going on somewhere else, good, thank god, I hope nobody calls me.  Sometimes it’s all I can do to brush my teeth, toothpaste is just so stimulating.”

I feel inspired and motivated to write again, and it feels like I am back to my old self.  I didn’t realize just how much I missed her.  Or how much I really do want another dog.