I took a little break from writing. Had a few personal things I needed to focus on. Those things are still ongoing, but I feel like I am in a slightly better mindspace. Well, I’m not really, but I have to force myself to get there.

The doggies have been incredible the past few weeks. They love the summer sunshine and have a great time on our walks. Lola is behaving more and more like herself — a curious, confident, adventuresome dog. Sammy Sanchez is still a little clingy at times. He’s started this new routine of giving me little kisses when I come home. It’s the only time he likes to lick me. During the rest of the day he will move his face away from me when I come in to snuggle. But for a few minutes when I get home from work, it’s kissy-kissy time.

Sometimes his tongue gets into my mouth and its a little gross. But I love it. 

The A&E show “The First 48″ is on and it’s a good story about the murder of a high school coach. Tune in if you can!

Yesterday, I was walking the dogs along Fourth Avenue, not far from the Verrazano Bridge. I saw an X37 make the turn from Marine Avenue, and noticed the bus driver. He was the same driver who once stopped off-route because he saw me coming out of the 23rd Street subway station and knew I was going to the bus stop further up the block.

I never forgot that. Every time I saw him, I said Hello and Thank you with more enthusiasm than usual and smiled, becuase I really wanted to.

Anyway, when I saw him yesterday, I waved hello as I was walking the dogs. He paused for a second and recognized me. He waved back.

It was a nice moment.

One of our dogs is a most beautiful creature named Lola. We found her at an adoption fair. She was about 1 year old at the time. She was curled up in a tight ball, half-asleep in a small open-top cage. Next to her were her five puppies in a similar cage, with crowds of people hovering over them.

I wanted one of the puppies, of course, but I was drawn to Lola. She lived alone at a shelter in the Bronx. She was barely an adult but was already a mom. Her rib cage was visible through her cinnamon-hued coat and her eyes were big, brown saucers. God knows what her life was like. I wanted to take care of her.

In the two years since, we’ve given Lola a whole new life. We know very little about her experience prior to her adoption, and we often wonder out loud what it might have been like. Occasionaly we get a glimpse.

This morning, for example, I tried walking Lola in the rain. I don’t think I really understood her umbrellaphobia until today. Since I was already dressed for work, I wrapped myself up in a big coat and had to take the umbrella with us. The minute I picked it up, she began to shake and her pace slowed to a near-crawl.

On our walks, Lola is usually the one to walk me — she leads the way and often tugs at the leash for me to go faster. But this morning after we finally managed to get outside, she walked several feet behind me and her eyes darted between me and the umbrella. I felt bad, but I couldn’t get wet.

I walked towards the park and she followed with the retractable leash stretched out to its maximum. Once we made it through the gate, and walked past the black lab and his owner, who we see every morning, I let her off the leash. But she still moped behind me. I walked in a surpentine and she zig-zagged behind me, legs shaking and her head bowed down.

Finally, I gave up. I placed the umbrella on the grass along the path and almost instantly Lola perked up. After a quick shake, she did a little leap and became her old self. She quickly found a spot to pee and led me further down the pathway, curious to see the dog up in the distance.

I was happy that Lola recovered so quickly. But knowing, with more certainty, about her life before us made me feel really sad. The shadows from her past experience appear on occasion, but I hope we can help her outgrow them.

The bus drivers are a big part of the X37 experience. In many ways, they shape your commute and , like the conductor of an orchestra, set the tone for the 55-minute journey.

Most of the drivers I’ve met are perfunctory in the manner in which they greet every passenger and acknowledge them on the way out. Their nods and “Good mornings” follow the same rhythm at each stop. There are a few standouts, the drivers who make eye contact and smile as you fumble with the Metrocard. Those drivers are typically the ones who like to talk to the passengers in the first row of seats. In fact, I’ve noticed that some ladies tend to choose those seats so that they can chat with the driver on the way home. They have history and share personal stories that are not about the traffic.

There are some drivers who are real characters. They love the route and know the commuters. If they see you running down the street, they’ll wait for you. They laugh out loud. Their love for the job really comes through.

Unfortunately, some journeys are not a love affair by any means. Last night, I encountered a driver for the first time. He wasn’t very nice. The first sign of this was he didn’t let any of us board the bus while he waited for his shift to start, and instead left us out in the rain for nearly 10 minutes. When he finally let us on the bus, he started out the window and ignored our hellos and thank yous. He yelled at a passenger for speaking on a cell phone. (Although I agreed with him in principle, it was the manner in which he did it that was unpleasant.)

And, the driving! It was horrible — bordering on road rage! He drove really fast, zipping through yellow lights, and would break hard and suddenly at the bus stops. He drove the big, hunkering box of steel as if it was a Ford Focus. Some of us nearly toppled over as we got up.

Still, I have him my most emphatic “Have a nice weekend,” when I disembarked.

The commute home on Wednesday, the say of the protests, was actually not bad at all. What was worse was the ride into the city on Thursday morning, which took nearly 1 hour and 15 minutes! That is just too long for a morning commute.

What made more challenging was the lady sitting behind me yapping the entire way in Russian. I am more lenient with cell phone talkers on the commute home, but in the mornings, many of us are resting or napping, or enjoying the quiet hum of the bus. I did, however, get to observe a lady do her full make-up, which included the eyelash curler. Wow, was that part tricky. But she managed not to lose an eye.

Today, the weather was crappy and I was running late so I took the X27 bus, which is the downtown local version of the X37 express. I was tired and slept through my stop at Cortland Street, so I decided to stay on the bus until I got to 34th Street. It took just over an hour and I snuck into the office around 10:15 am.

Rev. Al Sharpton is organizing pray-ins around the city this afternoon, just before rush hour, so I’ve been scanning the local news Web sites to gauge what the commute home will be like.

The ride to work on the X37 has been remarkably smooth the past three mornings. I sometimes marvel at the fact that, despite the bus route, we manage to get into the city pretty quickly. We travel over some of the busiest roadways, like the BQE and the FDR, right in the middle of rush hour. It’s the HOV lane that saves us in the mornings.

I am a big fan of HOV lanes.

We were away for a few days visiting family. On the way back to Brooklyn, we stopped in Princeton, NJ to see Bruce Hornsby and Ricky Skaggs perform at the McCarter Theater on the university campus. Now, keep in mind, my musical sensibilites fall somewhere between Madonna and New Order. I didn’t anticipate enjoying the concert as much as I did. Boy, was I blown away!

For one thing, I forget how listening to live music can be such a special experience. It’s life affirming. And, bluegrass is just not a part of my musical repertroire, so, as much as I resist learning something new, I can’t help but open up. When I really tuned in during the concert, I could make make out the layers of sound, sometimes deep and sometimes tinny, like buttercream and sprinkles. Bruce Hornby and Ricky Skaggs are amazing musicians. And Ricky’s band, The Kentucky Thunder, were thrilling to watch. One of the guistarist’s hands and fingers moved so fast, it seemed like I was watching a video tape of him perform with the fast forward button accidentally pressed on the remote. 

Most of the show was based on the self-titled Skaggs-Hornsby collaboration that came out last spring. One of the highlights of the show was their performance of Track #11 from the album, the song “Super Freak.” As in Rick James’ “Super Freak.” It is simply sublime!

The X37 Express Bus provides Bay Ridge, Brooklyn commuters with an uncomplicated and relatively quick ride to and from Manhattan. The route runs from the tip of Bay Ridge, near the Verrazano Bridge, to West 57th and Madison in the city, and “goes express” along the Gowanus Expressway and the FDR Drive. 

To ride the X37, you can buy a weekly unlimited Express Bus pass for $41, which provides some savings over paying the full fare of $5 for each trip. Most days my commute takes about 50 minutes, which isn’t too bad. But what makes the daily trip palatable for me is watching the cast of wacky characters who appear in various roles on the commute.

Almost weekly there is one annoying chickie who spends the entire bus ride talking into a cell phone about her drunken night out. I’ll spare you from those details. And there is the corresponding older lady (usually a smoker, for some reason) who growls about the noise. “Get of the (expletive) phone!” A little crazy, but I appreciate her service to the public.

There are the couples who make out on the bus at 8:00 am. Seriously. And the occasional teens who get sick and throw up. Nice. There are also my favorite ladies: the women who do their full make-up during the commute. I love watching their technique as we roll over potholes and thrust forward at a sudden red light.

Today, my commute was exactly 45 minutes from door to door. I chose a seat behind a woman who had her hair sectioned and pinned up with bobby pins, presumably to allow it to take on a wavy curl as it dried during the commute. She spent about 25 minutes doing her face — which included foundation, concealer, blush and mascara. I snuck a peek at her as I was getting off at my stop. She looked gorgeous.

I saw a sign near the entrance of an old co-op building in my neighborhood that said: “All deliveries and dogs must enter through the back entrance.”

This made me think of the photos taken during the Civil Rights era of signs posted in restaurants and public areas. Humanity has advanced since those days, but that sign underscores the challenges of pet ownership in a place like New York City. Does it make sense that dogs and their owners must pass through a different doorway in a pet-friendly building?

Pet owners are definitely treated like second-class citizens in some parts of the city, despite what this New York Times article says about the Big Apple being voted as the nation’s “pet friendliest” city.