Life Savor!

I grew up with the expression playing possum: pretending to be asleep when you weren’t. You know, it was time to clean up your room and you pretended to be taking a nap.

Where did that phrase come from? It seems that possums simulate death in order to keep a predator at bay. Seemed a pretty lame strategy to me, till I just looked it up on Wikipedia and found this:

When threatened or harmed, they will “play possum” by mimicking the appearance and smell of a sick or dead animal. When playing possum, the lips are drawn back, teeth are bared, saliva foams around the mouth, and a foul-smelling fluid is secreted from the anal glands. The physiological response is involuntary, rather than a conscious act. Their stiff, curled form can be prodded, turned over, and even carried away. The animal will regain consciousness after a period of minutes or hours and escape.

Talk about gross! Fortunately, little kids are great at playing possum … all I had to do was close my eyes softly and make my breathing slow and regular. No bared teeth and stinky smell required.

Aside: possums have more teeth than any other mammal anywhere.

Possums are on my mind for two reasons:

1.  I’ve been playing possum for many weeks. I’ve checked out of all activities except sleeping, eating, making nice to my beloveds, and seeing my clients. Even movies are too much trouble (not to mention 103-degree weather), so we watch DVDs from Netflix and eat popcorn in bed.

2. However, as payback karma for this indolence, we have had an infestation of possums. YES, we are still nature’s playthings. In the winter it was the squirrel in the chimney, and now it’s possums.

It started with an enormous dude on the fence for four straight mornings. We finally called the critter removal guy, who set a trap for Big John and caught him the next day. Said he was the biggest he had ever seen. Took him to a creek outside of town to release him — at least, that’s his story and I’m happy to buy it.

Trap reset. Next day, a normal-sized possum, trapped and released. Next two days, two more, in diminishing size — Robert said it was like those nesting Russian dolls. We finally ran out of money, and, we hope, possums.

Looking back, we realize that Buddy Bear, now four years old and still weighing in at seven pounds, had been telling us there were marauders in the yard, but we figured he was still talking about (i.e., yapping at) squirrels. Still, we were concerned that he was obsessively going under the deck and barking his fuzzy little butt off. We have had to put trellis around the opening to keep him from further exploration under there.

So there you have it. We are presently possumless. I’m awake again, still scurrying from air-conditioned house to car to office parking garage, dashing into the grocery store when absolutely necessary, driving through Taco Bell to get extra crunchy tacos for supper.

Stay cool!  —Roz

Share on Facebook

Tags: hot days, possums. lazy summer, vacation

A while ago, I was invited to write a chapter for a book being published by W.W. Norton Professional Books. It gave me a chance to rewind my memory and zoom in on particular coaching clients I’ve had over the years.

I thought about Tom, a CPA/attorney who was mightily frustrated but couldn’t get a handle on why. He felt fragmented, almost tormented as he reached for something just outside his grasp and understanding.

After a few sessions it became clear that although he was making a ton of money, he hadn’t found his Right Livelihood. He kept being hired away at higher and higher salaries by companies that wanted to use all his skills, but he had an internal itch he couldn’t reach.

Tom wasn’t overqualified. He was underfocused.

Through our coaching he came to realize that there were a few aspects of both accounting and lawyering that he enjoyed, but not a whole lot. Together we identified exactly what he wanted to use from both those skill sets and perfect arena in which to use them. Management. Creativity. Collegiality (is that a word?). The challenge of ever-changing projects that would stretch him.

We crafted an imaginary job that would let him hit on all the cylinders he wanted to use, plus some new and exciting ones. We rewrote his resume to slant it toward his ideal job, and within a few weeks he had exactly what he wanted in an industry he’d never considered.

He’s a happy man these days. More time with his family, no unwanted stress, and a hefty six-figure salary. More money, more time for life, less stress. These days he is focused on what he has decided is really important.

How about you? Could you use some help getting re-focused on what matters to you? What charges you up and makes you WANT to get out of bed each day?

I’m available to help you with that! Sometimes it just takes a couple sessions with someone unfamiliar to bring things into focus.

Call me.

Share on Facebook

Tags: Family, focus, job, money, passion, right livelihood, unwanted stress, Work

The gray days are almost behind us. Cheers for new light and life!

Just wanted to exult in y’all’s direction about ALL THE LIGHT! that is flooding into our bedroom through the French doors onto the back yard. Sunlight shines through those cheap-but-effective filmy silk-like curtains and makes them shimmer, then pools on the floor magnificently. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed that lovely southeastern light till if reappeared.

When we bought this house, that back bedroom wall was solid, with the owner’s bed backed up to it. We couldn’t understand why the builder had blocked a view of the back yard and trees — though we came to find out when we installed those three French doors and were left with very little wall space. Now, though, with the room rearranged we still have a wall for the bed, a mirrored wall for my daddy’s antique mahogany highboy, and Robert’s manly, huge TV slanted in the far corner. It all works out — and meantime we’ve enjoyed those French doors for 20 years.

We have been watching the sleeping yard, waiting for spring. Now the tulips Robert planted just before our record 12-inches-in-24-hours snowstorm have all emerged. There’s something about red that loves to assert itself.  We also have white, purple, and peach.

I thought I’d want to cut them. In fact, I never understood people who had flowers growing and didn’t put some in vases, but now I do. Whether from the bedroom or our tacked-on garden room, we can look out and see those lovelies gently waving in the spring breeze. I can jolly well buy cut tulips at Kroger, probably better ones — but these are ours.

Doesn’t take much to thrill me.  I think that is the secret to a happy life. Notice and celebrate the good small stuff and disregard the crummy small stuff. And bear in mind that the seasons cycle and sunshine is always on its way — outside the house and inside yourself. At least, that’s what I wish for you.

Cheers!

Roz

Share on Facebook

Tags: celebrate, Family, love, parties, romance

You should understand that Buddy is no ordinary dog. Yeah, I know, everybody thinks that about their dog … but there is something about Buddy Bear that invites above-and-beyond behavior from his devotees.

Case in point: Cousin Mary, a reasonably intact 80-something cousin of Robert’s who is otherwise essentially sane.  She has a real jones for this seven-pound pup, and it’s totally reciprocated. He does love to shack up with Mary. When we’re getting close to her house, he starts to whimper and his whole body vibrates. We’re at MARY’S!  Hot damn!  Mary, who feeds him scrambled eggs, keeps a small bed for him beside her computer, and best of all, lets him sleep with her all night!

It gets better. When she’s through reading her book and slides down in the bed, Buddy gets up on her pillow, curls himself around her head, and spends the night like that. If he happens to bark (again), it doesn’t faze Mary, because she’s hard of hearing anyway. Such a deal for Buddy! What a hassle for Mary’s daughter Paula, who absolutely can hear him — but she is a fabulous good sport and happy to see Mary enjoy him so. She says fondly, “They make such a cute little couple.”

At Happy Tails, the doggie daycare place, Maria says everybody grins when Buddy arrives because he’s so full of joy. I asked her once what he does there all day. “He plays.” Well yeah, but what else? “That’s what he does all day. He plays all the time, with all the bigger dogs. The other little ones bore him. He takes a nap when it’s time to, but then he starts to play again. All day long.”

Maria takes him into what I think of as the airlock, a small chain-link staging area where a newcomer stays till the other dogs have smelled him — then he gets to join the gang.  On the Happy Tails little closed-circuit camera aimed at the doggie playroom, I watched horrified one time when he entered the arena and all the other dogs piled on top of him. He absolutely disappeared. Then from the bottom, out squirmed this little black caterpillar pup and leaped back onto the pile.

When a considerably larger dog is in his vicinity, Buddy flops over on his back, showing his belly to acknowledge cheerfully that he’s submissive, then leaps up and starts the play. He is fearless except with lawnmowers, the vacuum cleaner (my sis calls it the Puppy Sucker), and people on wheels. Kid on a bike, dude on a motorcycle, Buddy barks in dismay. I think he can’t figure out what they are. Actually, come to think of it, he’s the same way with toddlers. Are they humans? Naaah, too small. Other animals? Naaah, don’t smell right. Woof!

The first time I picked him up from Happy Tails, when he was only about four months old, Rhonda the owner told me, “When you get him home, don’t worry if he seems sick. He’s just exhausted.” And so it’s been for the last three years. He comes home utterly pooped but happy. He plays zoom-puppy for us, of course, tear-assing around the house, cornering down the hall like a sports car, but we just aren’t lively enough for seven days a week — so we bless Happy Tails.

As for Moi, I confess an unnatural love for the Budster. I adore his gorgeous little body, with its deep chest and small waistline. He’s got the most adorable little cream-colored wishbone butt. I love how he’s chocolate on top and cream on his belly and legs, absolutely symmetrical.

Best of all is our armpit action. He rolls over on his back and I put my palm on his chest and a finger into each armpit, and gently massage him there. His eyes get slitty and every muscle goes limp. I feel like somebody should holler, “Get a room!”

Who would ever have guessed that puppy molestation could be such fun?

Cheers!

Roz

Share on Facebook

Tags: dogs, Family, love, musings, Relationships

In the past few weeks we’ve had a constellation of events to celebrate. First Christmas, then our anniversary, then Valentine’s Day.

Christmas was with our precious friends in Knoxville, and what with packing and traveling, Robert and I sort of postponed actually giving each other anything. “The trip itself will be our gifts to each other.”  Yeah, right. How’s that workin’ for ya? Terrific but not unwrapable.

Our anniversary, December 26, was going to make up for it, though the actual gifting would be postponed till we could get home and make reservations for our celebration: a weekend at a B&B. Except somehow that kept slip-sliding away.

But Valentine’s Day was by-God gonna happen.

Since I love Internet sleuthing, I started scouting out B&Bs, coming back (as usual) to a darling cottage in Fort Worth. Except that it was $225 a night, 30 miles away, and we’d be in Fort Worth. I mean, Cowtown’s great as a destination for specific events, but I got discouraged at the prospect of still having to whomp up where to eat and what to see or do — besides the obvious and delicious prospect of the actual shacking up.

And gee, for that kind of money we could spend the night at some scrumptious hotel right here in Dallas, and have a piano bar and room service without ever going out. Good plan. I started a telephone search for just the right place to spend Saturday night the 13th, so we’d wake up on Valentine’s Day in each other’s arms in a bed not our own. Wooo. Sexy.

Except that hotel after hotel didn’t have room for us. I finally got the word from a helpful reservation guy that I might as well give up — the whole town would be full. Well sure, I said, since after all it’s Valentine’s weekend. No, that wasn’t the reason — it was the NBA playoffs.

No problem, we’d just celebrate a weekend early on the 6th, and we’d stay at the refurbished old Melrose, now spiffed up as the Warwick Melrose with attendant hikes in rates. Except we got bad colds, mine turned into bronchitis, and we had to postpone till the weekend after Valentine’s.

Which is why we spent LAST NIGHT! at the Melrose, with their recycled Valentine package of champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries, and a nice note from the general manager. We got nicely relaxed in the Library Bar, waited on by identical twin sisters, Amy and Jamie. Robert asked, How often do you get that “I guess I’ve had enough, I’m seeing double” routine? Answer: about three times a night.

We had a lovely room, a lovely time, even lovely attire. I especially enjoyed Robert’s red silk PJ bottoms, reserved for state occasions.

And where was little Buddy Bear while we were besporting ourselves in a posh hotel? Ah, he had his own shack-up. I’ll tell you about it next time.

Home now in our own bed, under our new red comforter, determined to do that hotel thing again. Robert’s birthday is in March …..

Cheers!

Share on Facebook

Tags: celebrate, love, Relationships, romance, Sex