LITTLE THINGS MEAN A LOT

I gave the front desk person at my health club a $10 Starbucks gift card for Christmas this year. It was nothing big, just a small gesture to thank her for being alive and alert every morning at o’dark thirty. Nicole also gives great customer service. She greets me by name, always hands me a towel when I walk in the door and best of all, she doesn’t make me rifle through my gym bag to find my membership card. Instead, she just waves me by and says, “Gotcha.” It’s just a little thing, but for me, it means a lot so I wanted to show my appreciation over the holidays.

This morning on my way out of the gym, Nicole stopped me.

“You know, I want to tell you something about your card,” she said. “It was the only one I got from the entire club. It really meant a lot to me.”

I squeezed her hand.  “Ah, thanks for sharing that.  It makes me sad to think I’m the only one, but it also makes me happy to know that I’m the only one, if that makes sense.”

She nodded and I felt tears coming.  I tend to be a sentimental wreck most of the time, especially after a particularly grueling boot camp session. But I felt joy in knowing I had done something so small, but so wonderful for her.

I rarely take the little bit of time and the tiny bit of effort to make someone else’s day. What I discovered today was the amazing payoff you get from making that effort. I felt like the queen of the world after Nicole shared that story. 

It may sound smarmy, but it truly is in the giving that we receive. I left the gym with a huge smile on my face and now I’m on a mission to do something every day to make someone else smile. It might be a fat tip for a server or kindness to a co-worker, but whatever it is, I plan to be do a lot of little things that mean a lot in the new year.

TRIBUTE TO A DOG'S LIFE

A friend of mine told me this morning that she will most likely be putting her beloved dog, Kiwi, down today. Anyone who's ever loved and lost a dog knows that anguished feeling. I'm posting something I wrote a while back in honor of Sadie, a rescue lab we lost years ago. May it bring comfort to pet lovers everywhere.

She Knows

The jangle of a leash used to bring her bounding out of the bedroom and off the bed, which I had long ago relinquished to her.  Her bounds are not as frisky as they once were and she no longer chews my leather pumps or couch pillows, but she still gets excited about a walk.

Once outside, she pulls me down the bike path and I let her.  A jogger asks “Just who’s walking who?” as we meet on the trail.   We all know the answer.  We tried obedience classes but they did nothing for either of our self esteems.  So, we settled into our “who’s walking who” routine with a quiet understanding.

We walk further than usual this morning.   I don’t worry about the rancid bologna sandwich she snarfs down and I let her sniff every tree and bush on the walking path, marking territory as if she were a conquering warrior.  I can’t help but get that spooky feeling.  She knows.

When we get home, I strip from my clothes, while she looks up at me anxiously.  “Wanna jump in the pool?” I ask her.  She hobbles to the back door, tired from the long walk.   But that pool is irresistible. She gingerly steps each paw down the stairs.  Too exhausted to swim, she settles on the top stair, and watches me glide across the pool.  When I surface near her face, I notice how white it has become.  I look into her eyes, marbled with cataracts.  “Mommy loves you,” I say, the words choking at my throat.  She knows.

I towel her off because she is too tuckered out to shake the water off her chocolate brown fur. She doesn’t have the strength for it.  Not anymore. 

Back in the house, I glance at the clock and see we have half an hour.  I open the freezer and pull out a carton of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.  I place the entire pint of rich ice cream in her silver dog bowl.  Her ears perk up in complete astonishment and she laps the dreamy sea of delicious decadence up in no time. She knows.

The knock on the door racks me with a sob.   She makes a feeble attempt to bark and lumbers over to the door.  Dr. Elliot greets her with a treat.  Patting her head, he says, “Good girl.  You’re a good girl.”

I’m shaking when we enter the living room.  But I have to be strong. Without a word, the vet pats my shoulder and leads me to the couch.  She follows us, her tail still wagging, a symbol of her unwavering trust and loyalty. 

“Take a seat on the floor with her,” Dr. Elliot almost whispers.  I obey, unable to function on my own.  She cradles on my lap, all 75 pounds of her, and I rumple her ears and accept the loving kisses she has for me.  I hear the doctor rummaging in his bag.  When he turns to face us, I bend closer to her, letting her lick the salty tears from my cheeks.  “You’re a good girl,” I say, and bury my head in her neck.

When it’s time, I hold her head with both hands and gaze into brown eyes brimming with devotion and unconditional love.  And more.  I see an understanding so deep that I am swallowed by it.  She is grateful.   She knows. 

LOST AND FOUND MOM

I called the cops on my mom two days before Christmas. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but I did. I blame it on Kohl’s. The fateful event all began with a last minute holiday shopping trip there.

My mom had one of those 30% off cards and it had expired very soon. You gotta admit Kohl’s has some brilliant marketers. They send those 15-30% off cards and you just have to go when you get a 30% discount, right? So, even though it was a little too close to Christmas for me to be out with those last-minute shoppers, I drove my mom to Kohl’s. You know the shoppers I’m talking about. They have panicked looks on their faces and load carts with those goofy men gadgets that line the aisles.

“Let’s stay together,” I say to my mom. She nodded.

Our togetherness lasted all of five minutes. I got seduced by the 65% off on holiday ornaments BEFORE Christmas. I had an angel ornament and a Harley in my hands when I turned to show my mother. She was nowhere to be found.

No big deal. I’d cruise the aisle and find her. Now, my mother is short and is hard to spot due to all those high racks filled with the gadgets, but I figured he couldn’t have gotten very far. Big mistake on my part.

I began a systematic search by circling the perimeter and working my way to the center of the store. After 30 minutes, I still hadn’t found her. It was time to call for reinforcements. A nice gentleman paged her but my mom is hard-of-hearing so I doubted that would work. We then conducted searches of all the restrooms and dressing rooms. I even cased the parking lot. Nothing, zip, zilch, nada.

I became one of those shoppers with the panicked looks and it had nothing to do with gifts. My mother was missing. I called my sister.

“I can’t find mom.”

“She’ll turn up,” my sister said.

“But it’s been 45 minutes now and I’m starting to freak out.”

“I’ll send our brother and his two kids,” she said.

When I hung up, I had a sinking sensation that something was very wrong. I dialed 911.

The 911 dispatcher was very nice and matter-of-fact. I gave a description and while I was still talking to her, my brother and his kids walked into the store to help. While I was assuring the woman that I had tried everything to find my mom, my niece ran up to me.

“We found her,” she said. “She’s in the checkout line."

I started to shake uncontrollably with relief. I thanked the 911 dispatcher and walked over to my mother, nearly in tears.

“Look what I found,” she said, holding up a cute peasant shirt, oblivious to the fact that I was a wreck. “It’s 90% off.”

That’s my mom. She nearly gave me a heart attack but she found a bargain. And it was almost free after they took the extra 30% off. I think our trip to Kohl’s shaved about 30% off my life span too. And I will never, ever get separated from her again.

THE AMERICAN DREAM

It's graduation time and Alex Garcia walks onto the auditorium stage with 40 other nursing students, all dressed in white scrubs, all brimming with happiness, all getting pinned tonight.
Five middle-aged women (myself among them) sit teary-eyed in the audience among the kids, parents, and friends of the soon-to be graduates. We've come to cheer on our girl, Alex, who overcame many obstacles to earn a seat on that stage. We five women have done our best to serve as mentors, mothers and cheerleaders to encourage her to never give up on her dream of becoming a nurse.
We know we only played a supporting role in her success. When she comes to the front of the stage to give a small speech, her parents, the real heroes of the evening, are honored. In Spanish, Alex offers a tribute to them for coming to the United States to afford a better life for their children.
We five women have all raised children of privelege. There was no question they would attend college and that many would even pursue advanced degrees. Not so with Alex. She truly is a part of the American dream and we need her.
To Alex, we say "Viva la enfermera!" Long live the new nurse!

THE PERFECT DAY

I just had one of those rare days that you can call "The Perfect Day". If I could bottle it, package it or put it in a pill form, I would most definitiely do so. Then everyone would get to experience a perfect day when they needed one. We all have an image of what a perfect day might look like.  Allow me to share mine.

The perfect day begins with leaving the alarm turned off.  You get to sleep in until you wake up. For me, that was about 8 a.m. I can't sleep till noon like a teenager anymore but sleeping until 8 felt luxuriously decadent anyway.

After a healthy breakfast, a perfect day starts with a yoga class.  Not too hard, not too gentle, but just right. I left feeling completely relaxed and fully alive on a spiritual and physical level.

A meet-up with friends at an urban eatery made me feel like Phoenix is a lot hipper than I give it credit for. Fun cocktails, live jazz featuring a local legend, great food and good conversation with friends made the brunch even better.

A holiday tour of homes in an historic area completed the perfect day. We strolled the neighborhood and I was grateful that we could walk outside without parkas, snow boots and scarves on a lovely December afteroon.

"We just had the perfect day," I said to my husband on the way home. "We gotta do this more often."

We all do. So, what are we waiting for?

HAPPY HOLIDAY LETTER

I've written a holiday letter forever and still send out greeting cards even thought it's the digital age. Somebody's gotta keep the post office afloat, right? Just doing my part. It's the least I can do over the holidays. So, even though I'm running out of time, I am not about to NOT write one this year.  

I have noticed over the years that my holiday letters keep getting shorter and shorter. It seems to work better that way. Most people probably don't read them anyway. So, this year, I figured I would write one sentence that sums up the year. It's harder than it looks.  I had multiple ideas...some that would make readers think life was beautiful and others that life sucked. I read them out loud. I cut the ones that sounded too much like a Hallmark card. Then, I couldn't pick just one so I offer  these thoughts for your holiday enjoyment:

A good dog can make a bad year not so bad after all.

Life is nothing but change and surprises, so why am I always so surprised?

Keep calm and pet your dog.

Try it yourself. What would be your one sentence to sum up the year? You still have 9 days to come up with something.  Happy Holidays!

THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

I knew it was a foolish thing to do. I knew it might be downright dangerous. But I just had to go to Costco on Black Friday.  My dog was out of treats and his favorite brand had a coupon for $4.00 off.  I was going and that was all there was to it. I would invoke the parking angel when I got there.

I went early, thinking I might beat the crowd. Wrong. Already, the cars were streaming into the parking lot and hopefuls sat watching shoppers load their trunks with massive quantities of food, paper goods and furniture. I went on the prowl for someone who was already on the move.

That’s when I saw it. A Prius pulling out of a parking space that was almost spitting distance from the Costco entrance.  Talk about good karma!  I put on my blinker and waited for them to back up.

As the Prius pulled away, I saw a black Mercedes with its turn signal on, fully intent on the same parking space. I had the advantage since I could swing in as the Prius was leaving.  Which I did at warp speed.

The Mercedes was not happy. I did a little shrug to say, “Sorry, I was here first.” But the car honked at me and squealed off. I sat in the car and wondered what might happen while I went inside the store.  Would they leave a nasty note on my windshield? Would they key my doors? Would they puncture a tire with a nail file?

I was letting my imagination get the best of me. They’d be grown ups and find another parking space.  None as good as this one, but that's not my fault, right?

I got in and got out in record time, holding my breath as I approached my car. It was fine. Nothing had happened.  Makes me believe in parking angels for real.

PHONES ON A PLANE

Have you heard the latest? The FCC is thinking about letting us use cell phones while flying. My response? Please, please, please don't let people talk on planes.  Give them back their matches, their knives, their liquids that weigh more than three ounces, but please, don't let them use their cell phones.

We all know why. Every one of us has been trapped in a checkout line, on a bus,  or in a dental office at some time or another.  And in said location, there is always one of those people who just has to talk on her phone. Loudly. In an irritating East Coast accent. With total disregard for her surroundings and no boundaries to speak of. And we've all entertained murderous thoughts at those times. Admit it. You're only human after all.

I've actually abandoned full carts of groceries to get away from the inconsiderate cell talker who proclaims to the entire Safeway that she is getting a divorce from a cheating husband, has a teenage son in rehab after a suicide attempt and is considering a trip to Aruba. It's annoying as hell and no one but the cell talker cares in the slightest. At least I could get away from the grocery store offender.  Not so on a plane. You're trapped.

Air travel is already about as fun as a root canal and now we're going to have to listen to fellow passengers discuss their divorces, dalliances and daily lives with no escape. Say it isn't so. And if it will be so, please give us back the sharp objects.  They most certainly will come in handy.

TWERK LIKE A JERK

My husband and I have been married for 17 years, and while I wouldn’t say the thrill is gone, on occasion it turns up missing. Here’s the most recent example.

My husband is sitting in front of the television on a Sunday afternoon.  He’s watching a football game and probably will watch another after this one is over. I’m in the kitchen, fretting over what to prepare for dinner.  Not really.  I rarely fret and when I do, it’s definitely not over dinner. I’m actually preparing lunch and peeking at the game.

The cameraman turns his lens to the sexy cheerleaders on the sidelines and I get an eyeful of what I’d call the new version of “dirty dancing”.  These hot babes are humping like dogs in heat. 

“Nice twerking,” I say to my husband. 

He’s too engrossed watching the gyrating chicks on the screen to respond. When the camera returns to the game, he spins around to look at me.

“What’s twerking?” he asks.

Where has my husband been for the last few decades? How can you not know what twerking is? So, I decide to show, not tell. Big mistake on my part.

“This is twerking,” I say and shake my 50+ booty in front of him. He begins laughing uncontrollably, nearly reaching hysterics.

“You really shouldn’t ever do that again,” he says, once he can breathe again.

“Thanks a lot,” I say, embarrassed as hell.  The thrill is definitely gone when it comes to twerking for my husband.  Guess I better leave that to the cheerleaders.