June Bugs and June Brides

You might wonder where I’m going with bugs and brides. What could they possibly have in common? With June brides come the images of flowers and showers, preachers and parties and the meshing of new families. With June bugs come the sounds of head-buzzing and lampshade pelting, swooshing fly swatters and cats rocketing across the living room and smashing into patio doors.

I’m thinking of both as we glide past spring into summer. We’ve had two family weddings this month and seemingly more fat brown June bugs dancing around our light bulbs than all years past. Both brides and bugs have swept quickly past leaving a fluttering of invitations and, well, wings and legs. Perhaps it’s analogous that we’re also counting more blessings than ever in our lives.

Life doesn’t always follow our plans, but along the turns of the past year we’ve found ourselves growing richer in relationships as every page falls from the calendar. The hours of this month fly past with old friends getting back in contact, new acquaintances from the weddings filling our address book and the activities of summer crowding our schedules.

Even after all the years since graduating school and university, there is still something delicious about welcoming summer and its possibilities for fun: jumping in a pool to escape the heat, slipping into a chilly matinee on a bright afternoon, choosing just the right flavor of syrup on snow cones or nestling down with that great paperback in the middle of the afternoon. It’s all lightness that we create for ourselves. Life isn’t perfect, but there is a perfectly magnificent blue sky beckoning us outside to gaze upward.

With triple digit heat in Austin, it’s important to create some slow-down time outside to slurp on a juicy watermelon and feel the condensation dripping down your wrist from an icy beverage. We find that it works to write “Down Time” on the calendar and commit to it. I’m much less likely to bump it when it’s committed on the page.

I am however, much more likely to bump into the sticky fly paper strip my husband posted on our patio to catch the bugs before they slip through the sliding glass door. Who knew they still made this stuff? Twice now while watering the plants, the breeze has shifted and sent me flailing about during a facial assault. It’s far worse than a tangle in a silky spider web. When it’s on you, it marries you and leaves a nasty trail of goo all over your face, arms, hands and hair.

I refuse to let this ick replace my happy summer memory scents like Sea & Ski lotion and baby oil. These take me back to blissful teenage afternoons in a pink gingham bikini lying on a quilt in our back yard listening to Motown hits on the radio. The sweetness of watching the clouds drift past and wondering about the future still invigorate my love for this season.

What are you doing to create lightness in your life this year? Which are your sweetest memories of summers past? What are your tricks for beating the heat?

We welcome the newlyweds into our lives and outfit ourselves for the battle of the bugs, accepting the sweetness of new love with the stickiness of just living. We’re just not using the fly paper near the brides.

Jockeying for First Place When the Old Grey Mare Just Ain’t What She Used to Be

The film “My Life in Ruins” opens this week, and as accurately as this seems to describe life some days, I compile yet another daunting To Do list and dash off like an Olympian to finish what I’ve started.

Thoughts of racing come easily just days away from the third leg of the Triple Crown at Belmont and the Austin Danskin Triathlon, and I’m betting that this old mare can accomplish as much as any three-year-old thoroughbred.

As the Belmont bets are placed and we wager whether jockey Calvin Borel will achieve a triple crown astride Mine That Bird, I think about what a triple threat the female drivers in the 2009 Indy 500 were. Milka Duno, Sarah Fisher and Danica Patrick are fascinating to follow. All three qualified, competed and finished the race this year – which resonates as I tackle my objectives.

At the speedways, the pit crew can make or break a driver’s success. In the flat racing game, the jockey can guide a horse to a win or a loss. If we serve as our own pit crews and jockeys, how are we guiding the success of our goals? Are we whipping the tar out of our hinies or focusing our energies in unison to change out the tires and fuel up? Who’s spotting for us as we navigate the track? Are we working for or against ourselves in achieving our goals?

I’m trying to sweep the track of habits that undermine my efforts, such as staying up too late and not getting enough rest. Now, if they held an Indy 500 Napping race, I could take the trophy for sleeping 500 minutes. While I’ve been training for the Danskin, I’ve added a phone alarm that says “go to bed” as a prompt to shut it down for the day and not work into the wee hours. A full night’s rest is invaluable in how you recharge and embrace the next day. It keeps you from falling asleep at the wheel of your life.

The point of my ever overflowing To Do list and all the goal setting, task tackling and exercising is to make the old grey mare better than she used to be so she can win her races with skill and grace– and not be set out to pasture just yet. There’s still a lot of hoofing around I want to do, and I’m grateful for my family and friends who keep me moving and motivated. As I run for the roses, they all deserve bouquets for their love and support. Thanks to their faith, I’m not like I used to be – I’m better.

What’s on your To Do list? Are you including time for healthy essentials? Are you appreciating your pit crew?

One item on my list is to attend a movie this weekend. For anyone who says that women’s cinema doesn’t make money, I hope that they are proven wrong with the opening box office returns on “My Life in Ruins.” I’m putting my money where their mouth is and buying a ticket. Won’t you join me?

http://www.fandango.com/mylifeinruins_118572/movieoverview

All the News That’s Shocking to Print

I narrowly escaped death by blow dryer this week. While I was arranging my locks, my grip slipped and my blow dryer tumbled out of my hand, hit the counter, did a triple Lutz, and splash-landed into the john. At the sound of the little zzzzt-pfff, I jumped back looked at my hands and limbs, ascertained that I was still alive (and still had straight hair), and quickly unplugged the cord.

For a few moments I just stood there in slight shock and then I started to laugh. It just seemed so funny. I’d been thinking of changing my ‘do to something easier. Was this a sign that I should get a “bowl” cut?

The day before, I was at my gym early to train for the Danskin triathlon and pulled on my Speedo swim cap to protect my hair. I know that professional swimmers probably love these things, but I can’t figure out for whose tiny heads these were designed – certainly not my Jolly Green Giant knob. I have to fold it, roll it, and cajole it onto my noggin. Forget covering the ears – it starts slipping up the moment it’s on and demands constant adjustment to keep it from popping off in the water. What I really want is one of those old models with the big daisies springing up all over and a nice fat chin strap – now that’s a classy look!

That morning during the tug of war, a big handful of the cap fell apart in my palm. Undaunted I cocked it around and started my laps, grateful that I was the only one at the pool. I enjoyed an entire hour by myself practicing the strokes that would serve me best in the upcoming half-mile water course. Of the triathlon challenges, the swim's the most daunting. Not only is it physically taxing for a mediocre swimmer, with the cutesy caps it lacks the glamour of, say, getting spiffed up in tennis whites.

But the varied training infuses fun in my fitness plan. It motivates me to keep moving and challenges me to push my limits. The medals are a big plus – I can’t think of anything since winning our grade school spelling bee that has made me feel so special. During my first triathlon orientation, they asked the question: when was the last time you did something that you were afraid to do? I must stay that getting into that water with waves of other folks passing you by is pretty intimidating.

Biking, though, has always been a great pleasure – even since my first ride without training wheels. It just looked so hard, maintaining balance on two wheels. I lacked the confidence to believe that I’d ever be able to do it and imagined breaking bone upon bone tumbling across the driveway. But one day my brother, who was supposed to be holding on to the back, just let go. I was far across our yard before I caught on that I was riding solo. And when I realized it, I promptly fell over. But I got up and rode independently from then on, without ever looking back.

For me, the event has never been about finishing under a certain time, it’s been about finishing. Period. So when it comes to the 5K run, the final portion of the triathlon, I prefer to walk at least half of it. Texas in June can be monstrous, so I pace myself according to the heat index and the distance between watering stations. As it’s tipping up toward 100 degrees Fahrenheit, I take my time and tank up like a camel.

When the end is in sight, I like to run across the finish line – I feel more like a champion. When they slip that medal around your neck after you cross the threshold, it's impossible not to grin like a beet-faced Alfred E. Newman. The inscription reads: The woman who started the race is not the same woman who finishes the race. How true.

So what was the last thing you did that really scared you? Have you pushed yourself beyond your supposed limits to reach a goal recently? Have you shocked yourself at what you can achieve with focused effort? What training wheels are you ready to shed?

While you’re mulling it over, I’ll be looking for someone who can give me a good bowl cut.

The Sounds and the Succulents

In a recent class at the Great Outdoors, Dave Mix, with Pacific Home & Garden, taught us how to put together container pots for patio gardens. I chose to do a bowl of succulents, and with the addition of just a few more accent stones, it will be finished – or as finished as any gardening project ever is. In a land where water is increasingly precious, finding beauty in native, low-moisture varieties is such a joy.

My new little friends include hens and chicks, sedum, santolina, and baby toes. As I poked these little gems into the soil, I was struck by all the different colors from the succulent garden and out into our yard – the soft, silvery lambs ear to the dark Mexican heather fronds to the crimson tips on the dragon’s blood sedum. There are more variations of green here than on all the local paint-mart chips combined.

Succulents survive by retaining water (something I do after two margaritas and several baskets of chips). They send the message: “Set me in the sun and leave me alone. I’m tough, I can take it. I can get by on just a little. Let me be.”

Of course, I’m suspicious about such neglect. It’s hard for me to respect their wishes and not over-water them. Even my hovering is cutting off their sunshine. I’m learning to leave them alone – and am grateful that you don’t have to deadhead a cactus.

At the seminar, Dave also taught us how to listen to our pots by patting and ringing them somewhat like a toning bowl. When a pot is cracked, it makes a funny thud next to an un-cracked one, and you can detect even a hairline fracture. So now this crackpot knows how to spot a cracked pot.

Toning and the use of sound have long been studied for their healing effects on the body. We enjoy the constant gurgle of a fountain and waterfall in our koi pond, as the fish dip and slip among the reeds cruising toward their next slow mosquito meal. The sound of the water draws down our shoulders and floats away the day’s cares. Nightly it call us out to the patio where we dip in our fingertips to check the temperature, still too cool for the lily pads to rise.

These days, the flow and gurgle of lively conversation with good friends and family keeps me sustained. I’m comfortable working alone and can enjoy long hours in solitude, but it’s an oasis when we gather and share laughter and stories. It seems more important than ever that we simply stop and together witness our lives, in sunshine and in shadow.

Where is your oasis? Have you paid attention to the sounds you love today? What are they? Notice what brings you contentment and allow it into your life each day.

In the meantime, if you ring my doorbell and I don’t answer, I’m just out back – ignoring the cactus and watching for the lily pads to rise.

Great Outdoors: http://www.gonursery.com/
Pacific Home & Garden: http://www.pacifichg.com/

Books, Buds, and Bugs

Why do I check out so many library books at one time? The fragrance of the paper? A towering stack nearby flirts from the floor and beckons to be embraced. I’m wondering why I invited these home when devouring eight books in fifteen days would mean bathing in nothing but coffee.

The seduction begins when I enter the lobby and feel the overwhelm of possibility. All these amazing ideas clamor to get inside my head and incite me to act: build it, plant it, imagine it, cook it, visit it. My blood races and a little saliva puddles at the corner of my mouth. No, it’s not a seizure, I’m just seized with excitement like a lone boll weevil feasting in cotton field. So many tomes, so little time.

From the dusty volumes of the great indoors to the pollen-infused great outdoors, we bid farewell to our final jasmine blossoms of the year. Bursting in abundant popcorn-y clusters, the vines beguile us with an Orville Redenbacher bounty of blooms. They spritz the loveliest of perfumes throughout our yard and into our home. As the lacy green tendrils yawn and drop their petals and stretch across the fence line, it’s time for the fragrant freesia, sweet alyssum, scarlet nicotiana, and silver leaf senna to step up and fill the air.

These plants and dozens of others form our “butterfly bed-and-breakfast.” In our collection of edibles, the dill patch has checked out early, having served more as a bug hors d'oeuvre than a cooking accent. The bronze fennel persists, perhaps as dessert while the caterpillars munch the brunch that is my herb garden. We’ve entertained just one hummingbird this spring, but more will check in as we feed the flowering fronds (and imprison the cats indoors).

Which host plants do you cultivate for your passions? What nibbles away at your time and prevents you from tending your goals? Are you amassing late fees on your dreams? This week I pledge to multitask: pull up the lawn chair by the jasmine for at least one hour and breathe while I read. How will you nurture your projects this week?

Steep Inclinations

Lately it seems that everywhere I drive I’m parking on an incline. I find myself yanking back the handbrake with both palms and willing that the car doesn’t roll downhill. Before I walk away, I glance back over my shoulder a couple of times to make sure that it’s cooperating and holding its position. So far, so good.

As more and more fascinating Austin entrepreneurs cross my path, I’m enamored with their determination to stay up in down times. Their impressive enthusiasm and confidence lift my spirits and build hope. If anything will solve the problems facing the nation, it’s the brave characters of these individuals. Ten years from now, we’ll look back on these challenging years and continue to draw from their strength, initiative, and genius.

Not everyone will carry forth a successful business into the next decade, but these folks are out there living their dreams at a time when wringing of hands seems more common than a friendly hand clasp.

I stop and think about what’s my spiritual hand brake; what prevents me from slipping into a panic over the economy, social and racial intolerance, and environmental ills. At the end of the day, it’s my faith in people – individuals who strive to connect and create a better world. In my faux Streisand voice, it’s people who believe in people, and I’m grateful for those who keep encouraging me when the hills get so steep.

So my question this week is: Who believes in you? What helps you hold your position and prevents you from backsliding? As we build our new micro-communities, who will you support shoulder-to-shoulder and how? As the first layer in the new pavement, I suggest we roll out faith in one another, tempered with a little forgiveness for being human, in all its glorious imperfection.

It’s time to pop the brake, push it into gear, and go.

Belly Dancing, Babies, and Flowers in Bloom

How delicious is it to stare at a new baby? As I cradled three-week-old Maya near my heart last week, it was at once exciting, thrilling, and peaceful. During this crazed time of economic downturn, companies and prospects flail like mobile fobs in a windstorm. Meanwhile, right in the crook of my arm nestled this twisting bit of pink perfection, calming and mesmerizing me and evaporating all my cares and concerns.

Standing over her crib, her parents at once bundle love, exhaustion, amazement, anticipation, and worry. They nuzzle her, coo with her, and gaze in her endlessly-seeking hazel eyes. She peers out toward a window and you can almost hear her blossoming brain whiz and whir as she seeks to make sense of her wondrous world. She sows her soft magic over us all and reassures us that everything is going to be just fine.

After my visit with Maya, I wandered into our backyard and found voluptuous blooms emerging on our jasmine vines. I buried my face in the scent and inhaled the fresh, heady perfume. This prolific burst of flowers demonstrates Mother Nature’s recurring promise: Regardless of the edgy, nervous business climate, the spring buds faithfully appear and pop into glorious banquets of color and fragrance. We just need to lift our goblets and rise for the welcome toast.

My teacher, Najla, introduced new movements in our belly dancing class this week. We novices attempted to blend the disparate motions of our feet, pelvises, bellies, shoulders, and arms into fluid choreography. Reminiscent of Maya waving from her crib, I lacked the elusive swaddling of confidence to consolidate shoulder shimmies into piston hips and slink into an Egyptian walk. Yet I believe that with practice and with Najla’s patient cajoling over the next weeks, we’ll shed our inhibitions and sprout into a barefooted bouquet of vibrant-hued scarves fluttering and jingling to exotic rhythms.

So the week’s exploration is: What serves as your bunting? In what do you wrap yourself that binds your character yet frees the graceful gazelle within? What nudges you to flower? For me, it’s the mantle of hope, and I thank little Maya for the reminder that it does spring eternal.