Mixed Blessings

We found a flyer on our door today, from a neighbor girl who is collecting items to send to our troops that are far from home over the holidays.  Natasha provided a long list of everyday items that are hard to come by but very appreciated by soldiers overseas.  She also asked for personal letters, thanking them for their service, to add even more meaning to our gifts. 

What a blessing Natasha is, to both think and act on the behalf of others during the hectic holiday season.   How often do we think of, “Wouldn’t it be nice to…” but not act on it.  I feel doubly blessed in knowing that Natasha, and others, are acting in ways that might touch my son in the coming month.  One big downside of being in Special Operations is the undisclosed location, so I can’t send my own mammoth care package with my soldier’s favorite things.

Instead I will buy out WalMart and load up Natasha’s front porch in the next week, hoping to touch some unknown soldier in the same way I hope my son will be touched by someone else.  Hence the mixed blessing: Natasha’s helpful act brings to mind my own sense of helplessness.  I haven’t heard from Chris in two weeks.  I don’t know where he is or when he is coming home.  I don’t know if his Thanksgiving consisted of turkey enchilada MRE hurridly eaten in a Humvee or a big spread on base.

So if you have a chance to support the troops during the holiday, please be generous.  And you might include a note, “For Chris..Love Mom”, just in case.

 

Trashing Turkey

One benefit of getting older is the courage to buck traditions that don’t make any sense.  Like pumping obese children you don’t know full of sugar at Halloween or exchanging identical gift cards at Christmas. 

One tradition I am ready to pitch is the Thanksgiving Turkey.  I’m all for giving thanks; in fact each year I am finding more to be thankful for (functioning brain cells and an employed husband were high on the list this year).  But after 50 years of eating something that won’t even qualify for a place on a restaurant menu, I am ready to move on.  I have no doubt i would be more thankful for a hunk of prime rib or a well-made pan of lasagne. 

I understand the historical significance of turkey and its prize place at the first table of Thanksgiving.  But let’s acknowledge that today’s top-heavy double-D turkey who never saw the light of day wouldn’t even be recognized by its ancestors who could walk upright and even fly when the occasion warranted.  And I doubt there was a Pilgrim alive who wouldn’t have preferred a nice roast saddle of deer over a stringy game bird that didn’t go far in feeding a pre-colonial family of eight.  But times were tough back then (not a Kroger in sight for 200 years) and we had to be thankful for what we could get.

But traditions have a habit of sticking around in ways that lose the meaning but hang on tightly to obscure symbolism.  So we buy and bake the yearly bird, then devise creative ways to disguise that it has no significant flavor of its own and a texture that requires a liquid chaser just to get it down.  We soak it, inject it, deep fry it, mask it with stuffing, drown it in gravy, and then add creative condiments like cranberry sauce.  This year I am thankful that we ate the whole thing and I don’t have to deal with the leftovers.

So, dear family, next year be prepared for the fact that I am not serving turkey.  Who knows what will show up on the table, but know that it won’t be bigger than a car battery and you won’t have to smother it in gravy.  And that is something to be thankful for!

 

Oh Brain, Where Art Thou?

Obviously I have been on a lengthy vacation from my blog.  Well, actually I’ve been right here but my brain went on vacation without me, and without it there wasn’t much to blog with.  Fortunately it has returned, hopefully for more than a short visit.  But I figure I should take advantage of it while I can.

I come from a long line of women who disdain simple hot flashes and weight gain during their change of life and, instead, go stark raving loony.  Name any chemical imbalance known to man and every middle-aged female on my family tree has one or more stars next to her name.  I have become my mother, in more ways than one.

It has been very humbling to be in a mindless body for the past month, bereft of the gift of ordinary language (the word “flamingo” went missing for several hours) and unable to perform the simplest multi-tasking (don’t ask about the broiler incident).  There was no memory, no motivation, no appetite (mindlessness is apparently a great weight-loss tool), no interest, no energy.  I learned a new face of fear: “What if this is my life from now on?”  Just shoot me.

It is an invisible condition, one you bear alone.  Friends only thought I looked “tired” when I was actually vacant.  Nobody home here…joy has left the building.  No amount of makeup can cover that up.

Thanks to either a heavenly repreive or the wonder of modern medicine, my brain returned, almost overnight.  Joy is a little slower to follow but I have faith that it is hovering nearby.  I do have a new sense of Gratitude.  Grateful that going to the store is just an errand, not a superhuman feat.  Grateful for coherent thoughts and the ability to drive without stopping for green lights.  Grateful that I can speak my thoughts in the same order that I have them!  Grateful that I am here in body, mind, and spirit.

Now if I can just stay this way a little while longer…

 

Teaching old dogs…

To dispel an old myth, you can teach an old dog new tricks.  In preparation for the arrival of our seventh guide dog puppy, Jessie, last week, we taught our almost six-year-old Lab how to not destroy soft chew toys.  Given that he could previously destroy reinforced leg bones from large cows (dead cows, by the way), this impresses even us.  He now struts around happily content to squeak rather than shred, proud of his accomplishment and reluctant to subject his resurrected puppy toys to the new recruit. 

This got me to thinking.  I am well on my way to becoming an old dog, certainly older than Cassius in dog years.  What kind of new tricks do I deserve to learn?  Things I’ve previously thought I was incapable of handing without destroying them or myself.  Rollerblading perhaps or even rock climbing.  Making a killer Cream Brulee.  Building a BIG business.  Writing a best seller.

But something is missing from each of these new tricks.  Or maybe something is there that shouldn’t be.  Each feels like a trick I should learn, rather than one I want to learn.  In accomplishing each one (except perhaps the cream Brulee), I don’t think I would be strutting around the house making contented squeaky noises.  A little chest pounding maybe, but no contented squeaky noises.

So perhaps the new trick is to stop putting the shoulds on list at all!  Eleven-week-old Jessie is the master of new tricks and a great role model for me.  Every waking moment is a search for the next contented squeak and shoulds are avoided whenever possible.  It seems the secret for teaching old dogs new tricks is to act like a young dog!

Jessie the Guide Dog Puppy

 

My son, normally a very intelligent and centered young man, just enthusiastically volunteered for his second military deployment.  Like the last time, we don’t get to know where he’s going but he did share that it wouldn’t be as “cushy as the last assignment”, which we found out (after the fact) was in Iraq.  I guess “cushy” is a relative term when you are in the Army.

Generally the Army has been a great experience for Chris.  He has found personal success in his elite unit, gained the brotherhood that he missed as an only child, and picked up valuable knowledge on space-age weaponry that I’m sure will benefit his next employer.  Not to mention creating a hard body and establishing healthy eating habits that mother obviously failed to instill.

Yes, the Army taught him his value in a way that a normal life never could.  A part of me even hoped he would stay and make a career out of it – although his placement in Special Operations prevented me from knowing exactly what kind of career that would be.  That part also had a Pollyana view that all the extensive, expensive training would be put to good use in Kentucky, not war-torn countries that lacked basic human rights and plumbing. 

During the first deployment I visualized that he was in Australia (which made sense based on the time zone difference and the availability of steak and seafood in the base cafeteria).  Finding out afterwards that it was a bit further West was a real shock but since he was home safe by that time, reality never really hit. 

Chris will be discharged at the end of January, so I was already visualizing his future with college, creating my grandkids (hopefully prefaced by a wife) and a job that didn’t involve parachutes.  So imagine my surprise at the news of a second volunteered deployment – to somewhere “less cushy”.  Australia didn’t come to mind this time. 

But Chris is excited and he’s too old for Mom to be the wet blanket and voice of reason, plus the Army values Moms but doesn’t give them a vote.  So here I am, facing reality and mortality, trying to keep breathing deep while being positive and supportive.  But it is a false front that falls apart in my dreams. 

I spent the morning coaching someone to focus on what they can control and let go of the rest.  What a hipocrite I find myself to be.

 

Shoe lust

Don and I have been making great progress on our path to financial freedom, thanks to all the great ideas you have shared with us.  And big kudos to our wealth partner, Keith Chapman of Chapman Wealth Management, for his support and gifted teaching.  We have eliminated all of our credit card debt, paid off our truck and are living well within our means while bearing down on the final $13k of our HELOC.  Woohoo!

It is amazing how much you can save when you don’t spend anything.  Don’s new personal trainer is called “yard work” and our trees and lawn have never looked better.  We discovered our community center, at $65 a year, has nicer equipment than the expensive gym.  I am rediscovering that I cook better than most restaurants and whatever is on sale at the grocery tastes just as good as the stuff not on sale.  If I can do financials for two international businesses, certainly I can do a budget for two people.  Shopping around for tires really does pay off and the adrenaline rush from it almost as good as buying new shoes.  Almost.

Which brings me to shoe lust.  I have entered a serious conflict zone between eliminating our debt once and for all and buying new shoes.  Lots of new shoes.  And maybe new jeans.  And certainly a new speaking outfit for Fall.  And those bathroom rugs really need replaced after the last three guide dog puppies.  And I did want a chiminea for the patio when the weather cooled down…

But I am staying committed to the goal, counting on my community to keep me strong.  And I’m really enjoying my one pair of new shoes (on sale, with coupon), knowing that as I do, another debt bites the dust.

P.S. photo credits for the cool pic on Keith Chapman’s website belong to Don Pool Photography.

 

Rising to the Challenge

I went to Chief’s puppy raiser graduation day last weekend.  This is the icing on the cake for guide dog puppy raisers who spend a year or more converting a lively pup into a responsible canine citizen capable of making safety decisions for their future blind partner.  Watching them at the end of their training, leading their partner through the maze of obstacles and distractions, is nothing short of amazing.

Chief was our sixth puppy, a sweet goofball with a drooling tendency and a fear of shiny floors.  As with our previous pups, we sent him back to the guide dog school with silent prayers and our fingers crossed.  Each time we swear that this year’s wacky Lab will never be guide dog material.  And each year we head to Florida to witness yet another successful match. 

Chief had, from birth, feet the size of cow paddy and the grace to match.  The first time he hiked his leg, he lifted it so high that he fell over backwards and peed straight up.  Twice during his training Chief walked himself right into a pole while reading pee-mail; and we were going to turn a blind person loose with him? 

But an amazing thing happens in the first couple of weeks or working together: the dogs somehow learn that their new partner can’t see.  That changes everything.  We have seen Destinee, our supreme Wild Child #4, intensely concentrate on where her partner puts his feet when crossing rough pavement.  Luckie, #5, has figured out that Danielle has some sight during the day so she daydreams and goofs off, but at night she knows she has to be on the ball and be the eyes for both of them.  Chief apparently has mastered multi-tasking (like most of those Gen X’s) and is now able to read pee-mail, steer the team around obstacles and keep an eye out for low hanging branches.

I guess this can be a lesson for all of us.  We will live up to the challenges put before us.  Without something better to do, we just chase balls in the backyard (and dig a few holes now and then).  But in the presence of a bigger game, we rise to the occasion and stretch beyond anything we, or anyone else, ever thought we could do.  I suppose I should be thankful for all the challenges that life puts in my path.  Otherwise I would just lie around all day hoping for a belly rub.

 

Putting on the Mask

Here I sit, all pretty and primped, killing some time before I head off to a speaking engagement.  I find that as I get older I am resenting both the time and necessity for creating the public polish.  For one thing, it is harder to pull off these days as things move to new places that require products I was blissfully unfamiliar with a few years ago.  For another, I have become very comfortable with my natural state, living in it most days thanks to working in an office-based home.  Fortunately clients have not yet come to expect web cam connectivity to their coach!

One of my early coach training exercises was to go without the mask for one full month, shopping, meeting, working (I was still in the corporate world then) without a stitch of makeup.  It was an interesting exploration on how the external state affected the internal state; “I look ugly…I feel ugly…or at least I feel like I look ugly”.  I thought I would die, or get fired, or lose all my friends.  None of that actually happened – and I got to work on time!  By the end of the month, I was able to feel beautiful (in a different way) regardless of how I looked to the world. 

Over the years, the mask was worn less and less as I became familiar with, and even attached to, my  natural face.  Today, professional events, official dates with my husband, and trips to the mall are the final frontier.  A la natural is not a normal thing in Plano, Texas.  Part of me will be quite glad to become old enough that makeup is no longer a viable fashion statement. 

What a strange relationship we women have with cosmetics.  Magazines and half of our paychecks are dedicated to it.  The presence or lack of it dictates how we feel about ourselves at any given moment.  We obviously do it for each other given that men don’t really notice it (the ones party to my coaching experiment didn’t) and rarely look that high anyway.  Since women have been decorating their faces for a thousand years and more, I doubt if a major revolution is going to occur any time soon.

Time to go and share strategies on how to deal with dominant people with the ladies at State Farm.  I sure hope they don’t notice that big zit on my forehead…

 

Dog training tips that work on people

In looking at my past blog history, I realize that the topics people most like to read about are personal development (the coaching stuff) and dog stuff.  And not necessarily in that order.  Yes, dog stuff seems to be top of the list, especially dog training stuff.  So I thought to really punch up readership, I’d combine the two.  Dog training tips that work on people!

Yes, after training obedience and guide dogs for over (gulp!) 34 years and coaching for eight, I’ve found some interesting correlations between the two practices.  Now I’m sharing with you my tried and true methods for training dogs and people to their best behavior: 

• Don’t give a command that you aren’t willing to enforce.  People that can’t say no and mean it have unruly pets and kids that walk all over them.
• Ask only for what is reasonable given age and experience.  You can’t expect a new puppy or a new husband to have great house manners.  Both have to be taught what you expect.
• Tight control teaches nothing.  If you always keep a short leash and a tight collar, no one learns self-control.  Allow dogs and kids to make mistakes and correct only when needed.
• Praise motivates more than punishment.  Would you work harder for a steak dinner or a kick in the rear?  The kick in the rear might get you moving but the steak dinner keeps you moving.  And if you kick a dog often enough, you just might lose a foot.
• If you want to use a shock collar, put it on yourself first (because you earned it).  You teach dogs and people how to treat you, so if you’ve been doing your job you never get to this point.

So find your favorite dog and do a little training of your own!

 

PS.  For a real coaching article on this topic, check out the Dog Training 101 newsletter.

 

The Whiner

As a coach, I spend six to seven hours a day listening to people’s problems.  Fortunately by the time they are willing to make the investment in serious coaching, they are highly motivated to solve those problems.  This willingness to explore, change and take a risk is what makes the whole thing work.  Our time together may be brief or lengthy but we are always knocking down barriers and moving towards something.   Like any great athelete going for the gold, they have ups and downs, experience frustrations and joy and anger.  But they don’t whine. 

Thank God.  I can’t stand whining.  The Whiners tend to go to the more patient and less expensive coaches, or they rely on friends since their goal is to whine, not do anything about it.  Actually I don’t think they really want to do anything about it because then they wouldn’t have anything to whine about.  Bitching and moaning is like a free shot of expresso to them. 

Apparently many of you feel that same way.  Next to Dealing with Dominant People, Dealing with the Whiner is the most requested telecast I offer.  Part of my own coaching journey has been to eliminate whiners from my life.  Many are buried in the backyard, next to the Drama Queens and ex-husbands.  The rest went away quietly as I no longer served their needs for a supportive listener and fellow co-complainer.

So now I find myself in a dilemma: this weekend I am a Whiner!  Nothing like a bad cold over a holiday weekend to put me into an unrecognizable state.  While everyone else is grilling out with friends, I have two Kleenex stuffed up my nose.  Surely I can blame this on someone.  Like my husband who brought it home from the office without catching it himself (thanks Mr. 73 Cholesterol – have a hot dog, but cook it yourself). 

No, I don’t want to shower, get dressed, take a Sudafed, or have a nap.  I don’t want to make myself feel better; I want to WHINE!   I guess I had better get out the shovel…