Archive for the ‘Yoga Writing Memoir’ Category
“I’ve had a great life. . . too bad I didn’t realize it sooner!”
January 20, 20132013: The Year of Writing Yoga Memoirs
January 11, 2013My favorite on-the-floor Writing Yoga Pose: Seated Wide Angle Pose, Upavistha Konasana.
Please go to my Writing Yoga Memoirs page and click the Thumbs Up likes icon, located below the cover photo of my first memoir (my warm-up for the next one), near the upper right corner. My writing income supports the care and feeding of my four-legged family, so I must get out there and shamelessly promote—and get working on my next book!
Dr. Phil’s show on Facebook relationships: “Do an autopsy. . . .”
January 11, 2013
January 1, 2013 (From my Writing Yoga Memoirs Facebook page)
Last Wednesday, while dog sitting for a friend, I happened to catch a Dr. Phil segment on the dangers of starting relationships on Facebook. The program featured three beautiful, educated, but very trusting and naive women who fell hook, line, and sinker for the man of their dreams, based solely on his Facebook persona. Dr. Phil, in his usual fatherly manner, totally nailed the duplicity involved. He said, “These kind of people have figured out what you need. . . they know your currency and how to play up to it. . . they engage in the most manipulative forms of deception. They are arrogant, have a sense of entitlement, and lack empathy. They have no guilt or remorse.” And then he went on to nail the red flags these women ignored. I totally got it. It was no coincidence that the antagonist in my book told me all sorts of sob stories about himself, including how he “almost died.” (If you want someone to cut you some slack, just tell them how you almost died a few months ago!)
Near the end of the show Dr. Phil adamantly advised, “Before you move on, even if you fell in love with someone who doesn’t really exist, you have got to sit down and do an autopsy. Do a timeline, do an inventory of exactly what happened. . .” Well, I did pat myself on the back when I heard this part because that’s exactly what I did by writing my Facebook memoir—an autopsy.
For new readers, look inside Fishing on Facebook: A Writing Yoga Memoir
Stay Away!
December 24, 2012I must have a very guilty conscience!
I went next-door over to my daughter and son-in-law’s house to borrow a little honey and a few other items I was out of to save having to make an extra trip to the store. No one was home. As I was about to leave with my little stash of pilfered goodies, I noticed four opened bottles of wine on the counter. I thought to myself, “They won’t mind if I pour myself a little drink.”
As I reached over in the direction of the bottles a can sitting right in front of the wine suddenly let loose a smelly whiff of spray all over the counter—and when I quickly withdrew my hand it sprayed again! It startled the living daylights out of me!
Standing back a safe distance, I squinted to read the label on the can. It said, “STAY AWAY!” I immediately assumed it was a prank—a gag gift that someone gave to my son-in-law to keep thieves like me from helping themselves to the wine. That is how my mind works.
Then a few seconds later I glanced up at the refrigerator door and saw a note that said, “Days without pee on the counter: 2.”
And then I remembered my daughter telling me a few weeks ago that one of their cats occasionally took a notion to pee on the counter.
So then the rational, logical part of my brain kicked in. I positioned myself near the back of the can (not wanting to get sprayed in the eye) and squinted to read the small print: “Stay Away Motion-Activated Pet Deterrent.” There was a picture of a bad cat on the label.
Aha! So it wasn’t a mother-in-law deterrent after all! I reasoned that if I carefully reached for the wine from the direction of the back of the STAY AWAY can, I wouldn’t activate the sensor. I carefully pushed one of the bottles off to the side (having no idea how sensitive these pet sensors are) and poured myself a half cup of Honeymoon wine. . .
Stick with Honey: A Doga Writing Memoir
December 23, 2012Four years ago, on the Friday before Christmas . . .
“Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.”
–Mark Twain
The last Chapter in my dating memoir, “Fishing on Facebook: A Writing Yoga Memoir,” is entitled, “Stick with Honey.” As many of you know, Honey is the Australian Shepherd rescue dog who appears on the cover. When I told my friend Dale Hanson the truth about “Adam,” the antagonist in my memoir, she offered this simple advice, “Stick with Honey!”
Well, I have stuck with Honey, through thick and thin! Truth be told, like most other relationships, it has not always been easy. We’ve had enough adventures to fill a book. Here’s the beginning of the story:
Four years ago, on the Thursday before Christmas, I got a call from a local dog rescuer who said she heard I was looking to adopt a Queensland Heeler or Australian Shepherd. She asked if she could bring an Aussie rescue over on Friday, “Just so you can meet her.”
I thought to myself, “What a coincidence that I would get this call today.” My previous dog, Queenie, a Queensland Heeler (Australian Cattle Dog), had died exactly one year ago, on the Friday before Christmas. 
I tried not to take this as a sign from God!
For a moment I hesitated. I already had plenty of other animals — four cats, two rescue pigs, and a dear mouse named Whitey. Life was so much easier without the responsibility of a dog. I knew very well that if this Aussie arrived on my doorstep it would probably be case closed.
The clever, determined rescuer softened me up by explaining how her organization goes into the animal shelter on a regular basis to save as many dogs as they can from death row. They already had as many dogs as they could handle in one trip and she almost didn’t notice this beautiful Aussie. She described how this little girl dog came up and gently licked her hand.
I imagined the other dogs desperately barking, “Save me! Save me!” while this Aussie girl wisely distinguished herself by quietly licking the rescuer’s hand.
So the next day, on the Friday night before Christmas, a truck stopped in front of my house. The back of the truck had several crates, each holding a yapping dog. The driver took out a beautiful, fluffy Aussie dog. She didn’t bark. It all happened very fast and I felt like I was adopting an unknown orphan child.
The unknown Aussie stood beside me on the street, appearing very calm. We watched the truck with barking dogs drive away. After the truck disappeared, Aussie girl looked up at me as if to assess this human being who fate had delivered her to. At that moment I think she saw right through me –she picked up that I was easy and that she had nothing to fear. She willingly followed me into the house.
What I remember from our first night together is that this Aussie, who I named Honey a few days later, not only did not chase my cats (at least not while I was looking), she licked Leo’s face. Possibly because Leo’s lips taste like cat food, but it looked like a sign of affection and scored big points in her favor.
Late that night, while we were in the kitchen, a band of raccoons that had gotten way too tame during the year that I had no dog, came looking in the cat door, to see if it was safe to come in. I noticed Honey staring intently at the door, well aware of the intruders peering in. Suddenly she let loose an explosive bark that would shatter the ear drums of the dead. That was the end of the raccoons sneaking into the kitchen and stealing cat food.
For the first few days, as is the case in most new relationships, Honey was on her sweetest, best behavior. She smiled at everyone and sat still during my yoga classes with her front paws crossed, observing my students like a flock of sheep. But gradually, as she felt more secure, the reality of her true nature emerged.
Another day I will tell more about “Sunny” Honey. She is the world’s most loyal and lovable dog, but there is good reason why friends have dubbed her, “Buffalo Girl,” “Thunder Girl,” and other nicknames that reflect her energetic, exuberant, spirit!
Happy Fourth Anniversary Honey! (Honey hopes her story inspires more humans to give a dog waiting at the shelter a forever home.)
Southern California Australian Shepherd Rescue http://www.aussierescuesocal.com/
Please spay and neuter your dogs and cats –thousands of animals are waiting on death row, hoping to be adopted before it’s too late.
Stick with Honey! Photo Credit: David E. Moody
Nothing like a toothache to bring you to your knees
November 27, 2012November 20th, 2012
There’s nothing like a toothache to bring you to your knees and stop you in your tracks!
A few days ago I was sitting in the parking lot at Ojai Community bank filling out a deposit slip, making plans for lunch and the rest of my life. I had just taught a great class, I was on top of my game, when all of a sudden all hell broke loose in my jaw. The pain was so bad I couldn’t move —I just sat there
breathing, waiting, hoping and praying the merciless agony would subside. I began to doubt I could even make it to the ATM or drive safely home. Tears were pouring down my cheeks. It hit me that this was the kind of acute pain that makes people want to drop the body and check out.
After the pain died down, I managed to do my banking and drive home. I made a dental appointment. Each time the pain came back I massaged my gums and rinsed with various natural potions to ease the agony. Thankfully all weekend I was pain free so long as I stayed away from anything too hot or too cold.
Today I went to see the man I love and worship above all others: my dentist. Tomorrow, the day before Thanksgiving, I’ll be getting a blessed root canal from one of his associates. For this I’m mighty thankful!
Ginger — the cat from hell, alive and well
November 16, 2012Last night my daughter Monica found my old cat Ginger in the dryer — with the door closed. Ginger was deep asleep, buried in the warm towels and clothes, perfectly happy, having found the ideal quiet, cozy spot where no one will bother her, which is all she really wants from life.
When Monica lifted Ginger out of the dryer and brought her to me my heart turned over, as it hit me what could have happened had someone turned the dryer on with Ginger inside. The dryer is in the garage—we might not have heard the thump of her little body or cries for help.
I have to tell you that Ginger is the cat from hell. I got her at the Humane Society about a hundred years ago. She was in the cage (back then there was no Cat Room where cats can wander and play as they please) right next to the really sweet cat that I had picked out. But I felt sorry for Ginger, so scrawny, short -haired, not cute or adoptable looking. So, as an afterthought, out of the goodness of my heart, I asked if I could take her too. The Humane Society let me have Ginger for free and I’ve been paying the price ever since.
The first thing Ginger did upon arrival was chase off the other cat I adopted that day. I never saw that cat again and hoped it found a home with one of my neighbors. Until Ginger arrived on the scene I always had several cats. But each time someone brought me a stray, no matter if I kept the newcomer locked up in my bedroom to try to acclimate him or her to its new abode, sooner or later Ginger’s hissing and utter selfishness would drive the poor innocent off.
Until one day Monica told me that her friend’s cat had had kittens and now that they were weaned they were on the way to the Humane Society because the friend’s dad would not let her keep them. “Call her up, ” I said immediately. “We’ll take them!” An hour later the most beautiful, fluffy creatures arrived. We named them Princess Priscilla and Leo the Lion. Being kittens, they paid absolutely no mind to Ginger’s hissing and threatening flicks of her paw. They played all day and grew up to be fat, snuggly, long-haired cats. While Ginger sleeps alone in the most private quarters she can find, Leo and Priscilla sleep in my nice warm bed, like normal cats.
While writing this I heard a terrible hacking sound coming out of the bathroom. When I ran to check, I saw Ginger throwing up watery bile with grass and hairy clumps all over the fancy scales that an old boyfriend gave me during my menopausal years when he was worried about me gaining weight. After I wiped the mess up I noticed that some of the brown watery stuff had seeped inside the scales, floating under the glass, where the numbers are. I’ll try not to take it as a sign from God.




