Jammie Jammin'

Faced with a half-day of work before jetting off to NYC for an Aunt Amy/U of A roomies rendezvous, Shana opted for a work-at-home morning. PJs, purring cat, pool view, 7:50 wake-up - life is good. But not too good. I tempted her with a pre-flight am pedi, but she turned me down flat. No, I'm working. And work she did. The other day, after a few weeks getting the hang of things with the new job, Shana announced that she's really making a difference at the company. And now I see why. As I fired up my own side-by-side laptop to start typing away,

I kept spying on her more interesting list. Organizing with her co-workers, checking off to-dos, emailing clients, proofing ethics videos - even some in Chinese! The kid rocked it 'til noon. Changing the world for the better. Or at least her little part of it.

Then we got our toes done.

Shaving Face

 

For years I thought Shawn was just happy to have perfected the whole three day stubble look. Walk around like a Stud Man. Mr. Cool Dude. Turns out, the guy was scared. Escaping the heat one lunch hour, we strolled into The Art of Shaving. Who knew? An entire store dedicated to men's shaving! Greeted by the manager, a quiet, impeccably coiffed gentleman, who felt the fear and moved in slow. Shawn opened up like Woody Allen on a therapist's couch. The razor burns, the cuts, the bumps, the time. He went on and on while Mr. Art of Shaving listened. They tested. They toured. They smelled. They learned. After bonding, Shawn's new BFF took his hands, oiling, exfoliating, lathering, moisturizing, badger brush brushing, rinsing, patting dry. Pat. Don't ever rub. It was beautiful. I felt like I was reading Fifty Shades of Grey again. A half hour and one card swipe later, the $25 starter kit was ours, lovingly wrapped in tissue paper for the now fearless shaver who can't make it to day three of stubble anymore, happily achieving soft-as-a-baby's-cheeks cheeks that just beg to be smooched.

Movie Madness - Take This Waltz

Cool flick, in a tastes like chicken, grass is always greener (or is it?) kind of way...

Water, Water, Water

Figuring I wouldn't be getting to the beach anytime this summer, Watercise at the beautiful Franciscan Renewal Center seemed like a little consolation prize.

It worked.

Floating in the water, watching clouds roll over my beloved Camelback Mountain, immersed with a group, young and old, from all over the world, totally down to earth with not a North Scottsdale fake boob or Botox in the bunch. Beautiful. Susan, the instructor, has been teaching there forever and just got back from a month at a yoga retreat in the Virginia mountains and shared lots of her wisdom. We stretched, we moved, we breathed, we balanced (wow - tree pose is soooo much easier with a few hundred gallons of water holding you up!), we got all comfy and did a deep meditation, somehow trusting that all anyone needs is a couple of pool noodles to just let it all go.

Magic Mike!

Whoa!!!! Three moms and three daughters to see a bunch of guys in thongs in Magic Mike - and the crowd went wild!!!

Lulu

Sully, a big softie, seems was the only thing keeping Lulu in her place. He freaked her out. Filled her with fear. If he was in her way, she would cautiously, slowly, quietly tip-toe "paw" by, not taking her eyes off of him. Lotus and Cali would go right up, bump into him, give him little nose-to-nose Eskimo kisses. Cali would even walk under him, back and forth, back and forth, her own personal doggie bridge. But not Lulu. Her holier than thou, Alpha Cat attitude was always brought back down to earth when Sully entered a room. I figured a little fear is good. Keeps things in check. But now that Sully's gone, Lulu's the big dog in the house. Barking at us. Ordering us around. Hissing at the other cats. Banging on doors. Monitoring the litter box like she's suddenly CEO of Pussy Potty Patrol, frequently causing furr-flying cat fight tornadoes in the hallway. What a brat. Then, right before I give her away to someone with lots of dogs, she'll pop up and slam her big fat belly right up against one of the humans, spooning close, purring,  humming I'm Sexy And I Know It and she's good for another day.

Life in the Cloud

Look, there's a medical chart on our TV in the family room - taking working from home to a whole new level. These days, Shawn can even cruise into an exam room with an iPad and type away on that without having to turn his back on anybody. A couple of weeks ago we sent in our first prescription electronically right from a patient's chart, Cloud calling Costco, beautiful, clearing the way for me to finally start collecting the data I've been waiting for over a year to do. I still hate our software company. I still fight with them every single day, making the past year a stormy one and the summer one big hot mess. So let's focus on the good things like being able to log in from home. And, to remind me to be nice on the brand new, at least they're trying, but where have they been for the past year, problem resolution system the software dummies put in place 7/1, my password is: Smilennod1. So as I watch my list of requests get smaller and smaller, slowly, slowly, I'm hoping to get through this transition without an electronic script for blood pressure or anxiety meds flying through cyberspace with my name on it.

Tree of Life

On the way to yoga, Mary thanked the trees for breathing. "The lungs of the world," she called them. Then, somewhere between the legs over my head and the last long, long blanketed up pose, we were breathing, too, learning that it's all about that moment between inhaling and exhaling, where you hold it, wait for it, think about it, that's yoga.

The Natives Are Getting Restless

It's sort of hard to bitch about a little Arizona heat when so much of the rest of the country is actually melting, burning down and without power. I've come across lots of fellow natives lately that wonder if it seems hotter this year or are we just getting older and crankier? It IS getting hotter.

Since January 1, U.S. hot temperature records vs. cold ones are running 40,000 to 6,000.  But gratefully on this Independence Day, Scottsdale made a little record of our own, sitting on a lounge chair pre-fireworks by the pool, eating watermelon on the Fourth of July, rainy and 79 degrees.

Nuns on the Bus

A little Sunday Sermon...Check out the Nuns! Watch and learn. Way to roll, Ladies.