Arizona is awash with pricks! Before you get your knickers in a knot, I’m not being bawdy. The reality is the desert is full of pricks. Perhaps, piercing needles are the first line of defense for smoldering summers, or perhaps, deadly burrs and barbs help flora survive. I don’t know. But Mother Nature early on forced me to employ a landscaper.
Of course, I, first, tried to control errant cacti by myself. Then an inch-long spine impaled my leg. A jumping cholla attacked my foot on my way to the mailbox in my flip flops. An agave ripped open my wrist when I tried to free a lost baby quail. I was so stupid to think I could trim a palo verde tree and survive–wrong, my arms looked like I’d been in a lion’s den.
Bougainvillea and other gorgeous flower plants also wreck havoc. When picking grapefruit, oranges, limes, and lemons, as most of the branches have razor-sharp needles. I’m glad I don’t take blood-thinner. I would need a transfusion for the amount of times I’ve been stuck.
So if you come to my house for dinner, don’t have one too many and end up with these pricks!
A few weeks ago, I shared the story of Bob, my current cabana boy. Bob and his burly dog, Max moved into my guest house over a year ago. For a year, Max only ventured outside when my dogs were in the house. If they happened to see him, they’d chase him back through his doggy door. They’d gnash their teeth if they spied him through the sliding glass door. I would go and visit Max; I felt sorry for him, for his dad was gone much of the time. He spent endless hours alone–unhealthy for a pack animal. Dogs want to belong.
The mantra of my maternal grandmother, probably my clone. She lived to be 99.5 years, had a great sense of humor, and was overtly willing to try most everything–even a second marriage at 80 years old.
While in my early 20’s, I took a graduate school course in educational philosophy and discovered I was an existentialist–make every decision as if it is your last decision. I embraced that idea, and thus, I never looked back with “would have, could have, or should have.” Further, I don’t suffer from “buyer’s remorse.” Once I make a reasoned decision, I don’t dwell on it. It’s the proverbial water over the dam, regardless of the outcome.
Dr. Suze Espouses 