The Burrow

I've been feeling sentimental all day. I live too far from my offspring.   I am reminded of their presence by Little Cuter's burgeoning belly as the home screen on my phone and by this napkin holder, made by Big Cuter when he was 8. 23 years later, it's still in use.   Pulling out a napkin this evening, I thought of this Billy Collins poem that says what I'm feeling more elegantly and eloquently than I ever could.    Enjoy.    THE LANYARD The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the blue walls of this room, moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano, from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor, when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard. No cookie nibbled by a French novelist could send one into the past more suddenly— a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake learning how to braid long thin plastic strips into a lanyard, a gift for my mother. ...

The January 8th Foundation... or Committee... or Memorial Planning Group..... or whatever the official title of the dedicated volunteers who are creating a remembrance of the response to the shootings in 2011. At least, that's what I hope it is.  I've attended parts of some of their meetings in the past.  I've never made it through an entire presentation.  It's not that the talks are dull; I don't have the emotional strength to sit through them. My eyes dart around the room; I'm never more fearful than when we are all together.  I'm hot and then I'm cold and I'm never ever comfortable in the chairs... no matter if they are padded or upright stackable folding chairs.  I'm hungry then I'm thirsty then I just want to be gone. It's not that I don't care about the issue.  I think it is that I care too much. I don't do well in committees, unless I'm in charge.  Knowing this about myself, I've managed to absent myself ...

TBG says it best - "He has the smallest, smartest hands which have ever been in my mouth." Nibbling on our babies' fingers aside, I think he's right.  Dr. Jess (he practiced for a while with his brother, so last names were useless) is thoughtful and gloved before he beginss to manually admire my dentition.  I always know what he's going to do and why.  There are no surprises; he announces noise and spray and discomfort so that I can be prepared. I've written about dentists before  (click here and here) .   I have nothing but affection for the profession.  My teeth are inherited from my paternal grandfather, he who chewed chicken bones right up to his death, where he greeted the Grim Reaper with all of his own, original, un-filled teeth.  The dentists in my life were never going to get right with me as a patient.  I was good for two cleanings a year and x-rays every two years.  I never thought about dental insurance. Marrying TBG ...

Have you seen the hashtag? Moms Demand Action has been encouraging its members to stay away from Target, and to demonstrate that fact by photographing ourselves at competitors while displaying a #OffTarget sign.   Little Cuter has been bemoaning the fact that FlapJilly has no 0-3 month size outfits.  Everyone is buying big stuff ... because everyone knows that babies grow much too quickly for 0-3 month clothes to get much use.  I've tried to share this learned wisdom with her, but she is insistent.  She needs plain white onesies for my granddaughter and she is not to be dissuaded.   This errand conflated nicely with my desire to participate in the Moms Demand Action project, so, this morning, after Pilates and a shower, I drove to Buy Buy Baby to make my mark.    Usually, I do not allow myself to move off the carpet at the front of the store.  There are too many temptations within.  But I was on a specific mission, one that wou...

I'm a hold out.  I admit it.  I get my news from the morning paper.   Yes, the paper.  That gets-all-over-your-fingers newsprint that is rolled up and rubber banded together and tossed from an old rusted vehicle onto my driveway at 5am.  The same kind of newspaper my grandparents and my parents read, religiously, every day.  back then, there were several papers in the house each day; the NYTimes in the morning, Newsday in the afternoon, and The NY Post under Daddooooo's arm each evening.  Bubba and Zayda took the Forward and the Herald Tribune.  My youth was surrounded by articles with by-lines, but I was less interested in the facts they were reporting than in the features towards the back.   Erma Bombeck led me to The Burrow.  Sam Goody ads led me to NYC and days flipping through record bins.  The theatre reviews told me what I would not be seeing.  But the main event was the comics.  Every day, there was the co...

I'm not talking about plastic covers on electric outlets. No.  I am discussing something infinitely more personal, something requiring a needle and medicinal fluids and my arm. Apparently, anyone who wants to be around a Chicago-land baby must be inoculated against whooping cough.  For the same price, they throw some anti-tetanus stuff into the same vial.  There's no co-pay, insurance takes care of it, and we were out of the office with a wave of the Check Out Here lady's hand. Little Cuter had another totally uneventful visit with the world's-most-wonderful-obstetrician, maintaining her status as the healthiest mother-to-be I know.  She's a delightfully compliant daughter, who understands her mother's unexpressed but fervent desire to know the facts; the phone rings as they're driving the four minutes home from the office.  This time, though, the doctor had a message for the grandparents.  Anyone who is coming into close cont...

G'ma's everywhere these days.  The clouds remind me of her sitting in the passenger seat of The Schnozz, commenting on the bigness, the blueness, the mountains up against the sky.  Lazy afternoons leave me with a hole in my day, because there's no mommy to visit at the pod castle.  In six weeks or so I'll be a grandma myself, and the woman with whom I want to share the joy is o where to be found. I missed Daddooooo after he died.  That's a fact that cannot be denied.  His postcards and newspaper clippings and demands for information about his grandchildren - "How is that girl doing?" - were bookends to my weeks.  I'd hear something on NPR and pick up the phone to talk about it with.... oh, right, he's gone. I had lots of conversations with the ether in the months after his death.  I paused as I imagined his responses, hostile and humorous at the same time.  He was a complicated guy; he was no clearer in death. When I visited I was totally f...

"They made him so uncomfortable that he had to leave.  I think that's awful. The library owes him an apology." It grabs your attention, doesn't it.  In my politically correct brain I went to a transgender twelve year old using the wrong rest room.  How far from the truth I was. At the Milwood branch of the Kalamazoo Public Library, the Summer Reading Party was attended by a father wearing a holstered handgun.  As directed by the local law enforcement, staff asked the patron to remove his weapon and notified the police that a man with a gun was on the premises. Apparently, this was too much for the spokesman of Michigan Open Carry, Inc.  He's the one who thinks the librarians ought to express regret. If people were uncomfortable by seeing a man with a gun, that's their problem, he said. "Unfortunately for them, nothing in the law says they have the right to be comfortable." If I thought that arguing the point with him would make a dent, I...

Beautiful Annie asked us to her latest adventure, and Elizibeth and Miss Texas and I took her up on the invitation.  Among her many talents lies the heart of a ballerina.  Combine that with doing good, helping kids, making Tucson a better place and you have her dancing one of the adult leads in  A Midsummer Night's Dream, music by Felix Mendelssohn. You know the tune, even if you've never been to a ballet. Close your eyes, imagine a bride and a long aisle, and hear the music.  I knew the connection intellectually; I'd never seen it until Sunday afternoon. Are you wondering about Annie dancing "one of the adult leads"?  This production was staged by Dancing in the Streets AZ, a six year old not-for-profit founded, by Soleste Lupu and Joeseph Rodgers.  Using a modest sum of money received in celebration of their wedding (their) South Tucson program is dedicated to helping underachievers and low-income families assume personal responsi...

"Hi! How are you today?! SO good to see you!" The italics and the exclamation points don't come close to describing her smiling face and happy-to-see-me cheeks and her dancing eyes taking me in. "Look at how well you are doing!" And she knows, because she saw me at the very beginning.  She's part of the free-for-patients-and-visitors Valet Parking service at UAMC, the hospital that saved my life.  "Has it really been three and a half years?  It feels like yesterday..... and forever ago" And she's right.  I look at her face and I'm transported back to being driven, to needing a wheelchair, to lowering myself with exquisite care into the passenger seat, my injured leg following slowly, carefully..... and her body right there, between the open door and anything which might bump me. She never looked worried but she was always alert.  She was happy to see me, but aware that some days my smiles were harder to find.  "Look at y...

It seems to be a year for weddings.  The kids' friends are hovering around their 30's, and biology seems to be catching up with them.... or is it the opportunity to register at Bed Bath and Beyond that's feeding the frenzy?  Whatever the reason, my mailbox has been filled with invitations.  We're the only "family of friend" invitees to one event; we're beyond flattered to have been included. Little Cuter's old soccer buddy is marrying her girlfriend and thought that TBG and I would enjoy the celebration, too.  In the midst of all this carrying on, I'm going to be practicing my grandparenting skills.  There are so many places to be, and all of them are filled with love. We'll meet Big Cuter in Carmel for his friend's wedding.  There were a range of hotel options presented to us, and, since I live with a pool on the edge of a golf course, there was no reason to stay at the country club resort.  We chose a smaller hotel in downtown Carmel,...

Celebrating his 90th birthday by jumping out of , as Brian Williams put it, a perfectly good helicopter , President George H W Bush continues to amaze me.  TBG and I watched an HBO documentary love fest about him, and found ourselves shaking our heads in wonder.  His life reads like an American history lesson, upper class division.  After an hour, it was easier to understand his "vision thing" remark.  For him, it's so obvious that it need not be described.  He was put on this earth to do good, to do what was right, and to have a great time along the way. The man can't walk, but he certainly can fly. ***** The quarterly Cornell magazine, Ezra, was filled with astonishing information.  It is possible, using dendro radiocarbon wiggle matching, to date two thousand year old wood samples with a precision of plus or minus ten years. Have you seen Humans of New York 's two eye doctors sitting on a bench, telling us The eye doesn’t see. The br...

I've about had it with America and Americans.  The Oregon school shooting was the third story on NPR news today. The third story.  After political wrangling and Syrian drama the newscaster finally got to a dead student in a public high school.  A dead student ... shot ... in a public school..... and it ranks third on the list of newsworthy items.  Something is definitely wrong here.  The shooter was 14 years old.  Have you been in the presence of a 14 year old boy lately?  Cogent thinking and raging hormones are not usually seen in the same being, and 14 year old boys (for the most part.... don't start with me, Big Cuter!) are living breathing hormonal messes.  They can't help it; it's part of growing up.  Learning to manage the feelings while positively interacting with the world surrounding those feelings is a major task of middle school.  Adding weaponry to the mix leads to disaster. How does Little Cuter relax and send F...

Yogi Marsha sent me a copy of the Metta Sutta to share with you.  I'm using it for today's post, hoping that you will read these four lines, repeating them three times for each person/group described below.  Just change the I  to "the patients in the hospital" or "the survivors in Oregon" or whoever else you've chosen. I'm overwhelmed today.  There is so much bad news.... like the shooter who heard school was closing in a few days so he rushed over for his fifteen minutes of fame.  It's too much of a stretch for me to send love his way right now, but those on the receiving end of the bullets will be in my words and heart today.  It's not enough, it's just all I can do. Repeat it softly, slowly, carefully.  Pause after each period.  Share the love and kindness.  The world needs it. Metta Sutta May I be filled with love and kindness. May I be well. May I be at peace and at ease. May I be happy (contented). When you rad...

https://tinyurl.com/mxk4z4e I couldn't get into it today.  I arrived early and nestled into a comfy padded chair until the door opened.  I crocheted and chatted and then joined the group in the circle.  Yogi Marsha instructed the newbies on comfort techniques as I crossed my legs (my feet don't reach the ground when I sit up straight in the chair) in half lotus. Just getting into that position on the chair was an accomplishment; six months ago it was a fantasy, an intention, a desire.  I took a moment to compliment myself, and to let that sink in around the edges.  Being kind to oneself is the first step in our mindfulness practice. It's hard for me. There were twenty of us saying OM together and breathing together in the same space.  Yogi Marsha brought the conversation around to LeBron James, which got more of my attention than her soothing words usually attract.  I try to turn off my thinking brain as soon as I enter the room because I've fo...

Perhaps you've noticed that the Reading section of the sidebar has been rather sparsely populated of late.  The most significant reason was the density of Dickens's Bleak House and the necessity to ready 200+ pages before class at 9am every Friday in May.  There's no skimming those pages; tidbits of great importance are hidden deep within the wigomeration.... Dickens's own word for excessive verbiage, though his was of the legal variety.  Schoolwork has taken over my life before, and yet I managed to sneak in a bit of James Patterson brain candy just to ease the pain.  Not so in recent months.  I find myself racing home not to pick up where I'd last left the heroine but to the couch and my crochet hook and the softest, brightest, loveliest yarns I can find.... as long as they are also washable and hypoallergenic. I'm missing my pregnant daughter more and more every day.  As the baby grows, so grows my obsession.  TBG has renamed me CrochetZilla; ...

Young, brilliant, personable, and employed shouldn't be miserable. And yet, it is.  Unhappy, limited choices are sending thoughts around the edges of the envelope. Everyone says two things about law school and me -  a) that I'd be good at it and b) that I shouldn't do it. My mind went to being a junior associate at the big law firm as I typed Don't do law school until you REALLY look at jobs available and the life (or lack thereof) you'd be living. But with money promised for education, having worked and saved and able to come out on the other side to do good deeds without worrying about repaying loans, with no family to consider, the future seemed wide open. Suddenly, the opportunity to spend three years surrounded by smart people, learning interesting material, and living in any city you chose, sounded pretty good to me..... law review and clerking for a Supreme Court Justice....   It was a path traveled by others through the ages, and it wa...

G'ma's been very present these last few days.  As FlapJilly bulks up in utero, perhaps her major work of supervising the construction of her great-granddaughter requires less of her attention.  All the organs and connections are made, she's just putting on pounds and growing lungs and rods and cones, and it seems that my mother's spirit has time to wander. She's been next to me in the car, admiring the clouds and the big sky and wondering why the sun is so hot on her arm.  I smile and remind her that it is summertime in Arizona... and I pause for her to catch up.... "Tucson... right?" There's a catch in my throat and a tug in my chest and then I start to judge..... It's very un-mindful of me to do so.  Yogi Marcia reminds us to let the thoughts flow through and around and out again, noticing their presence but not assigning value. This is a difficult task when considering my maternal unit; she was the Queen of Judgment. Wrinkles where there...

JannyLou and Fast Eddie drove out just now. There's a trailer and a rooftop carrier and the suv is filled to the window ledges with plastic containers and ice chests and clothes and entertainment enough for the summer. The houses bordering the golf course have their security shutters firmly clasped and the heavy padlocks discreetly hidden behind the flowering plants.  Those garage doors won't open again until Thanksgiving.  Though Princess Myrtle is freezing in her first San Francisco summer, Tucsonans are quietly melting in place.  Those who know what's good for them are heading out of town.  The roads are empty; traffic signals have been readjusted over the past few weeks to reflect the absence of kid-transport.  At 4pm it is now possible to drive the thirteen minutes from Amster's house to my house without being stopped by a single red light.  Adhering to the speed limit has never felt so good.  The pool was too hot by 9:30; I don't enjoy...

My car gives me too much information.  It tells me how many miles per gallon I'm getting as I'm tooling along and I find it incredibly distracting.  I could change the display to tell me how many miles I have until the gas tank is empty, or to count out the miles on my second trip, but it's all annoying. Not as annoying as the fact that the trunk locks automatically and I have to remember to press the button three times to release my groceries, but real close. With alarming regularity, it decides that my rear tail light is malfunctioning.  This is a difficult issue to address if you are alone.  I am always alone in my car.  The service manager didn't mention it to me at my last check up, so I've decided not to worry about it. As G'ma advised, if you hear a noise in the car, turn up the radio.  Still hear it?  Turn the music louder. So, when the dashboard announced that The Schnozz was suffering from low air pressure in the tires, I sh...

I was on my way to the pod-castle, only there was no one there to visit. Lazy Sunday afternoons, triple digit temperatures making any outing an indoor experience, the heat enervating and heavy on my shoulders.... it all led me to G'ma's orange chair, Law'n Order on the television, the same three stories recirculating between us.... a perfect way to while away the hours. I'm beginning to forget the weakness at the end; my memories are sweeter this way. ***** While away the hours --I had to stop in mid-paragraph to Google that phrase.  AuthorSally  assuaged my fear that I was over-thinking the issue.   Wile, as in beguile or entice, is exactly what I intended, but the h  stubbornly refused to leave my brain. There's an ongoing discussion of this issue on-line, but I am not entranced by its wiles. ***** Politics is the only thing that's moving in the air these days.  As the yellow mesquite and palo verde blossoms have turned to brownish dust gathering in ...