The Burrow

She was next to him as he was drafted; she "still has the lean face of an athlete," said TBG. Who is she? She's Karen Taylor, a Jackson State Hall of Fame basketball player who played professionally in Europe.  She raised the Detroit Pistons' 2015 number one draft pick on a steady diet of basketball, competition, and love. She created and coached an AAU team for him at 5, and all the good lessons one can learn from sports were poured into him. "Be there for your team when they need you" led to striving for perfection. "Don't expect me to 'Mommy' you once we're in the gym" stoked the competitive spirit he'll bring to the NBA. The practice interviews, the respect for the game, the knowledge that more work yields more rewards - these are parenting-from-your-strength skills worth knowing about. I read the local sports pages every day; I'm TBG's lifeline for what Tucson is saying.  He spends an inordinate amount...

We stood, at the end, together. We stood, making loving hearts with our fingers. We stood in solidarity. It was quite a moment. The sanctuary was filled with like minded humans of all faiths and ages.  There were smiles and there were tears and there was love. There was so much love. We sent cards with that love,  from our hearts to those bruised and battered at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal... known as Mother Emanuel... and we all needed our mothers right then. Celebrating determination and strength and reminding ourselves that we are not alone,  singing Amazing Grace. It was not enough. It was everything. It was something. It was what we could do, then and there. It was a sunny Saturday morning, just like the last one I shared with Christina-Taylor. I know she would have loved to join me. I miss her, each and every day, just as they will be missed. Let them be remembered. Let them be an...

I belong to a private internet support group.  We are all survivors of gun violence.  No one judges, because we've all been there, done that.  We know the variety of forms in which PTSD rears its ugly head.  We know feeling as if the floor has just dropped out from under you, caught unawares as you tumble down a rabbit hole. As I've learned here in The Burrow, writing helps to calm the beast. Sometimes, though, writing is not enough.  Sometimes I have to participate more actively. Saturday is one of those times.   #RisingForCharleston events are planned  all across the country, and Tucson, of course, is hosting our very own. Our local survivors' email chain was activated.  We were personally invited to join Everytown for Gun Safety volunteers at Congregation Chaverim  ... and I began to be drawn in. This is Gabby's congregation.  There's a comforting sense of intimacy and connection when you've shared wine-in-plastic-cups in a fa...

I tried to get through to a human.  I really did.  I dialed 1-800-COMCAST four times. The first time, they couldn't find me then they thought I was "a valued customer."  Amazing what providing a zip code will get you. The second time, I connected with an actual human being.  She was lovely.  She wondered if I knew where the reset button was on the black Xfinity box.  Yes, I did.  I also knew how to reset it, which I did. Unfortunately, resetting the wifi also reset the telephone.  My helpful human was gone, along with my dial tone. I dialed again, went through the same "who are you... enter zip code.... valued customer" routine, listened to the Muzak equivalent of falling raindrops, and was then informed by an automated voicebox that they were unable to help me at this time.  There were two suggestions, and I began screaming in the middle of the first one; I couldn't get faster service by logging onto the internet because I couldn't l...

That's the question I've been trying ask for the last thirty minutes.... now seventy minutes... and there's a great post coming out of this but I cannot type it on my phone, the only device in the house with internet access. Come back tomorrow to read the sad tale; technical difficulties preclude further communications at this time.

Poor choices have been made and tears have been shed but life goes on. I was in the second round of consoling friends, the result of not checking my phone all day.  With a friend, at Pilates, playing Scrabble, I was busy having my life while my friend's was being disrupted. She came over in the morning and chatted, listening to TBG pronounce the same sage words of advice she'd heard the day before from her girlfriends. We went to breakfast, and hashed and rehashed the situation. Over omelettes and muffins, we came to some conclusions. It's a dream come true for her in many ways.  It's also very sad. There is only so much she can do... and she's done more.  Her job is to acknowledge the good that was done, to accept the decisions, and to stand firm with the consequences.  She's done. We drowned her remaining sorrows in a predictable and delightful high school chick flick, sharing the adjustable Sleep Number bed with Luke and Bo, her Staffordshire Terrier...

Pause a moment and wish my younger brother a Happy Birthday, would you?  Aim your thoughts towards Maryland, at the Metro's last stop, and lift a glass in his honor. A nice beer or a cheap beer, whiskey or a glass of NYC water; he's easy to please. You might mention the full facial hair experience he's been sporting for the past year or so.  We saw it first when he drove all the way to Illinois to welcome FlapJilly into the family; he drove me to the airport as he left the young family for SIR's Scout's Seats at the White Sox game. SIR drove home in the middle of the morning to drop off the tickets. This part of Little Cuter's family is well worth the effort. Did you notice that he drove half way across the country, rather than hopping on a plane?  He has notions about the ability of metallic objects to remain in the air while he is encased within.  He has other notions, too. Balance is the key, he told me. Family, Work, School, God, Sex -...

I purchased new cordless phones for our land line today. Pause for applause from The Cuters.   I plan to resell or donate the old set, so I went through the directory and the call log and the message center, deleting all the inputs. I thought about the messages, focused on the kids' voices I'd saved at triumphant moments, and realized that I'd be able to record new ones quite easily.  I pushed Delete All. I didn't think about the message Nurse Nancy left on the morning of January 8, 2011, telling TBG that there had been an accident and asking him to meet us at UMC's Emergency Room. I had a moment of unease, knowing that it is now lost forever, and then I came to a realization. I can leave it behind.  It's okay.  No one will judge, and if they do, I don't care. I don't need to have it on the machine; I have it in my head and my heart and I can pull it up whenever and wherever I want it. But I don't need to dwell on it, I don't need to wa...

Amster has two sons, one 10 and one 12 by the end of this month. Two kids in double digits.  The little one, little no longer.... at least in his own eyes.  It's filled with rapture ( Finally, I'm in 5th grade and The Oldest in School)  and a vague sense of unease. No one says it better than Billy Collins, so I'm not even going to try. On Turning Ten The whole idea of it makes me feel like I'm coming down with something, something worse than any stomach ache or the headaches I get from reading in bad light-- a kind of measles of the spirit, a mumps of the psyche, a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul. You tell me it is too early to be looking back, but that is because you have forgotten the perfect simplicity of being one and the beautiful complexity introduced by two. But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. At four I was an Arabian wizard. I could make myself invisible by drinking a glass of milk a certain way. At seven I was a soldier, at nine a pri...

I'm going on my own, which removes much of the stress.  I love my husband dearly, but travel is not his forte.  On trips like these, I'm better off alone. It takes a whole day to get from Tucson to New York City.  When we decided to move here, it was possible to fly on Jet Blue direct from Tucson International Airport to JFK.  That lasted for a few months; the flights were cancelled as soon as we unpacked the last bag.  American ignores us, too; forcing me to change planes in Dallas or Chicago.  I pick the trips with the best connections, and travel early enough in the day to change my plans if I'm delayed. These are the things which put TBG over the edge.  Alone, I can manage my anxiety without having to consider another person.  For me, that makes all the difference. I'm traveling between Long Island and Manhattan and I'm trying to avoid renting a car. I have people who will willingly drive me between destinations, but I have to be within ...

I'm reading the Bible as literature  this month.  My father, Daddooooo, read the Bible as Scripture and as literature and as history throughout his life.  Today, though he's been dead for more than a decade, he was by my side. My professor mentioned Gilgamesh and I reread the note I found when I opened this Bible. First, one must decipher his handwriting, of which this is a rather elegant example MEMO from HERBERT  (10/20/94) AKA Dad & Daddooooooooooooooooooooooooo Memory & opportunity  arrived together. SO - Here they are!! Plus "Gilgamesh," yours  to keep.           Love                        Dad. Yes, there is a period after Dad.  I never called him Dad - either Herb or Daddy - so I suppose Dad is how he thought of himself. I'm having these thoughts more often, as I realize that I am now as old as my parents were when I ...

Which is Linda's mother's birthday, and why I know that fact remains a mystery.  I've known Linda since first grade.  I know none of the birthdays of my other friends, from then or now.   Flag Day, though, has always been Linda's Mother's Birthday.  Just ask TBG.  He doesn't know Linda, but he, too, celebrates her mother's birthday. ***** timesofsandiego.com Which falls on the weekend Gabby Giffords helped to christen the US Navy's newest littoral combat ship (designed to patrol in shallow waters), the USS Gabrielle Giffords.   She's gorgeous and happily wind-blown, leaning against her handsome husband, and I know the effort behind each one of the steps from the bow to the stern. It's not the doing which inspires me, as much as the attitude : There is no yesterday.  There is only tomorrow.  Be bold. Be courageous. Be strong. ***** Which has gotten me thinking about the The Star Spangled Banner.  I've never liked it...

There's a new baby in the world, and she belongs to my yogi.  True, the little girl has parents of her own, but this is a first grandbaby and so, it seems to me, the discussion ends right there. She, like all grandparents, has been waiting a very long time to hold this human.  It's hers, just as FlapJilly is mine. We defer to the parents on all matters relating to the care and well-being of the child, of course. Times have changed, and so have cribs (no side bumpers, no toys, no blankets) and room temperatures and sleep apparel.  Mommy bloggers have all but replaced Dr. Spock.  That's all well and good. We are very glad to have someone else do all the research and tell us exactly how to wash and dry and store the equipment.  She's their's, too, after all .... especially when she's too fussy for words and only dancing with Daddy will soothe the savage beast. Daddy doesn't need to know that we're only giving her up because it's time to ...

I did remember my sister's birthday, but just barely. I missed my first cousin's, but then I remembered that it was his father's birthday on the 6th, and his on the 10th, so I still have time to get in under the wire.... if I remember that he's on the east coast and three hours later. But first, I'll write to you. And that, denizens, has been the problem, this year and every year, with the month of June.  May holds the Cuters' birthdays and Mothers' Day  and is otherwise uneventful.  But June.... I can find something or someone to celebrate on nearly every one of its thirty days. There are cousins and nieces and friends and brothers with birthdays and anniversaries and weddings and graduations and most of these events recur year after year after year. You'd think I'd have a system all set up.  I think I'd use it if I had it; the cards are neatly organized an arms length from where I type to you.  I like all these people.  I love celebra...

I'm taking two courses through the University of Arizona's Humanities Seminars Program  this month. On Mondays, I'm learning about Sex and Violence in the Bible. On Tuesdays, I'm reading Middlemarch . For five hours every week, a smart person stands in front of me and tells me things I did not know.  I don't always agree  with everything that's presented, but I am never at a loss for topics which engage my mind. For instance, this morning a classmate pondered the behavioral rigidity of George Eliot's study of provincial life  and the rules laid down to the Hebrews in their Bible .  External versus internal, immediate consequences versus eternal damnation, the role of belief and faith and whether social norms have the same effect as Biblical proscriptions..... she walked away, but my brain has been spinning ever since. None of Eliot's characters seem to have a deep attachment to the trappings of formal religion, not even the Vicar or the Rector.  Ye...

We're back  from a long weekend visiting FlapJilly and her parents. We ate and watched the baby and ate and watched the baby and took the baby on walks and watched her there and in the grocery store and out for breakfast and each and every memory puts a wider and wider grin on my face. We saw the in-laws and the new neighbors and played along with the contestants on all 7 of the Wheel of Fortune episodes on the DVR.  But mostly, we watched the baby. And, it seems, she was watching us, as well.... and has been from the moment she joined the party. That's obvious. Of course she watches the movements around her.  We knew that when she began imitating her furry brother, Thomas the Wonder Dog.  His toys and bones are her favorite playthings, and why not? He lives there, too. He seems to enjoy rawhide bones; why shouldn't she?  She's learning that sharing is the better part of valor, and that respecting personal space when another is chewing is...

The plane was at Gate K-1. Then it wasn't. The plane was at Gate K-2 (which is around the corner and down the hall). Then it wasn't. Then it was, but the crew wasn't. Then they were there and we rushed on board to insure that one of the crew would not time out  and be unable to fly any more consecutive hours. I cannot believe how slowly people put their bags in the overhead compartment when they know we have only 12 minutes to board and push back from the gate. Then we were ready to take off, but there were 5 planes ahead of us... and there was that time out  issue... and we didn't relax until we were airborne, two and a half hours after our original departure time. We bounced through bad weather all the way back to Tucson, landed safely, drove home, and saw our bed a little after 1 am. So much for my post on .... anything. I'll be back tomorrow, well rested, well exercised, and ready to share.

In the gym this morning, energized and focused and ready.  I walked on the stepper and did bench presses with my hips evenly weighted across the bench. I lifted the bar up and down, chest open, breathing deeply, squeezing the muscles, moving the bar with precision.  I was one with the world. Then, I sat up. A young white man wearing a black hoodie, his face obscured in shadows, turned and showed me his back - a white assault weapon silk screened on the fabric. Part of me wanted to rip it off his body, right then and there. Part of me wanted to get right up in his face and ask him if he'd ever been on the receiving end of a bullet. Part of me wanted to weep. I took what was left of me and closed my eyes.  Looking down and not up or out, I finished my bench presses, my french presses, my dips and my push-ups, but the joy was gone. I debated talking to the gym staff about their definition of obscenity... but left before I upset myself any further. I'm still...

So said my professor this morning. She was responding to her 14 year old daughter's outrage that J.K. Rowling describes her heroine as having mousy brown hair.   There is no way that character could have anything mousy about herself, the young reader wailed.  Hermione is her favorite character in the series she has read and reread and reread again.  It is obvious that such a thing cannot stand. Her mother, understanding her pain, was gentle as she noted that Hermione was actually nothing more than words on paper. The child was not amused... and neither was I when, in response to a question I asked in class, I was told the same thing. Dorothea is not real , so asking about her reaction to being an orphan is a less than valuable question. George Eliot didn't address the issue. The character does not exist beyond Eliot's reach.  We can impute motive to our hearts' content, but Dorothea is not real.  Our deductions are simply that - deductions.  There i...

.... and the fans are growing restless. I find NFL Insider  a ridiculous program to be viewing in May, yet there was my husband, fanatic fan that he is, gleaning smidgens of information about a sport which will not be contested for two more months.  No one is interested in Tom Brady or Adrian Petersen or Johnny Manziel, though one is appealing and one is tweeting and one is just appalling. Their turn will come.  It's not here yet. There was a women's friendly soccer game between Korea and the USofA; I tried, but couldn't get interested.  TBG was happy to return to the talking heads on ESPN, who were dissecting the reasons that Americans don't seem to love LeBron James any more.  TBG was part of the conversation; my native Clevelandian was hollering at the commentators with as much energy and enthusiasm and intellectual rigor as the panelists themselves. And, why not?  He's followed The King since high school, hurt with the rest of his hometown when ...

Hadiya Pendleton | Sun-Times library I'm wearing orange today.  I have my orange American flag pin on, too.   I want to remind the world that hunters wear orange to keep themselves and one another safe.  I want to remind the world that I don't care if you have a gun, as long as you are sane and trained and careful.  I want to remind the world that this is not a great deal to ask... to remind them that Christina-Taylor would be thinking about high schools right now... to remind them that visiting with one's Congresswoman should not be an occasion for violence. The #WearingOrange campaign was started by the friends of Hadiya Pendleton, the Chicago high school student gunned down a week after she and her classmates performed for President Obama.  Her parents, Cleo and Nate Pendleton, penned this Op Ed for the Chicago Sun Times . I'm probably breaking all kinds of journalistic integrity doctrines, but I am reposting it here for you to read.  If you'...