The Burrow

If your car could travel at the speed of light, would your headlights work? That's the kind of question that gives me an instant headache, as I try to grapple with the science.  It only takes a moment for my brain to realize that the person it inhabits has failed to internalize the physics it once learned.  If it's in there, I can't find it.   And so, I move on.   I am bemused, realizing that your headlights are probably the least of your problems if your car suddenly began traveling at the speed of light.  Or, perhaps, it's a specially designed car, and then wouldn't the engineers and other smart people have figured out the solution, if there is, in fact, a problem?  And there I am, back at the science, again. Big Cuter and I spent several hours driving to and from the Mesa Airport.  As always, time in the car is the most valuable. We talk.  We disagree.  We laugh.  And he teaches me things which are complex and deep an...

Having the world's best next door neighbors is something for which TBG and I are profoundly grateful. We admit our foibles, laugh at our failings, and find comfort in the knowledge that we're all falling apart at about the same rate. Being there for one another is, of course, quite wonderful.  But it's the shared amusement that acts as the glue holding us together. ***** Joining them for Thanksgiving dinner, some of us reveled in the lack of acrimony, in the ease and grace with which this family flows through the world.  Where was the whining... the head shaking... the muttered imprecations and the slammed doors Our natal families bore no resemblance to this; we agreed that this is much better. ***** We watched sons and grandsons discussing George R R Martin and Jessica Jones, smiling as 20's and 30's and 40's blended together, seamlessly.  The college freshman's boyfriend was a willing helper among strangers, insisting that JannyLou must have someth...

Big Cuter set the oven on fire last night, so it's a good thing that JannyLou is making the turkey.  I can cook on the burners tonight, and beg left overs for tomorrow's late night snacks.  Foodstuffs taken care of, I had time to re-read my Thanksgiving posts, one a year since 2009.   This one is from 2010, before most of you knew my name.   JES and Nance and I were wondering how to increase the traffic to our baby blogs as we called them, and then, as JES so aptly pointed out, "Damn, girl, you go and get shot!" Over the years, Nance's Mature Landscaping blog and Meg (see below) has vanished along with her Members Lounge, but JES and I continue to plug away.  Time passes and the important things stay the same - the friendships, the work, the love. So, this throwback to a gentler time warms the cockles of my heart.  From those cockles to yours, denizens, I send love and warmth and many many many thanks for reading.   I am so gratefu...

The Air Force Dentist and his family found themselves stranded here in the desert when the snows closed the airports back east.  She Who Turns Up Everywhere managed to fly in from San Francisco without any trouble.  JannyLou's kids can't wait to sleep in the camper they'll park in the driveway.  FlapJilly will accompany her parents to Maga and Papa's, truly over the river and through the woods to Indiana. Everyone is traveling, except us.  We'll meander along the path between our houses, arriving at Fast Eddie and JannyLou's doorway with side dishes and desserts, expending only foot power to get there.  Somehow, that just doesn't seem right.  The holidays seem to demand transportation over distance and time. Little Cuter wants my people  around her for the holiday; she'll have to travel to accomplish that feat. Although she protests that with three jobs and a toddler her traveling should be limited to picking us up at the airport, her father and I ...

I remember those days as one long grey fog.  I remember being aware, at the time, that I'd be remembering those moments forever. I was walking up the stairs to 8th period math, distracted by the level of chatter in the stairwell. Something was afoot... no one was smiling... there was something about someone being shot... and it wasn't until we were seated and the bell had rung that the assistant principal's announcement came over the loud speaker above the blackboard:  Our President had been shot. She told us to bow our heads and pray for him and our country.  I didn't know any Hebrew words to put to my thoughts, and I wasn't sure that G-d would be listening to my words if they came from my heart and not the prayer book, and then it was time to pretend to learn math. We didn't get very far in the book that day; school was let out early.  I remember G'ma picking us up, my cousin and my neighbor and I somber but clearly delighted that school had been cancel...

"If I had paid off-Broadway prices in New York to see this, I would not have been disappointed." Thus spake Scarlet as we strolled down the alley to the free, patrolled, parking lot.  We'd spent 2 hours and 40 minutes with the dysfunctional Danish royal family, seated comfortably in the first tier, right on the edge, near the exit door. I was relaxed and comfortable right up until who-killed-which-and-why took hold of my brain.  I needed to know, I worried about consequences, I was a little teary at the end. I've never been as entranced with the plot as I was at this performance. I saw Dame Judith Anderson act the role in 1971 at Cornell.   I've seen Mel Gibson and Laurence Olivier on film.  I've read it, at least twice, for a class.  Until this weekend, it bored me. The Rogue Theater, this little place in this little town  in Scarlet's words, brought the ambiguity and the conflict into as much clarity as the words themselves allow.  It's a compl...

The drops went in easily. The results are long lasting. It's been 7 hours and I still can't put in my contact lens.  Bright lights are shooting through my wide open eyeballs and searing themselves on my brain. Typing with my eyes closed has some merit...... if I were still in 6th grade and learning the skill. For now, though, I will beg your indulgence and take the day off. I'll be back on Monday... with normal size pupils

I've tried, denizens.  I've really tried.  I must admit that I've failed. I tried to make sense out of Ted Cruz's suggestion that we only allow Christian refugees across our borders.  I couldn't. I tried to think about credit cards issued by airlines which will no longer allow everyday purchases to accrue points toward flights.  A brief foray into the mental machinations which allow me to feel justified buying not-really-necessary items by consigning the purchase to FlapJilly's Flight Fund Miles went just that far before ending with a thud. There are rants about step-parenting and kids' basketball games which rattle around but get no traction.  There's the chip technology in everyone's credit cards when there is barely a merchant with the relevant software to use it... and I can't get worked up about it.  Not one little bit. This is what I am thinking about:  Running and Yelping (after finding her LOUD button) and Conquering the Worl...

Basketball is a much better sport than football. I am prepared to argue the point. It is easier to understand. There are only 5 players on the court at any time, and they usually have their names on their jerseys. It's easier to follow the ball when it's not blocked from view by 2500 pounds of padded flesh. The players' faces are unobscured by face guards and helmets; their grimaces and their grins are part and parcel of my enjoyment.  The game frowns upon undue bodily contact; players don't suffer two concussions in six weeks (cf. Anu Solomon, UofA quarterback). There is bumping and shoving and pushing, but no one is diving into your chest, driving you to the ground, preventing you from making a play. Defense is played with the feet, not the hands or the shoulders or the head. I don't have to worry about brain stem contusions while watching young men play a game.   I grew up with the Knicks, moved on to the Bulls, took second in TBG's office pool with ...

jean jullien on Twitter.com The world is going to hell in a hand basket, and I'm feeling quite powerless. Kids are being blown up at concert halls and small restaurants and I can change my profile picture on Facebook and repost meaningful cartoons but I cannot make a real and important difference. TBG is finally able to recognize that watching the news in a relentless loop helps no one, least of all, himself.  We both share a certain sense of guilt, a need to watch and show our solidarity and not ignore it and go on with our lives but after PTSD visited last week, in all her damaging glory, we've concluded that the 24-hour news cycle will just have to go on without us. And so, with Mary, my Yogi, leading the way, forty or so humans of all ages took a Meditative Hike this morning. The "real" hike, the one with elevation and some rock scrambling, was cancelled.  It doesn't rain that often in the desert Southwest, but when it does, surfaces become slic...

" When the repair bill exceeds the value of the car, the decision is a no-brainer." Thus spake TBG, and I could not disagree.  Having heard nothing from Volkswagon of America (which is, admittedly, dealing with far larger problems than one falling apart GTI in Tucson), I took matters into my own hands. I asked my husband what I should do. He's the car guy, the one who keeps up on trends and developments and as he was questioning me about my requirements we paused at the same moment, saying the same word.   Tesla! I don't need a $70,000 automobile, but Tesla Motors is bringing out a $30,000 model which would suit my needs quite nicely.  A quick foray on the internet sent me to live chat with Tesla.... which burst my bubble by telling me that there would be information available in March, 2016 about a release in Spring of 2017. The Schnozz wasn't going to make it to Tuesday; I needed a new plan. Reliability, safety, visibility, cargo carrying capability ...

It's just too much.  I owned a car whose repair bills exceeded its value which made replacing it a no brainer and that was fine except I had to do it right now and there are GRIN projects and Burrow essays and Stroll and Roll and Cornell and ...... I took a deep breath and laughed at myself.  I am here to complain about it.  Beautiful, athletic, young mothers dying at home, surrounded by family and friends who are now bereft and clinging to one another... even if some need a bit of alone time.  They, too, are here to complain about it, but they watched her die and could do nothing to stop the process and now they are here and she is not. Survivor's Guilt.... out of which grew GRandparentsINresidence  ..... because Christina-Taylor won't have the chance to make the world a better place, I can try to do it in her honor... in her memory.... just because we had so much fun and I want everyone else to share the joy. I'm laughing, again. PTSD, the gift that ke...

First it was just routine maintenance. Then it was two tires, an alignment, and brakes..... about $1000 out of pocket. Two tail lights went out, at different times, and neither could be replaced by the owner.  They required special tools and devices available only at the VW dealership. Then it was $1700 to repair the sunroof, which refused to close.  They had to order the parts, which took a while.  Then they kept the car for several days, removing the roof assembly and installing a new rim. I drove the car on the highway, and the noise from the air rushing over the roof was loud enough to drown out Mara Liasson on NPR. I was worried about bringing The Schnozz in for a noise complaint; I was prepared to be told that no one else could hear it.  Unfortunately for me, the news was even worse.  Not only could they hear it, loud and clear  as the service rep described it, but they kept hearing it after three test drives. The technician decided that the...

Behind that mild facade there lurks a nerdy twelve year old boy. "They are mean to me.  They are not mean to anyone else.  They are just mean to me." It's true that Donald Trump is a bully, but he's mean to everyone.  Ben Carson is whining about the media's close scrutiny of the words he wrote in his biography, carping that no other candidate has ever been so closely parsed. It's one thing that he doesn't know the name of the faction we're supporting in the Kurdish hinterlands.  It's another that he doesn't think Richard Nixon might have something to say about the media and its intrusion into his reality. What about those pictures of Bill Clinton in his teeny tiny jogging shorts? Buzzfeed ran this picture with a caption describing Clinton's white thighs. Does Mrs. Clinton enjoy having her hair and makeup analysed?  Did the Ford kids like having their escapades recorded in graphic detail? As President Obama pointed out, the Americ...

There were several non-negotiable items in my son's Pantheon of Perfection. Among them was the sanctity of Sunday Football.  Unless there was a wedding or a funeral, Sundays were spent devouring the NFL.  His Perfect Girlfriend was welcome to watch with him, and he would be happy to explain anything and everything.  She could share the space while reading or crocheting, as he watched me do for decades.  She could go out and have her own version of a fabulous day; he wouldn't mind at all.  All he wanted was to be allowed to watch his games in peace. That's why his photo on Facebook was so surprising.  He hiked, with friends, up Twin Peaks.  He posted a photo of the city which he took himself.... out in nature....  with nary a television in sight. His team, the 49'ers, was playing a locally televised game and he was not only not watching it, he didn't care that he wasn't watching it. "Until there's a total change in the administration of the team,...

I needed the kindergarten love. Ms Levine told me to come on down. So, I set the alarm for much-too-early and arrived in time to give stickers to kids on the playground. A fourth grader served as my minion, helping me search out those kids who were alone. We extracted smiles, some larger than others, and then it was time to get smarter. Matt is a modern day, English as a Second Language YouTube savant. The kids were mesmerized.... silent.... absorbed.... imitating.... learning the days of the week and reviewing their morning routine. Brush brush brush your teeth... comb comb comb your hair.... with an acoustic guitar and a reedy voice he had these digital natives entranced. Once breakfast was finished and cleaned up, the scholars went right to their learning centers. The interactive computer activities were much less attractive than the table full of library books for this little one. She was quite proud of the softness of her shirt; we discussed the...