The Burrow

Remember that Medicare Wellness Check ?  The one where the physician was not allowed to touch me?  The one where the required EKG showed an abnormality which sent me to a cardiologist for an evaluate and treat  appointment?  It seems that, upon reading the first post,  those closest to me (aka The Cuters) were quite concerned about the health of their maternal unit. "Don't do that to me again, woman!" was the Little's advice; the Big one was anxious for reassurance.  If any of you are also worried, let me reassure you - I am fine. I arrived early, because that's what I do.  The paperwork took a few minutes to complete and then I was ushered into a treatment room.  The technician, a 40-something fellow, 6'4" tall and sturdily built, helped me stow my possessions, gave me a gown (open in the front), and left with instructions to open the door when I was ready. He came right in, once I was (barely) covered by the short, pink, cloth demi-gown. ...

It started as a blast email. OFA , the grassroots organizing spin off from President Obama's first election, wondered if I had an Obamacare story to share.  I sent them 3 sentences: I was shot 10' from Gabby Giffords.  I overspent my lifetime maximum insurance payouts  Without the ACA, I'd have been uninsured and uninsurable until I turned 65. A please reply and register for a time email followed, but we were in D.C.  for the weekend and I was having too much fun to respond to what looked like another boilerplate request. On Monday,, another email arrived.  This one included the phrase I want to bump your response up the line  and offered me another attempt to schedule a conversation.  I was flattered.  I was intrigued.  I tried to sign up. The link was broken.  Via email, I bitched a little and said that I could be reached any morning at 8am Arizona time (except Tuesday, which is reserved for the Pilates Diva) .... and that I was ho...

Once again, my traditional Memorial Day post, first published in 2009, and updated just a little each year.  I used to march in the Memorial Day parade. I was dressed in my Brownie uniform, and then in my Girl Scout uniform - replete with those embarassing anklets. I wore them because the troop leader said we couldn't march without them, they were part of our official uniform.  Marching was too cool to pass up.  I wore them and bore the scorn. All the school bands marched too, and the moms on Benjamin Road provided the materials and the labor to make the capes the high school kids wore. There must have been a military presence there, but I didn't pay enough attention to notice. I was marching and I knew that, all over America, other kids were being Americans and marching, too. I belonged. In Marin, the Memorial Day parade was always good for a  controversy  or two. Or three. Should the anti-war protesters walk alphabetically in the main march, or have their own ma...

I'm very proud of my red-white-and-blue-Official-Old-Person's card.  It makes me smile whenever I see it lurking in my wallet.  It made me smile when I handed it across the counter for my 3-D Mammogram and for my flu shot and for my very first Wellness Check. Yes, I had a Medicare Wellness visit, just as I will every year until I am no more.  I can choose my doctor (a lovely, young, gerontologist with enough debt from med school to keep me practicing for a long, long, long time).   I have no co-pay or deductible.  It's a gift from the government (if you choose to think of Medicare as a privilege and not a right).  It's my right. It's also very weird. Apparently, the physician is not allowed to examine me.  The Nurse Practitioner took my height and weight and blood pressure and pulse and left me, fully dressed, to wait for the doctor.  She entered and reviewed my two sided questionnaire ( Are you afraid of falling?  Do you have someone t...

We walked and we gawked.   Candidates for the Director's job were in the building.  We saw none of them. We walked past a Naval memorial which I found impossible to photograph, so I looked across the street and saw The National Archives.... or what turned out to be the back of the National Archives. That's the thing about Washington, D.C.  There's always something to see. Perhaps the best view of a lot of it is from the balcony of the Newseum. The view goes on for miles in the other direction, too. It's a perfect frame for the Newseum itself.  You look out to the seats of power and wealth and pockets of despair and then you go inside, to see how it is reported.... how it was reported.... a long long time ago. 1660.... this was hot news.  The article is sincere and concerned and is no weirder than reading about Pippa's wedding last weekend. The reason Daddooooo saved his WAR IS DECLARED newspapers (which disintegrated when I tried ...

Our trip to Washington was designed around Auntie M's performance at Constitution Hall. I'd never been to the venue; I knew it only because Marian Anderson was not permitted to sing there. TBG had never heard his big sister in a vocal performance. His favorite childhood memories include marveling at her ability to play anything with strings, and play it beautifully, but singing was something new.  When she issued the invitation, the combination was irresistible. And so Mr. I-Hate-To-Travel was persuaded to get on a plane, causing his daughter to wonder if Dad knows that FlapJilly won't be there when he lands.   Yes, he knew. He knew that his sister asked him to watch her sing, and he wasn't going to let physical discomfort and psychological angst prevent him from attending.   And so plans were made, friends and relatives were contacted, tickets and reservations were secured. The flying was what flying is these days and we were tourists and gourmands an...

Scarlett and I spent the early afternoon walking around New York City watching Richard Gere totally inhabit the role of  Norman: The Moderate Rise and Tragic Fall of a New York Fixer.    We met The Girls for a late lunch, talking television and gardening and agreeing that the shoes in my trunk really did need to be returned. I read some of  Wuthering Heights,  the required text for Wednesday morning's class. I made a delicious dinner. I watched TBG's Cavaliers lose in the last second of the playoff game. And that was my vacation day, which I'm ending by encouraging you to see the film, to read Emily Bronte's oeuvre only with a genealogy close at hand, and, should the state of our Union begin to perturb, please consider, as a balm for your soul and a smile for your face, SNL's slate for the next Presdential race, The Rock and Tom Hanks. cnn.com

That's my girl on her first day of school. My girl, the one who has had a smile on her face from the moment that first bite of real food - a deep dish Chicago pizza crust - crossed her lips.  She wanted to join the party, and once she did, she's rarely found it wanting. She had always been a wonderful kid; now she is a wonderful grown up.   Remembering..... I stand in her kitchen, wondering where the splatter screen might be hiding, and she laughs, gently shaking her head, and, as she tells me it is no where because she doesn't have one... and I flash to G'ma standing in my kitchen wondering where my aprons were stored.... and to my own, gentle laughter, as I gave the same reply. It's a memory from my adulthood, and now I have it from the other side. And still, she's my little girl.  She's the one who read all the Babysitters Club books and those pink ones about the ponies and who listened to Rosalind-the-Bookseller's suggestions that she ...

Back in 2014, and not without controversy,  Maria Shriver worked with Marriott to encourage hotel guests to leave a small gratuity for the housekeepers , on the theory that you interact with them as you do with the bellman or the doorman or the concierge, all of whom you tip without question.  Some said Marriott was asking the guest to pay the maids, but I disagreed.  I never thought the point was solely financial; I always included a Thank You!  with my money on the bedspread.   TBG and I left a happy, grateful note for a lovely room and a five dollar bill atop one of the four pillows on the bed, smiled at the housekeeper as we assured her that we were finished and the room was hers to with as she wished, and went on to friends and family and museums and food.  We brought them all back to our room to rest before driving to dinner.  As they sorted themselves out on arm chairs and desk chairs and walker seats TBG and I stood in amazement. ...

TBG and I know Robert Mueller.  He's smart.  He's quietly powerful.  He has a good heart and a strong moral compass.  He is compassionate.  He loves this country and the rule of law.  He's exactly the kind of person who should be Special Counsel - whether you love this President or hate him. He visited me - twice - during my first few days in the hospital, I was awake the second time; when he and his entourage left I snarked to my FBI Liaison Lady that it must have been a PR stunt. She got up from her chair and into my face. "Oh, no. Absolutely not.  He came twice.  Twice.  The Director of the FBI came to see you twice because he cares about you and what happened to you." She sat down and smiled at me and it was then that I realized that I was involved in more than a shooting in front of my grocery store.  This had national importance - a Federal Judge had been assassinated.  A member of Congress was clinging to life.  So...

There were more pictures from our visit to the Portrait Gallery than fit comfortably in  one post . One of them is this view from our hotel room, kitty-corner across the street. The museum is unusual in The District; it stays open until 7pm.  Intrepid Cat tells me that it is a popular meeting spot for 20-somethings after the rest of the Smithsonians have closed, and it is true that the atrium under that white dome stuck on top of the otherwise elegant if stolid building was filled with her age-mates when TBG and I wandered through at dinner time.   It's an absolutely beautiful building, at one time the largest open public space in the city.  There are galleries and mezzanines and winding staircases of all dimensions and construction.  Marble and polished wood, stained glass in the windows, lintels and frames carved with love.   Even the doorknobs were special. Coming up and then coming down, we smiled at this lovely sight. It was a ...

It was nice of the DC police to bring a motorcade to DCA to greet us. It was rainy and the taxi line was stalled until the dignitaries departed.  We waited and were reminded why we live in Tucson. Big City traffic, so many people, attitude galore.....thoughts about our plans and  family and friends awaiting us kept smiles on our faces.  Our taxi driver took us to our Marriott in the heart of the District - across from the American Art and Portraiture museum and the Spy Museum and the Verizon Center and so many delicious choices for an early dinner.  We unpacked and took palliative medications and headed out, past the Farmers' Market vendors under their tents, and into the pictures place.  American heroes surrounded us, from Elvis to Shirley Temple.   There was an exhibition of war journalists' photos, but we weren't in the mood to see young people damaged by death, so we continued out into the main galleries, admiring the portraits of t...

It rained on Tuesday and it was cloudy on Wednesday.  I wore long pants - in May! in Tucson! - and still felt a chill.  That weather is following us cross-country as we fly, on Thursday, to Washington, D.C. Auntie M will be joining her chorale on stage in Constitution Hall, and we will be there to hear it. I have comfortable walking shoes and I have attractive walking shoes and I have serviceable hiking shoes and I think I'll need all of them every day.  I'm sure I have a raincoat, somewhere, and I know that there's a collapsible umbrella in my car-basket, but I'm glad this is not envisioned as a sightseeing trip. It's family first and for that we can certainly be inside.  I will finally get to the Newseum, which has been closed or moving or under renovation every time I tried to visit in the past.  There are other museums surrounding our hotel, free ones (unlike the Newseum, as Brother has reminded me), which can serve to amuse us when we are not being amus...

Chris Matthews just asked the question that's been rattling around in my head all week -  How is this  happening in America? Is it possible that the Director of the FBI told the subject of an investigation that he was not the subject of an investigation? The President of the United States cited three instances where that happened. The Vice President and the White House talking heads spent yesterday telling us that the decision to fire Comey was the result of the analysis presented by the Acting Director..... even though the Acting Director has vehemently denied that he should shoulder the blame.  Today, the President took full responsibility for the firing. Did the FBI ask for more funds for an investigation that the Deputy White House Mouthpiece, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, claims is winding down?  I'm watching Senators promise to continue their investigation, listening to talking heads telling me that the rank and file of the FBI are battening down the hatches an...

Relaxed and gliding easily across the hallway, loosened by my massage, with no particular demands on my time, I was blissfully calm. TBG's  "UNBELIEVABLE!" brought me right back to reality.  An hour later, the nurse taking my blood pressure wondered why it was up around 146/90.  We agreed to blame the machinery, although I had no doubt that it was more of Donald Trump's handiwork. Poor Jim Comey, finding out he was fired because the televisions behind him said so.  Poor Jim Comey, finding his law school classmates agreeing on his love of the limelight.  Poor Jim Comey and his tummy ache.... we are all suffering for his distress. The talking heads are having a field day with this shitstorm... and shitstorm it most certainly is.  They are creating scenarios and explanations and long term reasoning and strategy and I'm getting hoarse from screaming that which is obvious, which has been obvious since the beginning of his campaign, since The Apprentice, ...

I have a tummy ache.  It's not physical, it's psychological.  It's absurd.  I'm planning a fun getaway with Little Cuter and my stomach is in my throat.  It's not fun at all.  There are so many moving pieces. Did my reservation for the event arrive in a timely fashion?  I mailed the preprinted postcard, but I spent last night - at 2, at 3:17, at 4:46 - worrying about the sanctity of the mails.  This morning  I sent a follow-up email, just to be sure. Little Cuter and I are meeting in the Houston airport.  Do I want to save a little bit of money by arriving 3 hours after she does?  Not really, not at all, no I don't.... but the frugal me is worming a hole in my gut as I contemplate spending more than I must to get where I'm going.  Convenience is everything to me these days; I just hate to pay for it. The car rental was going to be easy.  I'd pull up all the sites, enter my data, and choose the least expensive way to drive...

I first encountered this at the Pilates Method Alliance International Meeting in 2013 ;  I've been nagging to have it brought to Tucson since Kyria  and I were there in Fort Lauderdale. Last Thursday, desire and opportunity collided. I sat beside my PilatesStrong mentor, gazing at my own personal plastic skeleton. I wish I had named it..... but there really wasn't much time for random thoughts. We were instructed to create 3 or 4 flat pieces  and tubes of varying diameters while we introduced ourselves to one another.  The eleven other students counted Pilates Professional among their list of accomplishments. I was the only one unversed in anatomy. It didn't seem to matter. Speaking without notes, asking questions and repeating material and reminding us of that which she'd just told us, Dallas  encouraged us and gently corrected us while moving us along in our study of the torso in three dimension. We rolled small, perfect clay b...

Mothers Day and my becoming a mother coincided on this day, 34 years ago. On a sunny Sunday morning, after a furious, rain swept night, face up and looking around, there emerged a little human we named for his Grandpaw. Those eyes have been open and searching every minute of every day, from that first May 8th until now.  Ever curious, he hated going to sleep. He couldn't let go of the day, afraid that something might happen and he'd miss it.  He invented FOMO. He's not an experimenter, my son.  Never was and, perhaps, never may be.  He watches and observes and, when he's understands it, he moves. He never toddled; he ran.   He skipped picture books and went straight to Edgar Rice Burroughs.  TBG left for a business trip in the middle of  Princess of Mars  and I was reading my own novel; there was nothing to do but read it himself.  No pictures, elegant language, tiny print.... none of it mattered, none of it exc...

Who are we as a people? Do we want to live as individuals, grasping for power and wealth, unconcerned about anyone or anything unless it touches us directly? Do we want to have a country? The Several States https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Join,_or_Die Where is the melting pot ?  We brought our troubles to these shores and, yearning to breathe free, we became Americans, of various origins and ethnicities, to be sure, but Americans above all.  The several states , founded by Quakers and Pilgrims and the Dutch and the English, agreed in 1776 to unite despite those differences.  Those were serious differences, you're going to Hell  kind of differences, but the notion of a country was, ultimately, an idea worthy of preservation. It wasn't an easy conversation.  Families were divided, friendships were ended. But the conversation itself, The Federalist Papers, Thomas Paine's  Common Sense, was fascinating. This is an important conversation, one that we ...

Little Cuter had issues (don't we all?) and I encouraged her to vent.  I'm her Mom; sympathetic ears are  my specialty.  I've learned to avoid trying to solve anything. I concentrate on the emotion behind the facts.  I'm always on her side.  She can talk as long as she wants to, needs to, feels like.  My capacity is boundless. So she explained and she quoted and she described.  She defended her actions and she watched me nodded in agreement.  I was having a great time.  My kid was confident enough to stand her ground, to demand civility and respect, to begin to consider her options because she is valuable and she knows it and if others can't see it then it's not the place she's meant to be. FlapJilly was having none of it.  She was okay while we were focused on her, enjoying her smoothie and showing me the bunnies on her socks, running away from my tickling fingers.  But things began to deteriorate as soon as she and I began to ...

Some women shop at Nordstroms. Not-Kathy shops at the junk yard. Yes, she really was that happy.

Some movies can be watched over and over and over again, starting anywhere and stopping when something else comes along.  I looked at what we've been watching and realized that is the perfect description of April's viewing. Dial M For Murder - Ray Milland is icy cold and   may be my favorite British policeman of all time.(John Williams is his name; you've seen him everywhere and always wondered, haven't you?) It's Hitchcock but never terrifying; it's a good, old-fashioned mystery told by a master filmmaker. The Thin Man - All three of the films are worth watching, but this is my favorite. Some Like It Hot - This film has changed over the years.  The gender bending was an amusing gimmick when I saw it 40 some years ago; in 2017 it's quite profound.  Joe E Brown's Well, nobody's perfect  (when Jack Lemmon admits he's a man) and Lemmon's resigned slide back into his seat told me a different story this time around. The Lady Eve - Barbara...

Scarlett and Lady Jane and I will begin a five week study of The Brontes on Wednesday.  The Humanities Seminars ' summer classes last for one month; the three sisters in the parsonage are our choice for May.  Jane Eyre, Violette, and Wuthering Heights from the Brontes, Wide Sargasso Sea from the 20th century. PBS, fortuitously, ran a three hour biography of the Bronte family,  To Walk Invisible , in March, and Scarlett and I spent a lovely afternoon watching (with subtitles, because otherwise it was incomprehensible) these three young women care for their dissolute brother and their father and their home while they were writing, always writing, because It's what we do. They took their own stories and embellished the details, just as they'd been doing since childhood.  The juvenalia our professor provided as pre-class tantalizers echoes the PBS scenes of the children's fantasy play.  They were creating their own stories from the world around them as soon...