The Burrow

until you have to walk on it to go to sleep.

There was lots to see in Grandma's Garden, now that the heat wave has passed and we can FINALLY  be open for business.  The wheelbarrow was the same, but the plastic trowels are new. We collected the rocks Mrs. Ellis's classes made for us last year and placed them on the side of the raised bed .One enterprising scholar found a painted rock in the warbler house!  With the floral pruner and careful supervision until he felt comfortable,  this scholar trimmed the invasive weeds covering the entry way.  It's nice to have competent help. The next crew removed the hanging baskets from the fence and emptied the soil into the raised beds while their colleagues broke up the clumps and combined them with the existing planting medium.  Yes, the clumps were hard.  Yes, there was a lot of detritus atop them.  Yes, it all went into the beds. While others were chatting, some of the girls were excavating The Hole in the Corner.   ...

I didn't hear them pouring concrete next door at 3:30 in the morning.  TBG, his first night home, still jet lagged and time zone muddled, was roused by the trucks' bright lights and the beeping as they reversed.  He was uprooted from bed when the cement mixer began spewing its contents into the frame of the nascent garage next door. I, deaf as a door nail without my hearing aids, was sleeping blissfully until he woke me, wondering how the noise and lights hadn't done so before. He went out to investigate.  Yes, our neighbors' worker bees were there, in the dark, pouring concrete.  Apparently, it won't set properly in Arizona's August heat; they needed to get it done before the sun came up.  No, they were not interested in stopping right now! We were not amused.  We called the sheriff.  If there's an ordinance that sent a deputy to Little Cuter's wedding party because the amplified music was banned after 10pm, there certainly must be an ordinance ...

Big Cuter speaks fluent Mom; he's often called upon to translate for his father when my ramblings leave TBG dazed and confused.  But my husband was on his own when he looked at me with loving bewilderment and joy, and said There's like 50 movies in your Top Ten Movies. I laughed, but he was serious.  He's thoughtful when it comes to numbers.  Ten means ten.  But, since our brains were in Movie Land, he paused, then said Initially, I perceived ten as being a finite number.  But, like Robin Hood's arrows , it turns out that it is infinitely available.  

"Did you have trouble turning on the tv?  TBG asked me the first night he was gone.   I laughed.  The notion that I would voluntarily turn on the television amused me.  "i told you - left to my own devices I would never turn on the tv." The second day began with a sunrise trip to the airport, hours of deep cleaning the kitchen, and a delightful early afternoon playing mah jongg at Scarlet's round table.   Then I was home and without a plan or a large print book.   I looked at the tv.  It looked at me.  It smiled the way only an inanimate object can smile - that I know what you're thinking and I can help you..... come closer.... come closer.....   And so I opened the pretty wooden box which hides the remote that only I understand.  I pressed all on  and, surprisingly, everything I needed was powered up and ready to go.  Netflix took its own sweet time buffering itself into existence on my scree...

I wrote the first version in 2010. Happy Anniversary, Big Guy. I'm glad we did this. ***** Do you know where you were 44 years ago? Do you remember the weather and what you were wearing and what you had for dinner and who was late and who was obnoxious and how it felt to go to sleep that night? Probably not.... unless it's your wedding anniversary tomorrow, too. I'm time traveling to G'ma and Daddooooo's backyard on Long Island. There's a yellow and white striped tent covering the grass, and the tables are stacked alongside the path towards the garbage cans... the cans which have been removed to a less conspicuous location, further from the walkway to be used by the guests as they arrive to celebrate with us, even though I thought it would be nice for my family and friends to admire the paint job we'd done on them one boring summer afternoon. They weren't elegant, but they were us.  I lost that battle to G'ma's raised eyebrow and ...

Another Excessive Heat Day, another day off from Garden Club.  I miss the kids, but I admit to being delighted to have yet another day all to myself. Yesterday, I cleaned the oven the built in bbq's innards and underpinnings the lime in the showerhead several loads of laundry which dried outside in the sunshine. I unloaded and sorted and evaluated and washed  the kitchen drawers - all 14 of them the cabinet under the sink the laundry room drawer the drawers in the bathroom vanity. I stayed up until midnight, finished my book, locked all the doors, turned off the lights, complimented myself on setting them up so that I was cosseted on my way to my (lonely) bed, and slept. Today, after Pilates and lunch with Fast Eddie and JannyLou (tomato bisque even though it was over 100 degrees outside) I came home and began binge watching Grace and Frankie.   After 7 episodes, I took a break to create chicken salad. I plan to spend the rest of the day and...

I've only spent 2 nights alone in this house, and that was in 2006.  I've left TBG behind, but not for 13 years has he left me.  A sibling reunion in Cleveland allows me to type this sentence: Tonight, I'm home alone. There's not a sound that I don't make.  There's not a demand to be met. It's heavenly. I can feel tension oozing out of every pore, and I wasn't that tense to begin with.   I have the lights down low, except where I'm reading.... and the book is perfect - Sara Paretsky in large print. I'll be back tomorrow, when I'll write during the day, before the quiet takes over.  Right now I'm going to relish the solitude.... the quiet.... the serenity ..... the peace.

Short and sweet, just like this post will be, I now present to you the perfect response when confronted by someone who thinks mental health care will solve our current trend toward daily mass shootings. Acknowledge that, certainly, in some cases, the shooter is mentally ill.  But then wonder, in all seriousness, the following: How many home runs did Babe Ruth hit without a bat? 

Do you have kitchen tools that are older than your children?  Do you have tools which are older than you are? I'm not referring to serving platters and cut glass bowls, nor to hand-me-down china or silver.  I'm thinking about G'ma's blender, which outlived her by a few years before burning out on my kitchen counter, half mixed cookie dough stuck to the beaters. I'm thinking about the apple corer/peeler and the meat grinder, which I donated to a worthy cause before leaving Chicago.  They were handed down to Nannie from her sisters-in-law and for some reason they came to me.  Perhaps it was the apple picking then pie making which occupied The Cuters and me every Fall for one very frantic weekend which made her think this was a good idea. I wandered around several kitchens in several apartments and one house, trying to find a place to attach the things.  I never discovered it. I used the plastic teaspoon measure I've been using since Big Cuter was a glimmer...

Auntie M started it off. She's organized a family gathering for her siblings next week; she wanted to discuss the details with her brother.  Their older brother is getting older and there are concerns for his safety.  He's a set-in-his-ways bachelor, firmly ensconced in the corner apartment he took when the ancestral manse was sold. There was laughter and there was listening and then TBG hung up the phone with a sigh.  "We're not getting any younger, are we?" My sister's middle child was the filling in the Oreo.   After being featured in the New York Times , she's ready to turn her clothing line into a Real Business.  There was much conversation about valuation and inventory and percentages between the burgeoning entrepreneur and her uncle-by-marriage.  Her aunt just sat there and smiled. The kid was wearing one of her creations.... or, to be precise, a creation-to-be.  How could I tell?  The bodice was held together with evenly space...

I was prepared to share the opening of Grandma's Garden with you.  I had brand new small shovels and spades; my brain was filled with images of small hands digging in the dirt. We would have liked that post, if the kids had showed up. We are having an unseasonably warm August; our temperatures have been over 100 for the past few days and it doesn't seem to be getting any cooler in the foreseeable future.  On Extreme Heat Days, the scholars don't go outside for recess.  They watch movies or play games in some of the larger classroom, under the watchful eyes of the monitors, while their teachers enjoy lunch and a brief respite from the chaos that is the first few weeks of school. Grandma was not needed.  It was vaguely unsettling to be plan- less at 10:30 in the morning.  I'm usually somewhere in my exercise cycle in the 10 o'clock hour.  Instead, I was wearing my Red For Ed t-shirt, standing in the Prince parking lot, wondering what to do. It was t...

 This started out as a post about shoe fasteners.  After tying laces on quite a few of the very cool new shoes the Prince Scholars were sporting,  I sat on a bench and smiled as I zipped her zipper.    I tied these blue laces, and admired their heft.  As always, I asked if I could take a picture of her shoes. Before she finished saying yes, I was surrounded by a bevy of beauties, each agreeing that they, too, would be happy to have their shoes photographed.  I couldn't deny them.  And so I admired pink shoelaces and matching socks.  As I tied these laces I noticed the lovely woven texture of the shoes themselves.   There was no reason other than sartorial for these fur lined boots.  Flashing to FlapJilly's beloved pink with silver sparkles cowgirl boots, I realized that I was looking at a child whose parents realized that morning that there were other battles to be won.   I have to share ...

The printer won't print what I want it to print.  When I press the help buttons on the device the situation just gets worse.  It began printing out instructions.  I didn't need instructions.  I just wanted it to print. Control+P usually produces a quick response.  Not this afternoon.  Noooooo, not this afternoon. Of course not.  Why should the printer/laptop interface work when the laptop itself is giving me trouble?  The lock screen now displays random icons and photographs.  I don't know where this particular assortment of treasures originated, though I recognize all of it as living in the guts of my device.  Ever since I turned the keyboard underneath the screen so that we could watch our nephew-in-law's Babe Ruth championship game without knocking into the keys and changing the streaming, the device has had issues. It thinks I like that tablet setting.  I don't.  I like knowing where things are and I don't know wher...

The Golden Gophers are staying at Not-Kathy and Dr K's home this weekend.  It's been our plan to have all six of us live in Tucson.  The plan seems to be coming closer and closer to fruition. The K's are snow-birding, because Chicago is wonderful in the summer and they live right above the Ralph Gehry designed  bandshell in Millenium Park. A picnic on the grass with fine music happens just about every night for them, and they have only to  ride an elevator and cross a street with their wine and refreshments.    While waiting for his wife to retire, The Golden Gopher has been volunteering and traveling and getting things organized so that they can move from Phoenix, which has been good to them, to Tucson, which, I am certain, will be better for them. They spent today looking at neighborhoods.  The sun was out and the clouds were fluffy and the temperatures were below 100.  The air smelled of creosote - just like the creosote syrup in h...

I go there early enough to secure a parking space and avoid the drop-off traffic jam.  " Hi, Grandma Suzi!" greeted me before I could lock my vehicle.  A smile appeared on my face, one that stayed there for the next hour. "This is his first day of school,"  one now very grown up first grader told me about the young man beside him.  "This is our school's Grandma," he told his little friend.  " She's really nice." Isn't that a lovely way to start the day?  It only got better. Joseph got a really short haircut.  One of the Esther's had a brand new brown and gold gown to show me.  Last year's Student Council President gave and got a giant hug before she left and went next door, to start middle school.  The teachers asked for luck for the coming school year. Parents who forgot their registration forms kept their youngsters waiting while the information was recorded.  Some dropped off their students, only to have to return...

I have no new words.  I have nothing more to add to the conversation. I could write about FlapJilly's big cousin, whose team is seeded first in the Final Four in the Babe Ruth World Series. I tried.  My brain kept going back to 22 dead because of the color of their skin. So, I'm posting these photos because I promised that I'd keep you posted on the spire's progress.... and because I just can't write anything else today. It soothed my soul to be outside and take these pictures.  I offer it as an antidote to all those words that have been said before.

I remember YOU! That was the second most often repeated phrase I heard this morning.  The first was OH! Thank you!! I started the day with Vera, the generous donor at Albertsons, who filled a shopping cart with goodies for GRIN .  She wanders the bakery, picking and choosing that which will appeal to those who are educating our future, then waits for me to come through the door and hug her. Look at how wonderful she is: I filled the coolers I remembered to bring with those delicacies which would melt in the desert sun, and drove off the the first of my 13 stops.  It was supposed to be 12 stops, but one of my favorite principals moved down the road, so I added his new middle school to my route.  He was busy when I dropped off their treats, but several staff remembered me enough to hug me and thank me for everything.    I knew they were thinking of Christina-Taylor.  So was I. I left donuts and strudel and cakes and pies of all kind...

I knew what I was getting into before I left my driveway.  I wasn't surprised by any of it.  Knowing that kept me sane. There was a line of six cars waiting to turn into the parking lot.  Having anticipated that, I stayed in the outside lane and turned left into the furthest entrance from the store.  I was all alone as I drove up to the companion box store and turned toward Costco. It was then that the stupid began. Yes, FlapJilly and friends, stupid is a bad word.  But grown ups know that it connotes a certain type of behavior that has no equivalent descriptor.  Foolish, brainless, idiotic.... stupid is all that and more. It's not knowing that backing up into a car that's right behind you might be the reason there are horns blaring and people staring.  It's continuing to move when the agitation comes ever more obviously closer to your vehicle.  And, mostly, it's finishing your maneuver and driving way without acknowledging that anything h...

The toddler is getting into her personal space, and FlapJilly is not amused.  She doesn't want to be aggravated with her funchie cheeks little brother, she just wants to eat her lunch without his hands on her plate.  It's her one meal in front of the television; she wants to savor the experience. Mommy to the rescue.  Out come the blueberry Cheerios Chelle bought them for their birthdays.  Although Little Cuter thinks that the honey nut flavor is far superior, the blueberry box was close to hand.  And so she spread some out on the coffee table and let Giblet loose. That worked for a while, but his sister was still there on the couch, eating salami and grapes (her current go-to meal).  He had only cheerios, and they were insufficiently entertaining.  So, back he went to her plate. She being the charming and thoughtful and kind individual her parents have raised her to be, took pity on the poor boy and placed a small piece of salami on top of t...

Time for my annual rant about school starting before Labor Day. It's just wrong.  Resorts suffer, from a lack of patrons and a lack of staff.  All those summertime jobs - life guard, camp counselor, ice cream man, boardwalk shill - peak in the dog days of August.  the song does say See you in September,  not August. That feels especially true to me this year.  For the first time in a long time, I was once again tethered to a school calendar.  Garden Club met every Wednesday; when I wasn't there, the kids noticed.  I reveled in those totally without entanglement mid-week respites all through the summer.... the summer that I think should still be going on. Not that I'm sad to open up the garden once again.  Not at all.  It has nothing to do with future fun.  It has everything to do with prolonging my current state. Since I was a little girl, I've loved hot August afternoons, the ones with no plans, where a walk down the street se...

I'm sorry, denizens.  I thought the debates would provide prompts for the rest of the week.  I couldn't manage to get even one out of two nights of tedium. Republican talking points?  Few of them turned the question on its head.  Dreaming vs Fantasy vs Pragmatism..... can't we all just get along? Basically, we are not racists, and we don't think that someone whose words and actions are racist ought to be President of the United States.  Our elections are at risk and he's blocking action to stave off the attacks.  He loves the guy who's shooting rockets over our allies.  He was friends with Jeffery Epstein. So, to simplify things and get on with my rant, since they all agree on the basics - access to affordable healthcare and the voting booth - why don't they tell us who they are?  Marianne Williamson wears her heart on her sleeve, perhaps too literally for some.  Mayor Pete speaks about faith.  They reference values to live b...