State Champs

FlapJilly is a pitcher on her softball league's All Star team.

Why is she a pitcher? Because it's hard and I like hard.  

How did she make the All Star team?  Because I'm very good.

She played when her team won the 2023 Babe Ruth League 's Indiana State Championship.  She was 8.

She pitched with that same league's team last weekend when they won 2025 Indiana State Championship.  She's 10. 

Her team mercy ruled 5 of the 6 games they played.  

How was her pitching?  According to her teary eyed mother, she was spectacular!

I'm going to spend the rest of the evening basking in the reflected glory, while watching inning after inning of my granddaughter throwing strikes.  

Murder Most Foul

S.A. Cosby wrote King of Ashes and put guilt - real, imagined, judicial, psychological - front and center.

I finished the book mid-day, and couldn't start another right away.  I didn't need a sorbet like James Patterson or Billy Collins.  I needed some time alone with my thoughts.

Everyone is guilty of something, even the most innocent.  Everyone is loved by someone, even the most heinous.  No one knows everything, even though most act as if they do. The more I thought, the more I discovered. 

It's gritty and violent (I winced), but not prurient.  There are moments that made me laugh out loud, and moments that reminded me why I love my brother and sister.

But most of all, it's beautifully written.  There's no speedy page turning with Cosby; every word deserves consideration.  

It's probably too dark for some of you (and you know who you are!) but I loved it.

A Snippet - Really?

I read on-line that FFOTUS said that Iran and Israel don't know what the fuck they are doing.  

It reads a lot better than it sounds, and the way it reads is awful.

But TBG caught it later on CNN, and I found it on YouTube shortly thereafter, uncensored, by The Guardian.  To minimize your exposure to the Evil One, I start the clip at the end, where the good stuff happens.

I don't usually scroll through the comments, but the first two caught my eye.  I despise him but I can't disagree with him was the theme.  He's saying the quiet part out loud  - something a lot of us having been saying for a long time about this conflict.  

Can you understand that??? he finishes by screeching at the questioner.  

Yes, we can understand that.  The question remains, what are you going to do about it?

Brain Health Habits

The Brain Health study is trying to teach me ways to improve myself.  Some of the habits they suggest are well known to me - eg. do the hard tasks first, when you are fresh - and some just make me giggle.  

For example, there's the one they call Five Minute Breaks.  

Quiet your mind for 5 minutes, 5 times a day. It’ll improve your decision-making, problem-solving, and productivity.

Just the thought of remembering to do something five times a day was enough to push me over the edge.  I'd have to set an alarm, but I'm not free at the same time every day so I'd have to set an alarm every day.  

Am I in a space where I can quiet my mind five times a day?  Probably.... but there's that sneaky thought process again.  This might qualify as a high priority task, one that I would perform when I am fresh.  But one of the perks of retirement is that no one tells me what to do or when to do it.  Starting the day with a list of to do's, even benevolent ones, is just wrong.

When I was practicing meditation, it took me more than five minutes to settle in.  I don't want to fail myself five times a day.

As I'm typing all these excuses it occurs to me that these people may be on to something.  Perhaps I need to notice when there is downtime, and then put that downtime to good use.  Perhaps five times a day is aspirational; I don't think I'll harm myself if I miss a few quiet times.

Thanks for listening, denizens.  I'm going to sit in the comfy reading chair in the corner and quiet my mind.

I'm Taking Credit

Senator Gallego changed the message on his answering machine.  I am choosing to believe that I had a lot to do with that.

His old message irritated me every time I called his offices; the message was on both machines.  I'd ask about a bill or express my displeasure with his actions (fundraising with Mark Andreesen?) or compliment a stance he took, but I'd always end with change the damn message.

Two weeks ago, a human being answered the phone in D.C.  I was thrilled; she was nonplussed.  She listened to my comment but had no response when I asked if she had ever listened to the office's forward facing (what does that mean, anyway, and where did it come from?) message.  

Silence..... then I'll be certain to relay your thoughts to the Congressman.  Sigh.

Last week, once again, a human answered Sen. Gallego's phone in D.C.  She laughed at my surprise, said she was glad to talk to me, too, and asked how she could help?  I said my piece, then asked her about the message. 

Her Why do you ask? led to my repeating, once again, how embarrassing it was that the man admits that after all these months he still can't hire people yet he was making monumental decisions about the future of my country.  I told her people were laughing about it at Hands Off! and No Kings!  I told her Tim Stellar was writing about it, and that people in Tucson know who Tim Stellar is.   

She thanked me for my comment and said she'd be sure to pass my suggestion along. I didn't sigh; I believed her.  Then I called Sen. Kelly's office and another human being answered the phone.  I was on a roll.

She, too, was glad to listen to my concerns.  Then things got a bit more personal.

Concerned Constituent: You know the people who work in Sen. Gallego's office, right?

Wary Staffer: Sure... some... most of them. Why do you ask?

It went quickly after that.  No, she'd never heard the message.  Yes, she'd mention to the people she knows in Sen. Gallego' office that the woman who's been leaving messages on their machines about it for months has now taken to mentioning it to her.  I thanked her profusely, for her very existence on the planet, and hung up feeling heard, twice in one day.

This morning, I started my daily calls with Senator Gallego.  

In English, without hesitation, my junior Senator introduced himself, thanked me for my call, directed me to press 1 for a comment, 2 for help, 3 por Espanol, and thanked me again.  I waited for the beep, said no to war, and complimented him on the new message.  

I hung up feeling quite smug. 

We Seem To Have Bombed Iran

Had I not opened the YouGov notification on my phone I would have passed the afternoon and evening in end-of-sports-until-the-Tour-de-France delirium.  The Pacers and the Thunder are playing the seventh game of a small market, mid-western, best of seven NBA championship; I have an S.A.Cosby book open on the coffee table; InstaCart brought me all the Costco fruit in the land.  It was a great day until I looked at the survey.  

How much do you know about the US bombing in Iran?  Uh, Nothing.

TBG knew it happened, but no details.  I did a brief Google search and found all the outlets saying just what I knew all the outlets would say.  

I wish someone would just say the basic part out loud - we only know what they are telling us. Especially with this administration, truth is fungible.  I gave up sifting through information and came here, to type to you, watch the game, and think about it all.

I'm thinking about the scene in The American President when Michael Douglas talks about the maintenance guy working in the Libyan power plant he just gave the order to bomb.  Unlike FFOTUS, Andrew Shepherd thought it was the least Presidential thing I do.

It's happened on a summer weekend, perhaps to hide it from MAGA enthusiasts who believed the Lying Liar when he said he was opposed to American intervention in foreign conflicts.  Rumor has it that they are plenty pissed.

There's a bill wending its way through Congress to stop these kind of actions by reaffirming that the power to go to war runs through their hands.  I know this because I received an email urging me to call my representatives about it.  Once again, I'm thinking that the Democrats are locking the barn doors a little late.

I don't like thinking about Bibi and FFOTUS and Peter Thiel and the Christian Nationalist Right and Usha's husband being one trip and fall from the Oval Office.  

I don't like thinking about the Iranian janitor.  I don't like that this is happening in real life.  Nope, I don't like it at all.

My Brain Health

I'm part of a longitudinal study, an on-line assessment tool designed to measure changes in brain function over time.  The questions are user friendly, take no more than a few minutes at a time, and more often than not make me stop and think.

Today's questions were about my emotional well-being.  How often am I happy, lonely, worried, scared, alone?  How often is there someone I can go to for emotional support, a hug, advice, information ?  How satisfied am I with who I am, what I am doing?  Are there things I want to accomplish but can't or won't do?  What social groups am I now or do I want to be a member?

By their lights I seem to be in pretty good shape.

But I spent a little while being morose today.  Initially, I chalked it up to worry about yet another land war in Asia.  I worked pretty hard at putting that into a box that I shove d into a far corner of my brain; it made no difference at all.

I saw Scarlet's sister at Pilates this morning, which was lovely and sorrowful at the same time.  I drove past Lady Jane's house on the way home and thought about how much I missed them both.  

It's not only death that has left me bereft.  All three of my most reliable pals are out of town, between now and forever.  Mahjong has been cancelled until further notice.    

My days are largely unscheduled, which is wonderful, but it's too hot to fill them with anything outdoors from 8am until well after sunset (it is 96 degrees as I type at 8:20pm).  TBG and I have been making lengthy dates out of restaurant visits, I have lots of good books to read, there are closets requiring attention, and TMC airs some surprisingly delightful movies in the early afternoon. 

It's really not that bad, yet I was morose.  Combined with my sunny responses to the Health Health questions, I began to feel somewhat lugubrious.  I shared the situation with TBG, because lugubrious is one of our favorite words.  

Of course you're sad.  You miss your kiddos at school.

Of course, he was right.  

How many times have I said it's impossible to be sad when five year olds are hugging you? My shoulders dropped down, away from my ears, as I turned my frown upside down.  A solution to a previously nebulous problem was sitting next to me, watching a re-run of Perry Mason, providing all the support I described on the survey.

I'm going to drop in on summer school tomorrow.

Another Scenario

A cadet representing other (all) graduating cadets approaches the Superintendent of West Point with this question: 

Sir, the West Point Honor Code, the backbone of our service, says A cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do.

The President has lied, cheated, and stolen.  Wouldn't shaking hands with him on a public stage mean that we were tolerating his behavior?  We can't do it.

And the Superintendent and FFOTUS's minions decide that there will be no handshakes at all.  

Obviously, the minions thought the President snubbed the cadets was a better sound bite than the cadets snubbed the President.

It's not a good look when those you command refuse to touch you.

If this is the way it really went, I'm feeling awfully good about those young people right now.

 

It's Beyond Understanding

Big Shots from agriculture, meat processing, and hospitality met with The Orange Menace to whine about ICE raids decimating their workforce.

Huh?

You're employing undocumented people.  You're telling the Deporter in Chief (well, VP to Stephen Miller) that you are doing what he says he's deporting people for doing - taking jobs away from American workers.

Huh?

If there are American workers willing to do those jobs why are the Big Shots concerned?  There are Americans who are wounded by the presence of your undocumented workers...... aren't there?  They should be delighted that these jobs are now available to them.  

Hmmmmmmmm..... 

I'm not saying money changed hands, or that threats were made, or that anything untoward happened.  I wasn't there.  I do not know.  FFOTUS's good friends in these industries pled their case and successfully taco'ed the Chief Economic Disrupter.  

I've been wondering why the beleaguered ICE agents, unable to meet their quotas by stalking churches and courts and hospitals, have not rolled up to the meat packing plants and fill up their vans.  Now, I'm even more confused.  

The Big Shots have declared that they are overrun with the scum of the earth and FFOTUS tells ICE to stay away.

It's beyond understanding, until I remember that this is not normal.  None of it.  

Protests like No Kings! are designed to remind us that lawlessness in the Executive is unacceptable.  It announces to the world that 5 million Americans are appalled.  It should send shivers through the campaigns of Republicans in purple districts.... in districts where rural hospitals have closed.... in districts where the food banks regularly run out of supplies.  

In solidarity, across the typical left-wing silos, with joy, we are reclaiming our country.  We're inviting those who realize that they got what they voted for to join the party.  

Reason to Smile

Instead of leading with the latest FFOTUS outrage, my newsfeed has been showing me octo-box pictures of peaceful protesters waving flags and signs and exchanging thumbs up's with passersby.  

This wasn't permitted 249 years ago.  It's why now, as we teeter on the edge of Benjamin Franklin's response that we had not a monarchy, but  a Republic, if you can keep it, I am feeling a little bit more hopeful about the future of our democracy.  

It was rainy in a lot of places; New York City, Philadelphia, Washington, DC got their fair of drops.  But the stands were empty for the best-viewed-in-black-and-white, world's slowest and dullest parade while the streets of Philly and the five boroughs were, like the rest of American towns, from Idaho to Arizona, filling up all afternoon to make a joyful noise, with hand made signs and American flags of all sizes, celebrating the fact that we were not given a monarchy by the founders.  

Who are the snowflakes now, I ask?  I was surrounded by people, old and young, none of whom had any business being out in temperatures that griddle eggs on the sidewalks, that give contact burns to those unfortunate enough to use them as temporary homes.  

Where were the MAGA menace?  Were they watching the third round of the US Open?  

On Sunday, in what seemed like another rebuke to the xenophobia of those defending the whiteness of the USA, JJ Spaun won the whole damn thing, and he did it with style. 

pgatour.com

He defeated players from Scotland, Australia, and Norway. He's a family values guy, who ran out to the drug store at 3am before the final round because his little girl needed something.  He's won $4,300,00, which makes him, while not a billionaire certainly a millionaire.  

There are so many many many ways this picks and pokes and prods at the Lyin' Liar; as Big Cuter said, sometimes schadenfreude is well deserved.

My favorite anecdote from the weekend concerns one of our favorite couples.  Ten years ahead of us on life's journey, they've recently moved from a quiet suburban home to an independent living apartment on a busy street.  That street was the scene of my morning No Kings! protest.  I'll let her tell it.

It was our first protest!  We had so much fun! 

We covered the logistics and the signs and the heat and our age and then she said what I've been feeling since November - It had to be done.

It's been a while, denizens.  I think we can take a day or so and feel better about Americans.

No Kings

I spent Saturday trying to protect our system of government.  I started out before 8am on the side of a busy street, fifteen minutes before the official start, but well past the time that people had begun gathering.  It was Flag Day; I brought my giant American flag.  Waving it gave me great joy.

As always, there were safety marshals and free bottles of water  to go along with the sense of rueful camaraderie that permeated the event.  I did this in 1969 and I'm doing it again - some variation of that was on everyone's lips.  

We were older white women, the ones being teased on the interwebs for mobbing Michaels craft stores, buying up all the poster board and markers they could carry.  They did a really good job.  

My friend made this :

She lost one shoe, and had to hold one hand.

By 9:15 I was too hot.  I drove home, swam, ate, napped and then got back in the car for the No Kings! car parade; Tucson's triple digit temperatures answer to an afternoon march through the streets.  Much to my delight, besides the decorated cars

there were people on the street corners, cheering in solidarity.

They had signs, too.

How could I take so many photos?  This was a free form event.  It started in a park at one end of a long rectangle of right turns.  I decided to join closer to home.  Driving there with my decorated car felt exposed and a little bit vulnerable.  But as I got closer to the route, there were more cars decked out in No Kings red white and blue and it began to feel like a party.  

I tucked myself in behind a red minivan with American flags taped to the side mirrors.  We cruised down the road until we stopped.  I put on the automatic brake hold.  I watched as cars left a parking lot and pulled into the stream ahead of me.  I wasn't peeved.  I was glad that they were joining the fun.

At the light, I made the right turn, drove 100 yards, and stopped behind my red minivan.  And there we sat.  Every once in a great while we'd inch forward, a small car length covered before we sat again.  A Way With Words  started and finished.  We hadn't moved in a while.  This was a sit-in masquerading as a car parade. 

I put on my blinker and pulled out into the road.  Driving home felt stronger and safer and happier and satisfied.  We ordered pizza for dinner and watched the interwebs laugh at FFOTUS inviting people to his G.I. Joe themed birthday party only to have no one show up.

*****

This was my favorite sign, held by two delightful young women.  I can't believe it's blurry.

 

It Made Me Laugh

It was the combination of the model 

and the license plate

 that had me giggling.  It felt very meta.  Here's a link if you're not familiar with East coast geography.

*****

That's all I've got today, and I'm late as it is.  I've spent the afternoon preparing The Uv for the No Kings! parade.  Photos and details will be forthcoming..... if the country's still standing.

Sunflowers - A Conundrum

I planted sunflower seeds.

They bloomed, sunny and happy, showing their changing colors as the chlorophyl wanes,

and the petals droop and fall off.

They are sunflowers.  They are supposed to turn and face the sun, right?  

Well, somebody forgot to tell mine.

I took these two hours after sunrise, two weeks before the solstice, and the sun is as high as it gets. 

But it's only in one place.

My flowers don't seem to have gotten the memo.

Seriously, those on the right are in the same pot, yet face directly opposite one another.

And then there's this fellow, all alone, standing straight up because obviously making a decision in this situation is just too stressful.

It's a conundrum, for sure.

I'm Wearing My Mother's Watch

It appeared while I was clearing off the shelf in my closet.  I put it on my wrist because I couldn't decide where to store it.  It's been there ever since.

It's not a fancy watch.  It is a very specific watch. It is rectangular. It sports Arabic numerals, all twelve of them.  The numbers are readable.  There is a second hand.

My mother and I had many pleasurable if unsuccessful shopping excursions looking for this watch.   We shopped on Long Island and in New Jersey.  On my own, I examined watches in malls all over Arizona.  

I don't remember where, finally, we found this one, but I do know that I was tempted to write to Anne Klein and thank her for creating the only watch in the known universe with these specific characteristics.  

G'ma wore this every day until she died.  I put it on without much forethought.  I've kept it on intentionally.  I love having my mom around.  We talk a lot.  I rub the wrist band and feel her hugs.  

This watch doesn't analyze my sleep patterns nor tell me where I've been.  It's much better than that. It brings me G'ma.

Is It A Scam?

Back in December, I had an eye infection (which scared me but turned out to be easily treatable).  My medical provider was unable to see me for several days. Unwilling to wait,  I went to an urgent care, signed in with all the paperwork in the land, saw a Nurse Practitioner, got ointment, felt better.

Periodically, reminders to address the bill appeared in my inbox.  In order to access the bill I needed entry to their patient portal.  There was no reason for me to set one up; this was a one time visit, never to be repeated (the NP scared me before she looked at me more closely).  By December 2024 I had met all my deductibles.  It was up to Medicare and BlueCross/BlueShield to sort it out and send the funds on their way.

Last week I got a letter in the mail.  It was a bill for $350.  It said that BC/BS claimed I was not covered under their plan.  If this information was incorrect (it was) I was to call my insurer.  I made the call.  The lovely lady (who answered the phone after barely 10 seconds on hold) checked everywhere she could possibly check and reported that she had no claims filed for me from that provider or from any provider on that date (or, for that matter, in December at all).

Hmmm..... we said at the same time.  How could this be?  The receptionist scanned all my documents (I watched her; she had my drivers' license and I wasn't letting it out of my sight) and BC/BS agreed that the numbers I had were the same numbers they had.  

I said that I'd been calling the number on the Hi, your balance is due notice for three days.  I never spoke to a human (after 10 minutes on hold I had the option of leaving a call back number.... three times).  She suggested calling the provider's office.  We agreed that they, at least, would answer the phone.

Stefanie answered on the third ring.  She listened and (after some confusion over whether I wanted the NP herself) looked up my record.  Yes, I was in the system.  No, there was nothing owed to them on her end.  Yes, the bill was from before they merged (from Carbon Health into Northwest Urgent Care).  

She didn't know anything more, but she knew someone who did.  Five minutes later she called me back; her colleague suggested she check the numbers.  We did.  They bore no resemblance to my Medicare number.  My BC/BS number was accurate.

While she entered the correct information (I'm gonna fix this for you) we parsed the issue.  How could BC/BS notify them that I wasn't covered under their plan when BC/BS has no record of any contact at all (remember, those numbers were correct)?   I read her the verbiage on the bill.  She agreed that BC/BS indicated this service was ineligible to be covered on 5/12/25 had little basis in fact, given (a)that this is eligible under every Medicare and BC/BS plan for someone my age, and (b) BC/BS has no information at all about this claim and (certainly and obviously) no record of rejecting the (invisible) claim.

There's also the matter of the date -  more than 6 months after the date of service.

Stefanie assured me (You're eligible. YAY!) that Medicare would pay its part and BC/BS would cover the rest.  And those payments would be significantly less than the $350 they were billing me.

I'm a savvy consumer (TBG has spent the afternoon telling me that).  I have the time and the bandwidth (I'm spending too much time with my millennials; their verbiage has invaded my vocabulary) to pursue things like this.  I was lucky to find two women (one working for the federal government, putting the lie to ineffective and lazy civil servants) who were willing to go just a little bit further to help a client.  

Imagine if I were a scared old person with no one to ask, no way to search the internet for phone numbers (local or governmental), reliant on a phone system that still has not returned any of my calls and did not pick up while I let it ring for a lot longer than I wanted to listen to their robo-announcer.  drone on.  Would I have paid the bill and padded the pockets of the bill collector (Athena Health, whose website is all about maximizing efficiency and profitability) and the hospital behind the new owners of that location?  

It could be nothing more than a clerical error.  Given what I know about insurance and health care and billing, I'm more than a little skeptical.

Random Thoughts

What kind of man is Elon Musk?  He wouldn't wear makeup before going on tv and that, to FFOTUS, is unimaginable.

*****

I wonder if it's fair to ask my Republican Congressman whether he's Team Elon or Team Donnie?

*****

A letter to the editor of our local paper bemoaned the absence of right leaning, FFOTUS supporting, MAGA oriented letters.  The writer accused the paper of slanting its coverage and demanded parity.

Could it be that no one else on his side seems to care enough to express an opinion?

Or that they don't read?

*****

National Guard troops are defending the building in front of which protesters are holding signs and chanting slogans.  They are there to protect ICE agents conducting immigration raids.  Those agents can wear masks to conceal their identities.  According to FFOTUS's latest Executive Order, protesters cannot wear masks to conceal their identities.  

*****

We're watching the end of democracy as we know it, and Hakeem and Chuck are sending strongly worded letters.

*****

Go figure, as G'ma would say, shaking her head in disgust.  

FlapJilly, The Graduate

Elementary school is behind her, now.  I blinked, and she's in middle school.

She'll do just fine.  She's filled with confidence, kindness, a serious work ethic, and her killer pitching arm puts her right in the middle of a group of girls who've been playing together and training together and traveling together for several seasons. 

 

Resting between games.

In Little Cuter's words,  this is what you wish for your tween girl.

More Quality Viewing

Did you know that Shonda Rhimes, the creator of Grey's Anatomy, left ABC over Disney's refusal to comp one more $154 ticket to the park?  

That's what you find when you Google someone in answer to why have we not watched her stuff before?  The woman is quite impressive, as I'm sure everyone except TBG and I already knew.  After watching her newest Netflix series, a murder mystery set in the White House, we're wondering how it took us this long to recognize her worthiness.

The Residence is Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians with a snarky political edge. The White House itself is a character, its history the mortar between the bricks of the story.  

The acting is subtle and over the top and surprising. Al Franken plays a Senator. Kylie Minogue plays herself.  Pivotal moments revolve around two adorable elementary school boys.  The images in the first act make a statement that resonates through the work. Everyone and everything is important, the why's as important as the whodunnit. 

The camera work is part of the storytelling.  As the story is told and retold, the camera reminds you that yes, you've seen this before and now you know why we lingered.  

We have two more episodes to go.  So far, I don't have a front runner.  They all could have done it.  Like Charade and Sometimes A Great Notion, once I know what's going on I'll start all over again, from the beginning, to see how I was fooled.  

It's really that good.

What Do I Owe You?

My hearing aids stopped working last week.  I thought it was the charger, which is a closed box I wouldn't dare to open.  Turns out it was a quick fix on the units themselves, something I could have done had I been channeling either my inner Mr. Fix-it Father or Brother. 

There was an appointment available whenever I needed it.  The fix was estimated to take 15-20 minutes; at the 17 minute mark Victoria was handing me back my once again functional assistive devices, explaining what she'd done and making sure I knew what to do in the future.

What do I owe you? seemed the next logical question.

In return, I received a smile and this: Nothing at all.

Obviously, that is unacceptable.  So I offer this recommendation as compensation for being treated like a valued customer, one they would like to see again and again.  

Costco stood up for equity and inclusion (diversity is a given in Tucson).  Employees are pleasant while doing rote tasks; counting items in carts cannot be anyone's long term fantasy job.  The flowers are fresh, the veggies are crisp, and the carts are never dirty or slimy.

Put that together with an easy to access personal care service center and you have one very happy person... who also, by the way, paid $2.85 per gallon of regular gas for The UV today.

Happy Happy Joy Joy.... it's the little things that matter.  Now I go to deal with my recalled, brand new, kitchen sink faucet.  What do you think about my odds of getting someone to pay to remove it and install whatever I buy next?  I'm hoping for a Costco experience. We shall see.

My Favorite Things

I listen through the bathroom door.  I listen on the videos.  I listen from the living room to the voices from the kitchen.  I hear them from the background on a video chat.

My newest most favorite thing is to listen to my children parent.  

There are encouraging screams from the sideline, behind the camera, shouting GO GO GO as a tiny six year old wallops the baseball over the infield, feet flying toward first base.

Nursery rhymes, sung in perfect harmony, entertain me as I change my clothes to the sound of bath time in the adjoining room's tub.  

Down on the floor, looking eye to eye, come soothing words of understanding and comfort as big feelings wash over a little girl who is crawling deeper and deeper into her Daddy's embrace.  

And then there's the other side, comments from the peanut gallery in Daddooooo's words.  Dad can do it.  Mom knows how.  And the definitive NO, Grandma. DADA DADA DADA from the teary face of a toddler who knows exactly who she needs.

I look at the children.... all the children..... my boy and his boy and remembering puts it all into a lovely circle of this is how it's supposed to be.

My favorite things are those sounds I hear, the noise of raising excellent human beings.  I am a lucky person, having these noises so close at hand, just a phone call away.

A Travel Day

The day got away from me. 

I'll be here tomorrow.