tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25466269593914126132024-03-18T12:52:06.071-07:00The BurrowAshleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.comBlogger3912125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-30354463566018499432024-03-18T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-18T00:00:00.134-07:00Springtime in the Desert<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Apparently, my phone can take panoramic pictures.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKNXXZqRVgoYCWLjdv8HnjSpRj9mJFoClWGbRZB9a9Hn8QBg_tONFIvts-H0LQCntUW9EaftN9z_DgCorJPXur9qbDO72gEJtNZGSZUX_82-3giUNe1t1sG2GEHTMy8ggUXwMApZFP-sFrDjJm5upGCKekcGgBhM1spEMbvKHspqdmu4K2QnVHijisSex/s9984/20240314_183313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2672" data-original-width="9984" height="86" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKNXXZqRVgoYCWLjdv8HnjSpRj9mJFoClWGbRZB9a9Hn8QBg_tONFIvts-H0LQCntUW9EaftN9z_DgCorJPXur9qbDO72gEJtNZGSZUX_82-3giUNe1t1sG2GEHTMy8ggUXwMApZFP-sFrDjJm5upGCKekcGgBhM1spEMbvKHspqdmu4K2QnVHijisSex/s320/20240314_183313.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This allows me to show off my bluebells. These are not weeds, TBG's protests to the contrary. A weed is a plant in the wrong place. These, while not intentional, are not weeds. These babies have seed packets you can buy in the store. Fortunately for my garden spending, my bluebells were naturally seeded by the members of the animal kingdom who pollinate and defecate in my yard. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN248eacJKIvyFJzlxguAhmnD-E3GpMK7mzz6XctdZypsMjyJ_ha0M3CCggmQj2gjsYsXkphjDNvhcBpPRMmmJ-9yUP5PuPL5_uhQ7yZB9eRYNdVM_E05Jl3Nm-4Fmolpm6esk61rni34Kim119D_JlcPbrkDCKHoKOaFBW1OaWGphhXu8z-gnR6rxqueW/s5840/20240314_183355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="5840" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN248eacJKIvyFJzlxguAhmnD-E3GpMK7mzz6XctdZypsMjyJ_ha0M3CCggmQj2gjsYsXkphjDNvhcBpPRMmmJ-9yUP5PuPL5_uhQ7yZB9eRYNdVM_E05Jl3Nm-4Fmolpm6esk61rni34Kim119D_JlcPbrkDCKHoKOaFBW1OaWGphhXu8z-gnR6rxqueW/s320/20240314_183355.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The yellow flowers are brittle bush, and are also volunteers, deposited not always where I'd choose but appreciated none the less.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvY3_oOBtLEujXaWovMbir1MFT8GAD_L0z6VXBUNl6Y7ymKGfuh819rnF-x29OD963x2nJNvYdrdpCy-wJgXKTh43e_h96ZnOCtosi2O3_ouulMAWqOv8l4gBMbIis9lwy5qyU8Gxj0OP35g8N2KLfCIabcyFM5SVxt9G3mucHC1km0GftpegfacUuKdP/s4192/20240314_183415-EDIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1515" data-original-width="4192" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvY3_oOBtLEujXaWovMbir1MFT8GAD_L0z6VXBUNl6Y7ymKGfuh819rnF-x29OD963x2nJNvYdrdpCy-wJgXKTh43e_h96ZnOCtosi2O3_ouulMAWqOv8l4gBMbIis9lwy5qyU8Gxj0OP35g8N2KLfCIabcyFM5SVxt9G3mucHC1km0GftpegfacUuKdP/s320/20240314_183415-EDIT.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I spent the day in the garden out back, pulling out the rose bush remains that perished when the irrigation system crapped out last summer. There was no there there anymore; my foot kicked out the stumps with ease. The face lift was noticeable, but there was more to be done. <div><br /></div><div>I replanted the not-hanging-but-standing-on-a-post basket with the remains of other failed containers. I examined the sticky little bugs I found attached to and crawling on an irrigation nozzle; I'll bag it and take it in to the master gardeners tomorrow for diagnosis and treatment. I cleaned off the pretty metal rack that holds the I-can-live-outdoors tools and swept the potting shed floor clean. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow, if the weather holds, I'll plant the roses in the front and ask Mr. 21 to come over and dig me a hole for the rose tree in the back. I tried to dig it myself; I gave up almost immediately. </div><div><br /></div><div>I may even finish the cacti-and-succulents-in-pots situation I'm trying to create at our front door. I've had the tools and the soil out there for months, without the urge to complete the job. But it's been high in the upper 60's and sunny here and these are them weeks we cherish. I can be outside and do whatever I want to do at any time of the day, wearing shorts and a long sleeve shirt to protect my arms from the sun and the prickers as I clip and dig and get soil under my still perfect manicure.</div><div><br /></div><div>We've had a lot of visitors, sharing the bounty. Look who showed up this morning.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yiObzIx8-L8BOjIVJC-TcQBzEBxdB8a6qXr3lv-LEdNwMJG3DHcQj9dS1ENOCqkK4-G42IrkED1HgtzldSkUSaJjRpthvr134BpzMesDNtOrb-Cf3IfQ-itAor1jTEc6TFv5Lr5XVr0n0sPHlOR-UPBRNSChd5sHeQiEbjlNrzKf4WaRsqqkiFJfY_LY/s4000/20240317_084852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yiObzIx8-L8BOjIVJC-TcQBzEBxdB8a6qXr3lv-LEdNwMJG3DHcQj9dS1ENOCqkK4-G42IrkED1HgtzldSkUSaJjRpthvr134BpzMesDNtOrb-Cf3IfQ-itAor1jTEc6TFv5Lr5XVr0n0sPHlOR-UPBRNSChd5sHeQiEbjlNrzKf4WaRsqqkiFJfY_LY/s320/20240317_084852.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p></div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-44940896283824265292024-03-15T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-15T00:00:00.131-07:00St. Patrick's Day<p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman; text-align: center;"><b>Reposted, with additions.</b></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">I know nothing about the origins of the holiday.* I do know that once the boys made it clear that corned beef and cabbage and boiled potatoes did not hold a candle to pizza, Little Cuter and I began a delicious tradition of eating, ravenously, voraciously, turning to our fingers when <i>that bite</i> eluded the fork. </p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">I've missed her every March 15th since she went to college. </p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">Her brother in law brines his own meat, creating three huge trays, each with a different recipe, enough for the family and friends that filled his house. I'm jealous of the food, but not the public setting. Part of the joy I take is in the messiness, the pure hedonism, the lack of propriety or respect for anything except getting the tastes into my mouth as efficiently as I can.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">I usually use a dish towel instead of a paper napkin.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">I am slovenly and unapologetic.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">So, for whatever reason we celebrate you, thank you St. Patrick for having a day.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">*****</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman;">According to the interwebs, this 5th century priest was never awarded sainthood and was either brought to Ireland as a slave or sold a few of his family's slaves to pay his way there. He probably didn't drive all the snakes out of Ireland, but he certainly used the clover to explain the Holy Trinity. I'm not sure how the 3 leaves made it to 4 leaves for luck, but there you have it.</p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-84221878986638751932024-03-14T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-14T00:00:00.350-07:00What A Day<p>There were wonderful moments in the garden today. The green onions are sprouting everywhere, and the kids had a great time sharing their bad breath. We have arugula and rocket lettuce and red lettuce and spinach and big romaine leaves. </p><p>Rocket lettuce tastes like mustard, which surprised a few taste buds. The spinach was also a surprise, in that they really liked it. With mint and cilantro and scallions, the scholars made their own garden grown salad. Nobody asked for ranch dressing.</p><p>The irrigation system needed adjusting and the beds and buckets needed watering, which was done by young gardeners who kept the water on the plants.... for the most part. The daisies are blooming and ready for picking, and all the girls who asked left with a yellow or an orange flower. </p><p>But then there were the fifth graders who didn't know odd numbers from even numbers. Even the teachers were amazed. </p><p>Two of the scholars who ate the celery we used for a lesson on xylem and floem appeared . I soon afterwards in the nurse's office. One had a rash on her neck. One had a scratchy throat and an ear ache. The celery was the only thing they had in common. Neither the nurse nor I thought of celery as an allergen. The girl's necklace might have caused the rash. The boy's symptoms defied explanation. </p><p>Since it was close to dismissal, the nurse decided to let the families sort things out. </p><p>I closed the garden and walked to my car which did not respond to my key which was logical since I'd left the key in my wallet in the garden. I walked back and then back again. I got gas and a chicken and yellow roses at Costco, adding <a href="https://tanafrench.com/">Tana French's newest novel </a>to my basket as a reward for surviving the day.</p><p>TBG's got Bell's Palsy. . </p><p>It's uncomfortable but not fatal. He's well medicated and we understand the process of recovery. He's a trooper, making the best of a bad situation. But everyone needs to wallow in misery from time to time, and this is one of those times. He's as upbeat as a man with half a face can be.</p><p>I should rearrange our usual places on the couch. I'm looking at the droopy side and it's making me sad. The unaffected side still smiles at me. I just have to move over so I see it more often.</p><p>As I said, it's been a day.</p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-48621845808015693402024-03-13T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-13T00:00:00.264-07:00Clocks - A Short Rant<p>The only person who knows what time it is is the one who owns only one clock.</p><p>I have children in the Eastern and Western time zones. I am in the Arizona zone (it's true; look at the options for your clock). I never know what time it is anywhere.</p><p>My computer decided that my clock should change. This was confusing for a few moments early on Sunday morning. I didn't think I'd slept that long.</p><p>There is so much to be said for leaving things alone. </p><p>That's it. I'm done. No one listened to me when I insisted that school start after Labor Day. I don't think anyone will listen to me on this, either.</p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-19119282749655665142024-03-12T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-12T00:00:00.140-07:00Tucson Festival of Books<p>The sun was shining, a breeze was blowing, the clouds were high and white, and there were books everywhere I looked. People reading books, people buying books, p eople sorting through books..... you get the picture. The TFOB is my favorite weekend of the year.</p><p>I took a different approach this year. Instead of working through the list of Author Events and marking out a packed schedule for both days, I just wandered. Open seats were inviting me to <a href="https://www.jonathaneig.com/">hear about Martin Luther King, Jr</a> first thing in the morning, eating my bagel and lox before hardly anyone else arrived. </p><p>I waited in a comfy chair on the patio outside the North Ballroom before listening to <a href="https://www.cnn.com/profiles/alisyn-camerota-profile">Alysin Camerota</a> and <a href="https://www.harpercollinsfocus.com/9780785291817/look-for-me-there">Luke Russert </a>talk about their childhoods. A mathematician from Britain made the case for<i> <a href="https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250850898/onceuponaprime">the marvelous connections between mathematics and literature.</a> </i> <a href="https://www.tcboyle.com/">T.C. Boyle </a> read us a story. I had lemon Italian ice for lunch. And that was just the first day.</p><p>Reminding me why I love books and authors and authors talking about books and other authors was the morning panel with T.C. Boyle and <a href="https://lisasee.com/">Linda See</a> and <a href="https://vietnguyen.info/">Viet Thanh Nguyen</a>. I wandered through Science City and the Children's Village, collecting stickers and pens and post it notes emblazoned with logos and affirmations. A sorority was giving away free books and I filled my backpack with goodies for the kiddos at Prince. I have some lovely bookmarks, many small stress balls in the shape of brains, and very colorful pipe-cleaners which a delightful science educator encouraged me to fashion into my very own, very silly, very oversized glasses. </p><p>With a philosopher, I considered whether TBG's watch, which has had every piece replaced over its life, is still the same watch he bought long ago. A panel on Religion's Grip on Politics was a frightening glimpse into the vortex of right-wing, Evangelical Protestants, from people who'd been deep in the belly of the beast. Their philosophy is <i>bad religion and bad history,</i> and they had the pages from Scripture and reality to back up those claims.</p><p>I ran into friends, randomly. I chatted up strangers while we waited in line. I walked without feeling all that tired. What used to be a long long walk was suddenly <i>right there. </i></p><p>It's my favorite weekend of the year. </p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-77887553300944704072024-03-11T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-11T00:00:00.142-07:00Watching the Oscars<p>We've seen one or two of the movies, which is about par for the course.</p><p>Billie Eilish was wearing knee socks standing next to Ariana Grande, whose sleeves were weirdly gigantic puffballs of pink satin, and Cynthia Erivo, whose deep green dress had lizard scales down her (very lovely) back. Ryan Gosling scampered about in a sparkly pink tuxedo. </p><p>So far, that's the most exciting thing that's happened tonight. The speeches are, for the most part, unintelligible. We wondered, more than once, if the winners were speaking English. </p><p>The fawning over the Best Actor nominees was cringe worthy. Bradley Cooper brought his mother to the show, and her big blue sunglasses were just fab. </p><p>I always like the hugging when the winners are announced. Christopher Nolan must be a wonderful human being; everyone hugged him and mentioned him and enthused about him. Steven Spielberg smiled benevolently as the passersby nodded in his direction. </p><p>Emma Stone defined gobsmacked when her name was announced. The fact that her dressed popped its back seam made me love every bit of her. </p><p>Was Al Pacino high? He shuffled out, opened the envelope without reading all the nominees, and then wandered around behind the throng of filmmakers involved in Oppenheimer who joined the producers on stage. </p><p>Jimmy Kimmel wore a series of ever more ridiculous tuxedo jackets, tailored to highlight his least attractive features. He made a joke about the Lying Liar and not everyone clapped. </p><p>Children and parents and music teachers were thanked from the stage. They were, I am sure, happier than I was to listen to it.</p><p>Can you tell that this is not my favorite show of the year?</p><p><br /></p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-69521030565688482892024-03-08T00:00:00.028-07:002024-03-08T00:00:00.246-07:00A Disappointment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No, this isn't a commentary on the State of the Union. Joe hasn't started speaking yet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No, this is a commentary on the sad state of the stationary department in Target.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, I went into Target. I needed a picture frame and pens; it was the store that had them both and was open at 9:15am. It's been upgraded since my last visit. The aisles are wider and it seems like there are fewer options. I had to ask for directions to the picture frames, of which there were none worth buying. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I searched out the writing implements. I found them There was no way to test them, no small white pad of paper and a variety of tied to a console pens. How was I to choose? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Understand that I write a lot - transferring thoughts to paper by moving a marker over paper, not depressing buttons..... although even there I need just the right keyboard to feel fully at ease. I have a lot of requirements, starting with no leaking and ending with how it works on a coated piece of stationary. I</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was attracted by a lot of the packaging, and was glad to see that the pretty pencil box was also the least expensive alternative that met my needs. The pens were a different story. The hand feel and the ink flow and the color of the (always) blue on the paper - these are things that cannot be determined by looking through plastic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilKqLn-eHUCKf6a1KZaKPLGDp--aJP_GxqIIsKTnep_Vp_BEBtF43q9ObVih8pskCLx7QtTZq7bbpBoX_vND5JvpR3kCv0yLzIILKFFxggnluJijM93GX41iAFu5KYhuNniz2iS21Ky3clj6O-F6ocgMtOstDzBqNZrb_NLUJF-uplyEPrRK2KWEn1orF7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilKqLn-eHUCKf6a1KZaKPLGDp--aJP_GxqIIsKTnep_Vp_BEBtF43q9ObVih8pskCLx7QtTZq7bbpBoX_vND5JvpR3kCv0yLzIILKFFxggnluJijM93GX41iAFu5KYhuNniz2iS21Ky3clj6O-F6ocgMtOstDzBqNZrb_NLUJF-uplyEPrRK2KWEn1orF7" width="400" />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I chose these. Medium point, blue ink, click top so useful when only one hand is available, all at a low price. I took a chance. I made a mistake.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is the most uncomfortable writing implement every invented. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKyh66jb_N-grrHHyAumP-2-aApa2cr_pSJWBuoFI0uNppu2HkjmG24TTJewvkV3QPC1QW4MZwioiJv7KfSR4bqwcNt45iBCZYnnoDHapJ1paKHp6itZhVtZ213o6YQEPRqxWCUhXZKboyZDUg1UyhL0xXU12B17dS4Y1f6XMx13Ox0eYtSITANmSJ2GfZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKyh66jb_N-grrHHyAumP-2-aApa2cr_pSJWBuoFI0uNppu2HkjmG24TTJewvkV3QPC1QW4MZwioiJv7KfSR4bqwcNt45iBCZYnnoDHapJ1paKHp6itZhVtZ213o6YQEPRqxWCUhXZKboyZDUg1UyhL0xXU12B17dS4Y1f6XMx13Ox0eYtSITANmSJ2GfZ" width="400" />
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</div>The square padded finger rest felt like it was correcting my grip. I was taught how to hold a pen. There is nothing wrong with my grip. The edges kept poking into my fingers' tender inner flesh. No matter how I tried, it never felt right. </div><div><br /></div><div>Plus, right out of the packaging, it was blotting the paper. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going back to Target in the morning with my receipt and my request to exchange the pens, only one used, and then only to fill in five or six answers in a crossword puzzle. Then I'll go next door to Office Depot and see if I fare any better. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll keep you posted.</div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-91089089945690141872024-03-07T00:00:00.012-07:002024-03-07T00:00:00.138-07:00Goodbye, Nikki<p>It was refreshing to notice that the talking heads never once mentioned Nikki Haley's sex or ethnicity when announcing the suspension of her campaign. <i>The last candidate standing </i>was her moniker and it made me happy all day long. </p><p>I'm not happy that she's out of the race; I enjoyed someone calling herself a Republican who actually had the audacity to say that the Lying Liar wasn't fit to be President. Why she didn't start that line earlier in the campaign is a question for another day. Anyone who takes a step across the line from blind obedience to maybe there's another way gets a small round of applause in this house.</p><p>We're trying to be kind to those who might be persuadable, the uninvolved voter whose family has always pulled the Republican lever (remember the giant handle which closed the curtain and revealed the voting machine?), the twenty-something who gets his news from the sports channels, the guy from bike class who stopped coming because everyone else knew right from wrong. </p><p>It's better than being furious with them. We've tried that for years and have gotten nowhere. </p><p>But I digress. Back to Nikki Haley, whose major donors stopped writing checks. Will those people now send The Indicted One their donations, to help with his legal bills? Will she endorse the Lying Liar (I'm writing this early in the day)? Will she go on the lecture circuit and keep her options open for 2028?</p><p>Would she be a Vice Presidential Candidate? The notion of two women of color supporting two old white men leaves a lot to consider. Nikki Haley doesn't believe in identity politics (I heard her say it this morning) but she does believe in breaking glass ceilings. Fifty years ago, this image seemed impossible.</p><p>And that's where I am going to leave this discussion. I don't want to be upset about November. I don't want to consider the <i>what if's</i>, like what if the primary vote in Iowa had been counted in a timely manner for the news cycle to pick up Mayor Pete's win there and create the momentum it should have. Lis Smith, his campaign guru, outlined a credible path to the White House if Mayor Pete prevailed.</p><p>What if it had happened? </p><p><br /></p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-28785972309208755712024-03-06T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-06T00:00:00.154-07:00Eighteen Dollars <p>Sister is quite involved in getting <a href="https://www.andykim.com/">Andy Kim</a> the Democratic nomination for US Senate in New Jersey. The machine wants the state's First Lady, Tammy Murphy, to carry the torch in the general election. </p><p>Sister likens Rep. Kim to <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Allard-K-Lowenstein">Allard Lowenstein</a>, the political hero of our adolescence, so when she asked for a donation on our sibling chat, I made my usual $18 donation. </p><p>In Hebrew, where letters serve as numbers, 18 is <i>chai, life</i> in English. It's a throwback to my parents' generation and theirs before them. </p><p>Apparently, it's ingrained in my family tree. Brother sent $18 too.</p><p>Actually, being who he is, he sent $18.36. </p><p>I get that 36 is twice 18, but otherwise it's a mystery, just as most of the wonderfulness surrounding him is mysteriously charming. He and sister went back and forth, tossing the missing 64cents between them, and I was back in my childhood kitchen with them, feeling and seeing and smelling it all.</p><p>I wonder if G'ma and Daddooooo realized the tradition they created.</p><p><br /></p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-28869145518859786732024-03-05T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-05T00:00:00.141-07:00Thank You<p>I'm so happy to be preaching to such an appreciative choir. Yesterday's comments helped me move on from lonely railing at the wind to knowing that I'm not alone.</p><p>Friends from LaMaze class are in town; we're seeing a lot of them. Each time, we find ourselves saying <i>Oh, no, let's not talk about him</i> as the conversation strays in that unfortunate direction. He's omnipresent. </p><p>I do have confidence in the American people and in our system. It held against his minions once on election day and again on January 6th. That doesn't stop me from being terrified. </p><p>It's time to start writing Get Out the Vote postcards again. The first request just came to my inbox. These are going to be important months in American History.</p><p>Do you think everyone throughout time imagines that they are Living In Interesting Times?</p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-16234579354462234582024-03-04T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-04T00:00:00.133-07:00I'm Done<p><span style="font-family: arial;">I've been anxious for several days. Driving home on Friday, I catalogued all the pieces of my life. There is nothing to stress over, beyond the fact that age is taking its toll on our bodies. Everything is fine and yet I'm still antsy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The cd I was playing ended. As I hesitated to turn on NPR, I realized the source of my angst. It's the Lying Liar and all the tentacles he's using to poison my America. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I once wanted to be a Supreme Court justice. Now, the thought of sharing a room with Clarence Thomas makes me quiver and quake. There was a bipartisan border solution, which was just what he asked for, yet he stomped on it for political gain, putting the legislative process up for sale. And don't get me started on the ChristoFascistFool's minions have in store for reproductive rights. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Naming the source helped..... a little. But today, Sunday, my brain nearly exploded. The news was filled with a NYTimes poll (the NYT.... gee, it must be legit, right??) showing Trump trouncing Biden in November. The front page stories included that tidbit, plus other ways to make America seem hopeless and in crisis. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I threw out everything except the Magazine and the Book Review and the Style section. There's the rest of the paper, recycled before being opened and certainly before being read.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcomHW9f_Lt5FB5XtZ37tuBw5xZ_zHYHWoW8_KkN_oIACCetXAspGgG8M0QTTXq-wznJBDLL3mli3Vkc1rbwBibzzkYYXQDtbN00Hz1YjGelT2AQj6ndux-VsLe-9I9hj7WJtNycn27AZE4MfnPkcJ5nkUU8AEPdJyPndyfk8WyNo5Or35fTKbBxDyqBW/s4000/20240303_155931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcomHW9f_Lt5FB5XtZ37tuBw5xZ_zHYHWoW8_KkN_oIACCetXAspGgG8M0QTTXq-wznJBDLL3mli3Vkc1rbwBibzzkYYXQDtbN00Hz1YjGelT2AQj6ndux-VsLe-9I9hj7WJtNycn27AZE4MfnPkcJ5nkUU8AEPdJyPndyfk8WyNo5Or35fTKbBxDyqBW/s320/20240303_155931.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Then Substack came to my rescue. I follow <a href="https://substack.com/@jaykuo?utm_source=feed">Jay Kuo,</a> a Stanford/Berkeley educated lawyer. He explains complicated situations in almost real time, except on Fridays when he gives us memes and funny animal videos. He exposes the inadequacies of the poll <a href="https://statuskuo.substack.com/p/status-report-about-that-poll?utm_source=profile&utm_medium=reader2">here</a>. For those who want the TLDR version (Too Long Didn't Read for you neophytes), here are some highlights:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><ul><li><span style="background-color: white; color: #404040;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I do not believe Biden is tied with women nationally 46-46… Biden got 57% of women in 2020. You're telling me that, post-Dobbs, his support among that demo group will drop to 46? Not credible</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">The poll was conducted in English, although it included non-English speaking Hispanic voters.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">Older Latino voters, whose native language is often Spanish, are some of the most reliable Democratic voters out there. To ignore them in the poll and focus nearly only on English speakers understandably delivers wacky results. The Univision poll, by the way, had Biden over Trump 58 to 31 once you included Spanish speakers, who skewed 62-26 for Biden.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;">The youth result skews toward Biden, but at half the rate other major polls suggest.</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally, it's 200 days out from the election and most people aren't as obsessed as I am. I'm not sure where the bias comes from, but I'm done with the NYT.... except as noted above and the games during the week. For me, as the article in Vanity Fair suggested last month, the NYTimes has become a gaming platform with an occasional news drop.</span></div></div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-50166561408864933302024-03-01T00:00:00.001-07:002024-03-01T00:00:00.147-07:00I Love My BrotherIt was a wonderful birthday, with cards and flowers and a balloon.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9YthB1Y3MXTzj5tNCidRsytcYaH7zEsk0NemwLqBWpZdbgLqXs4mNL8qMykENEisHJUwpIs_bPnvTDRCdW0Utrng7zPMwjTr7Pniwsft0y-t-ikCVXUfngG43ZgHj4pjrejG0zII1sv2GKYf3dhd3h_b-rXeDHvTTmIdCJSxO_0MysN_crszjAEblhkg/s4000/20240228_184340.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9YthB1Y3MXTzj5tNCidRsytcYaH7zEsk0NemwLqBWpZdbgLqXs4mNL8qMykENEisHJUwpIs_bPnvTDRCdW0Utrng7zPMwjTr7Pniwsft0y-t-ikCVXUfngG43ZgHj4pjrejG0zII1sv2GKYf3dhd3h_b-rXeDHvTTmIdCJSxO_0MysN_crszjAEblhkg/s320/20240228_184340.jpg" /></a><br />Little Cuter found a beautiful spaghetti fork<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9slZtK4-4XqfmpI9x27uw4XOjYWNj47bvTZw2KD-sBuj9EIev55uZZefB9wm5y4c0nl-e5tCjtYv1xpO7fywbEZ7eb5U774KQrmCJGCOz7IaxjoNphdsKr6XQuohCXSyhX-Bjgb2wpqxge5TpRhITXJVwvz43roj7EUuwXtQEtmico5s6Ta59b5qX95f/s3840/IMG-20240227-WA0004.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9slZtK4-4XqfmpI9x27uw4XOjYWNj47bvTZw2KD-sBuj9EIev55uZZefB9wm5y4c0nl-e5tCjtYv1xpO7fywbEZ7eb5U774KQrmCJGCOz7IaxjoNphdsKr6XQuohCXSyhX-Bjgb2wpqxge5TpRhITXJVwvz43roj7EUuwXtQEtmico5s6Ta59b5qX95f/s320/IMG-20240227-WA0004.jpeg" /></a><br />which she packaged with two more practical ones and a butter dish.<br /><br />My brother sent me this:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMQAliAeVcjknGp5kGyoxJ8yPkFgCuM1Q7CIfHt2fST4AfQ98Le2EcXQCuX06dfAfz0Qm2dv3PvKaCRWry-60YHTzVMrrcmEzoH83oTwaASuR-nqGfaKGCIqZfvmCz1B6nEAS9Zu8EDsG2RgQvMuZvTs0qkdBBDETC-JUx7-piN6u8VDiq3Hk4doUDLfp/s4000/20240228_093607.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMQAliAeVcjknGp5kGyoxJ8yPkFgCuM1Q7CIfHt2fST4AfQ98Le2EcXQCuX06dfAfz0Qm2dv3PvKaCRWry-60YHTzVMrrcmEzoH83oTwaASuR-nqGfaKGCIqZfvmCz1B6nEAS9Zu8EDsG2RgQvMuZvTs0qkdBBDETC-JUx7-piN6u8VDiq3Hk4doUDLfp/s320/20240228_093607.jpg" /></a><br />It was packed within a few cardboard boxes cut to size, bubble wrap, foam paddiing, and enough scotch tape to humble a less determined package opener. I gave up on the scissors, moved on to the Exacto knife, and with the sender listening on speaker phone I revealed the gift. He's taken a class at the local community college and created my birthday present. <br /><br />It came with its provenance detailed on the side of one of those boxes:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-zMVun1Pk2OGRWq4eJPzLm-e7QANi5-PypxcScCsq0N_VxOWwkk2X4ucC1fJb-06TqvFS-6k7cMxrvcLCubaRK9S0O_orO_l7WBIX4dHMi3tzpxbEffBzggPLjnd2I1jHuc1lbJkBSahoxJ9h8yo58lF-BktJ5Xy1N9-Leqgoa9pHKVdFEcH2rEjAS_6/s4000/20240228_093748.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-zMVun1Pk2OGRWq4eJPzLm-e7QANi5-PypxcScCsq0N_VxOWwkk2X4ucC1fJb-06TqvFS-6k7cMxrvcLCubaRK9S0O_orO_l7WBIX4dHMi3tzpxbEffBzggPLjnd2I1jHuc1lbJkBSahoxJ9h8yo58lF-BktJ5Xy1N9-Leqgoa9pHKVdFEcH2rEjAS_6/s320/20240228_093748.jpg" /></a><br /><i>Contains: Recycled brownie container (part of a Hanukkah gift I sent them), part of a left over bag of concrete mix, red pigment, recycled copper gutters (from his house), abandoned copper tubing, telephone wire, 14 gauge wire, almost properly sized brass rivets, traces of tin/silver solder and flux. Wilt proof flowers are impervious to desert heat and bitter cold. Guaranteed to tarnish like the Statue of Liberty. Requires no routine maintenance. Prefers bright sunlight or deep shade or anything in between. Impervious to pests and disease.<br />WARNING: Contents will hurt if dropped on your toe. Do not eat unless you have very strong teeth. Various components probably known to cause cancer in California.</i><br /> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><div>He's taking two more classes now - Creative Writing and Tap Dancing. Creative Writing made sense to me; I've been reading his occasional newsletters since I went away to college. But Tap Dancing? </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Why not? I have two heels and ten toes.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Yes, he now owns tap shoes. </div><div><br /></div><div>I love my little brother.</div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-26581658636431382692024-02-29T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-29T00:00:00.171-07:00Leap Year - A SnippetI was due on the 29th of February. G'ma tried to reason with me, but her body betrayed us and I came two days early. I've always regretted that.<div><br /></div><div>Eighteen was a wonderful age. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps I can incorporate that feeling into my intention to live this year with lighthearted energy. They do seem to go together.</div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-90203424036077186022024-02-28T00:00:00.003-07:002024-02-28T07:13:51.369-07:00What Is That?<p>I didn't realize that construction skills would be necessary when I began Grandma's Garden. </p><p>Today I struggled with the waterproof, 100 gallon, storage chest with cushion. They sent me eight screws; I could only find use for six of them. This might have concerned me, but they were the last parts in the instructions and after arguing with the clip in plastic sides for about an hour I wasn't interested in continuing the conversation.</p><p>I was dealing with attaching the hinge when kindergarten arrived. I wasn't my usual welcoming self, so most of them stayed on the playground. There were a lot of first and second graders who tried to help me solve the problem, which was resolved when the third graders entered the picture.</p><p>I was sitting on the old bench, admiring my work. </p><p><i>What's that?</i></p><p>Hmmmmm, thought I. </p><p><i>What does it look like?</i></p><p>Silence. Bewildered looks. I started to laugh. It wasn't disguised. It was obvbiously a box. It didn't occur to me that they were really asking how we'd be using it.</p><p>I had some fun suggesting that it was a banana peel.... a third grader.... and by then we were all laughing pretty hard, and continued to laugh as others came through the gate and wondered just like they did. </p><p>Each group eventually got around to what would be stored and why were there screws lying on the bottom (cf paragraph 2) and what would we do with the bench that was chained to the fence and what was that cushion all about?</p><p>It was all about this:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfXOjYfxPa-odfeNKppEtqKJihMOj6jgYX5RQkqWQaXCwqlVgTtLAMKOwXfQs06J9dpiEaKyPpJarjob0WTTu29YQP_eWsaX1mtNDUYLokQrw0-pjI-qAQVTTdBzV1x9tSAwQlZz9g3zmgJz4xWCpCr8am0eV4k03YPIq2VqE10vmgjAXdbNHALouru6R/s4000/20240226_114906.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfXOjYfxPa-odfeNKppEtqKJihMOj6jgYX5RQkqWQaXCwqlVgTtLAMKOwXfQs06J9dpiEaKyPpJarjob0WTTu29YQP_eWsaX1mtNDUYLokQrw0-pjI-qAQVTTdBzV1x9tSAwQlZz9g3zmgJz4xWCpCr8am0eV4k03YPIq2VqE10vmgjAXdbNHALouru6R/w400-h300/20240226_114906.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-14871807169929241022024-02-27T00:00:00.008-07:002024-02-27T00:00:00.299-07:00Happy BIrthday to Me<p>72.</p><p>Little Cuter says I am not elderly, not in my 70's. Mid-eighties might be another story..... but why go there right now? </p><p>John Steinbeck, Elizabeth Taylor, a favorite cousin, and I all share this birthdate. It comes at a lull in the holiday calendar and right in the middle of the snowbirds' season. Many friends come to town; I consider them all birthday gifts.</p><p>We'll go to dinner with the usual suspects at a 40 year old Italian <a href="https://www.carusositalian.com/">restaurant</a> none of us have ever tried. It has unlimited garlic bread. Elastic waist pants will be in order.</p><p>I've had ecards and physical cards and pre-birthday texts. I'll go to Prince tomorrow and get some birthday hugs (these things have a way of becomng known, it seems) after a birthday breakfast with Taos Bubbe. </p><p>72 is starting out quite well.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-74465961369558866992024-02-26T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-26T00:00:00.207-07:00She Gets Me<p>JannyLou came for a visit this weekend. Fast Eddie had a cold (not COVID; he kept testing just to be sure) so he stayed home. It was old home week without one quarter of us; somehow, we made do.</p><p>She had plans with her sorority sisters on Friday night, so she breezed in and out, taking a garage door clicker so she could return at her leisure. It was fun saying <i>Don't be late</i> and <i>Drive carefully</i> and, my favorite reminder of Little Cuter's time at home during college, TBG wondering <i>Do you have cash?</i></p><blockquote><p>The kid went back to college with a roll of twenties, because <i>Dad kept offering them to me.</i></p></blockquote><p>We stayed up to be sure she got home okay.... well, we stayed out in the living room after 10pm..... and she came home with the smile you get after spending time with people who've known you since college.</p><p>She spent the next morning with a bestie, dining out for lunch and bringing home Costco steaks and country bread for dinner. I wouldn't let her help with dinner preparations. I wanted her to feel like a guest.... even though she kept insisting that she wasn't a guest at all.</p><p>Dr. K and Not Kathy came over for dinner and conversation and laughing and catching up. It reminded me of what I lost when our neighbors moved to Phoenix - a blending of my friends, hearing old stories through new ears, reaffirming the fact that we are not alone in our outlook or beliefs. There are others out there if we can find them.</p><p>She left this morning after french toast and strawberries for breakfast and a walk across the street to see what the new-since-she-moved-neighbors are doing to their 12.5 acre spread. </p><blockquote><p>There seems to have been a house or two behind the overgrown vegetation, untended for the seventeen years we've lived here.</p></blockquote><p>And now she's gone and the house is empty again. I like the people who bought her house, I really do. But it just isn't the same as having JannyLou nearby.</p><p>******</p><p>I didn't know what to do with the two asides indented up there. Parentheses seemed bulky. Adding them to the paragraph was equally awkward. So, I made up my own construction. I hope you like it.</p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-19749651130285407452024-02-23T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-23T00:00:00.248-07:00An Outbreak of Stupidity<p>I usually like going to Whole Foods. That wasn't how I felt today.</p><p>I managed to find a cart without a napkin or a crumpled wax paper wrap or a tissue wedged in the corner. </p><p>The produce section is under construction and nothing was where it was supposed to be. </p><p>There was a mass of humanity blocking every aisle. No one was touching the fruits or veggies. They were just standing there, talking, making it impossible for me to reach the tarragon and the shallots. When I finally got to them, the shallots were buried beneath discarded skins. </p><p>There was no broccolini.</p><p>There was a poodle, on a leash, without any indication that he was a service animal. Just a dog, out for a walk in my grocery store. His human had him on a long leash. This was not conducive to the smooth locomotion of carts.</p><p>The fresh pizza was congealed, frightening, and suspicious looking. I turned toward the newly displayed pre-sliced packs of turkey breast as a more viable option to bring home for lunch. The woman who placed them was being very precise and I admired her dedication to the task.</p><p>They offer two kinds, smoked and oven baked. The distinctions are marked on the labels, which the worker bee had placed face down in the cold box. In order to figure out what was where, I had to turn over package after package. They weren't in any real order.</p><p>At the checkout lane (I avoid the self check outs when humans are available), a group of 5 adult men who should have known better were chatting up a storm. They weren't checking out. They were talking, standing in a loose, large circle, completely blocking the two open lanes. They were happy to move once I wondered aloud if they were in line, but what were they doing there in the first place?</p><p>The parking lot is a nightmare. Avoiding being sideswiped is barely possible. Today was no exception, with someone careening into the lane the UV and I were occupying, not thinking that another car might actually be on the road. </p><p>My shocked face was visible through our open windows. His unrepeatable comment was totally unwarranted. Unlike him, I had stopped to check the intersection before barreling through. </p><p>I spent a few minutes wondering what kind of new car I'd get to replace the one I wish he had totalled. Then the light changed and I fled the scene.</p><p><br /></p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-49792644613449902272024-02-22T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-22T00:00:00.140-07:00 Happy Birthday, George<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman; font-size: 19.8px;">Here, once again, is my somewhat annual rant about President's Day. Just like last year, I didn't realize it was President's Day. I was too wrapped up in the terrifying notion that the former guy might be the next guy to pay attention. Here in Arizona, we have Rodeo Weekend this Thursday and Friday so schools remained open. It may have been a Legal Holiday, but my trash was picked up right on schedule.</span></p><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2002734128612058697" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: Hanuman; font-size: 19.8px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 628.4px;"><p>I'm not the only sentient being who is struck by the strangeness of it all. NPR told me that February 22nd had been a Federal Holiday from 1879 all the way through until 1968 when Congress standardized almost all the Federal Holidays and George ended up with the 3rd Monday in February.... which will always be before his actual date of birth... and, as long as I'm ranting, will always be after Abe's on the 12th.</p><p>I'm all for celebrating your Birthday Month, but that's just plain ridiculous. </p><p>Here's the rest of the rant, reprinted and slightly edited.</p><p>*********************</p><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8868417311588818341" itemprop="description articleBody" style="line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 628px;">Mary Ball Washington gave birth to a boy child on February 22, 1732. Unlike many of the stories surrounding this man (think cherry trees and coins across the Potomac and standing up in an open boat as it crossed the Delaware) this is an indisputable fact.<br /><br />Mary was not in labor on the third Monday of February. She produced her child on a specific day - the 22nd day of February. His birthdate didn't move around according to the federal holiday calendar.<br /><br />Nancy Hanks Lincoln met her second son, Abraham, on the 12th of this month. Like Mrs. Washington before her, she was not in labor on an indeterminate day sometime in the middle of the month. It occurred on a certain day, a day formerly commemorated by school children and mail carriers alike.<br /><br />Alas and alack, these fine gentlemen have been conflated into <i>Presidents</i> and their birthdays combined into a generic celebration designed primarily to afford employees the opportunity for a 3-day weekend in the middle of the winter. What was wrong with the old system, I wonder? As an elementary school kid I looked forward to those random days off in the middle of the month. One day, breaking up the routine. One celebration for each president - pennies examined on the 12th, leadership and lying (not) on the 22nd.<br /><br />There was no time for a weekend away (not that G'ma and Daddooooo could have afforded to take us anyplace anyhow) and there was no competition between students for who went the furthest and had the most fun. It was an opportunity to go sledding at Bethpage (the Black Course was used for many things in my youth; this was the best of them) or to meet friends at the bowling alley and then walk to Smiles (our precursor to a 5-and-dime) where we cruised the aisles until our parents picked us up.<br /><br />It was grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon on the side, eaten on paper plates and accompanied by the admonition <i>Don't Tell Daddy</i> since the bacon was not exactly kosher and he cared a lot more than did G'ma. There were snow forts to be built, snowball fights to be fought, snow men to be built. The entire neighborhood roamed from front yard to front yard, creating and tumbling and finding warmth and drinks and the occasional bathroom in whichever house we happened to be in front of when the need arose.<br /><br />And now? Now President's Day is always <i>an event</i>. It's a long weekend for which plans must be made. It has no intrinsic meaning, no relationship to George or Abe or any of their colleagues. Their faces are used to advertise white sales and car sales and furniture sales. What began as tributes to great men has devolved into spending opportunities for the masses.<br /><br />Am I bitter? You bet. A day off followed by another one 10 days later.... what better way to combat the winter doldrums than that? A random day, a day to cuddle under the blankets with your sweetie or to do all that laundry that interfered with your weekend plans and so still sits in the basket, mocking you. A day to explore the neighborhood and have lunch in that place you've driven by 100 times before..... a day just <i>to be.</i><br /><br />Sometimes, <i>when I was a girl</i> really was better.</div></div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-452435304116642582024-02-21T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-21T00:00:00.140-07:00An Irrefutable Argument<p>It is true that there are those who've drunk the MAGA kool aid and are just waiting for the poison to seep into the rest of us. There are those who will not listen, and that is sad. </p><p>But for those who might have a small chink in their armor, maybe because they love you, and who might be willing to listen and think about what you're saying, you might try this:</p><blockquote><p>The State of New York found that your guy is unqualified to do conduct business unless two, separate monitors sign off on the deal. He cannot write a check unless it is cleared by different entities, each of whom is endowed with total oversight of the man's affairs.</p></blockquote><blockquote><p>If the State of New York thinks he's not to be trusted with his own business affairs, why would you trust him with the country's spending, budgeting, forecasting? These are your tax dollars he's spending.... or grifting.</p></blockquote><p>That's the kind and loving way of saying what I heard in a cascading series of talking heads following the lead. That's herea;</p><blockquote><p>So, the man needs a babysitter. Actually, two babysitters because he's such a bad boy. Can't trust him with a marker, let alone a checkbook.</p></blockquote><blockquote><p><i>Mommy, may I? </i>What a massive blow to his ego. He's built his brand on being a brilliant business man when all he's done is make stuff up. </p></blockquote><blockquote><p>He can't be trusted with his own checkbook. Why in the world would anyone trust him with ours?</p></blockquote>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-23715221355254226962024-02-20T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-20T00:00:00.374-07:00A Bee is BuzzingDo you play <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/puzzles/spelling-bee">Spelling Bee in the NYTimes</a> Games app? It's six letters surrounding a seventh in the center. The idea is to make as many words (4 letters or more) using the outer letters as many times as you want, but always including the center layer.<br /><br />The game gives you mottivation along the way, letting you move from Good Start to Moving Up, Nice, Good, Great, Amazing, and Genius. SIR and I share our scores when we hit Genius, which is more often than not. It's a lovely way to occupy my brain while washing dishes or folding laundry. I move the letters around in my head, surprising myself when a word pops up. As we've commented more than once, this is sometimes an all day game.<br /><br />The Times gives you hints in <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/19/crosswords/spelling-bee-forum.html">The Spelling Bee Forum</a>. It also heads that column every day with a different picture of bees, sent in by readers. Today, while deep watering my Meyer Lemon tree, the one that decided to set blooms after every other lemon tree in the land has produced its entire crop, I saw an opportunity to joihn their ranks.<br /><br />The smell was deliciously sweet. The bees were everywhere, though they moved away from wherever I chose to stand. I figured that out after a while and stood still. This is what came into view<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMOuGyVpcx-p8fpHfzDdFZ95j9lnQK5pvhVGLmaCTSDzPBP9DFmdI5lDU1SUh_Ead9XpVz_b6PcAenrOgwLMdxpuGTmhNBTQENTb1kzV-JCM6xKIuth8sJRravJghoiVhghw8Dpw_DxLGaBjtqNMh6BA8xVLygTSd4Te6GstbHxGhl0Y1eQjsuOPKxPq9/s4000/20240219_141015.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNMOuGyVpcx-p8fpHfzDdFZ95j9lnQK5pvhVGLmaCTSDzPBP9DFmdI5lDU1SUh_Ead9XpVz_b6PcAenrOgwLMdxpuGTmhNBTQENTb1kzV-JCM6xKIuth8sJRravJghoiVhghw8Dpw_DxLGaBjtqNMh6BA8xVLygTSd4Te6GstbHxGhl0Y1eQjsuOPKxPq9/s320/20240219_141015.jpg" /></a><br />There's more deeper in there.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ne3qQs2a2kmUyzaF108mOQ1FtLbysuyHIoSuDjANl2LJZ9PaaT_fseWzjXPGcdZhfRaTPkJDLu5I0C-NcVECkV0gl0REepCaxwzcvbe0Q6A1qYKmMcPUn3om-J557iamJsiFAk1qemUcyf_M6BWcVAf8a0q8g8i0k7nfZKQXSvLuCzC4_ZVR9VsXKI1V/s4000/20240219_141022.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ne3qQs2a2kmUyzaF108mOQ1FtLbysuyHIoSuDjANl2LJZ9PaaT_fseWzjXPGcdZhfRaTPkJDLu5I0C-NcVECkV0gl0REepCaxwzcvbe0Q6A1qYKmMcPUn3om-J557iamJsiFAk1qemUcyf_M6BWcVAf8a0q8g8i0k7nfZKQXSvLuCzC4_ZVR9VsXKI1V/s320/20240219_141022.jpg" /></a><br />If I get really deep, there's even more.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9otB_DgwrTKUbtWTCwdlxqjO-xE2wnhjdvoU4VGOwbWwN8jdoaRGGB2SItHn8-Bbp7um34oGELkg4yqbM1VgORLv53pNFGq_Cv4M67t_0gr_K-_Wt0c78HFOV7YAIE1YXE6L2AAGDKseeebhuyfIv2UwVGaq6bAJS6khMN6KOVYz5VMEHDw24kVfXCp0/s4000/20240219_141018.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9otB_DgwrTKUbtWTCwdlxqjO-xE2wnhjdvoU4VGOwbWwN8jdoaRGGB2SItHn8-Bbp7um34oGELkg4yqbM1VgORLv53pNFGq_Cv4M67t_0gr_K-_Wt0c78HFOV7YAIE1YXE6L2AAGDKseeebhuyfIv2UwVGaq6bAJS6khMN6KOVYz5VMEHDw24kVfXCp0/s320/20240219_141018.jpg" /></a><br />Okay, I'll just put my whole self in there and turn over and revel in it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvONzAiYepP_gXjUVkCcYhgYcSR6JEhGomflemrTjit8gFq1crJ_jdSWyjf6NOhoqr-No1ntPOpDTStpOSRUiHZmBPjPnNbbpXhlDwKX0OjTDnBCXSx_mN_w2_m0QQCkA-AhG1pDcSnWjhy9Qc2Y2nGpbyyFd2bwkzhaHx4Vdslj-MFVo15vAuw26p9WHC/s4000/20240219_141028.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvONzAiYepP_gXjUVkCcYhgYcSR6JEhGomflemrTjit8gFq1crJ_jdSWyjf6NOhoqr-No1ntPOpDTStpOSRUiHZmBPjPnNbbpXhlDwKX0OjTDnBCXSx_mN_w2_m0QQCkA-AhG1pDcSnWjhy9Qc2Y2nGpbyyFd2bwkzhaHx4Vdslj-MFVo15vAuw26p9WHC/s320/20240219_141028.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I'm going to submit them to the paper. I'll keep you posted.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-61577405221733334722024-02-19T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-19T00:00:00.225-07:00Georgia On My Mind<div><span style="font-family: arial;">James Patterson books are easy ways to pass a lazy day. I found myself re-reading <a href="https://www.jamespatterson.com/titles/james-patterson/cross-down/9780316404594/">Cross Down</a> today, realizing a few short chapters in that I remembered the basic outline of the plot but that I didn't mind spending time with those characters again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">It's a plot revolving around a coup. Hate groups on all sides are encouraged and supported. Martial law and loss of basic freedoms are the plan. It felt remarkably real.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Television seems to be revolving around a coup, too. With the majority of prospective Republican voters telling pollsters they are committed to returning him to jail, the Lying Liar turned his minions onto Fani Willis. Not satisfied with attempting to steal the choice made by Georgia voters, not satisfied with defaming election workers and sticking his friends with the bill (cf Rudy Guiliani owing $148 million to satisfy the judgment), he decided to take a big bite out of the whole enchilada - he went after Fani Willis.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I was never quite sure what the charges were. There was some peculiarity in the hiring of one of the prosecutors, something about his relationship with Ms. Willis. I felt like Mr. 20 - ignorant of the facts but sure there was something there. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I mean, really, how could it get this far if there weren't something to prove. The prosecutors were trying to show that there were financial kickbacks going from one to the other, and that her hiring decision was based on a long term love affair. I was never certain about the money allegations, nor did I understand exactly what's wrong with hiring a lover if he's qualified for the job?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">That last question was answered by a retired Georgia judge who testified that he turned down that very job because of security concerns.... and <i>because I wasn't going to make a lot of money.</i></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I didn't think civil servants made enough to bribe one another or do whatever nefarious financial shenanigans were being alleged. The more I listened, the more sexist and racist it sounded. No black woman could be able to take fancy vacations on her own dime; she must have traded sexual favors for the privilege of traveling. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><blockquote><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2b2c30; line-height: 1.5; margin: 20px 0px 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Wade, who testified before Willis, said the pair split their expenses when traveling because the district attorney is an “independent, proud woman” who insisted on paying her own way. He said Willis used cash to pay him back — which she confirmed — though he did not deposit the cash. (<a href="https://thehill.com/regulation/court-battles/4472800-fani-williss-father-testifies-he-only-recently-learned-about-das-relationship-with-prosecutor/">The Hill)</a></span></p></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;">That left the prosecution aghast. Who has all that money lying around the house?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Enter daddy, John Clifford Floyd III, a former Black Panther, a defense lawyer, and no stranger to the courtroom.</span></div><div><blockquote><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2b2c30; line-height: 1.5; margin: 20px 0px 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Echoing Willis’s own testimony, Floyd said Friday that he told his daughter growing up to always keep six months cash in her home, describing the practice as “a Black thing.” </span></p></blockquote><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2b2c30; line-height: 1.5; margin: 20px 0px 0px;"></p></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">So we have the Trumpian mafia going after a successful woman whose cultural mores were shaped by forces fueled by the Lying Liar and his ilk. Trust the banks? Trust a corporation? Trust anything but your own self and those you love? Hardly.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I was anxious when this whole thing started. I hope the presiding judge heard the testimony the way that I did.</span></div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-77614119106949462922024-02-16T00:00:00.000-07:002024-02-16T00:00:00.162-07:00Rewatching an Old Favorite<p>If you haven't seen <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0028010/">My Man Godfrey</a>, now would be a good time take it out of the library or Google how to watch it for free. It's one of our favorite movies; our Top Ten list has about twenty entries so don't ask me to be more specific. But for a put a smile on your face experience, there are few films that match it.</p><p>Really. Just look at these two:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpr7xgY8QTeSRzakUNTwzyzZx9KXxEwDAtEYFWbiPCGpBBj5v9YDcSEEijJryEWNqSeeJRFkU-qEYeoGw3nLl9dYSlQ940DcX9LM-84gMtQVPwzxvUFHv-3ubpoFZvh8tJAolJ3TYtfrJ6EfnRVBcHmcwsl1R0tLUezXhxs0zq_6gRbVr_GJz38jIsBHaW" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpr7xgY8QTeSRzakUNTwzyzZx9KXxEwDAtEYFWbiPCGpBBj5v9YDcSEEijJryEWNqSeeJRFkU-qEYeoGw3nLl9dYSlQ940DcX9LM-84gMtQVPwzxvUFHv-3ubpoFZvh8tJAolJ3TYtfrJ6EfnRVBcHmcwsl1R0tLUezXhxs0zq_6gRbVr_GJz38jIsBHaW" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the criterion collection<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>He's delighted with her. She's seeing through the grime. They're surprised with what's there.<div><br /></div><div>Carol Lombard pouts better than anyone in movies.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgN8dIBOFy4BJSHF8v-Aned9j2z1v9LMHacpj-_HrxyuJJxygaWhE5YxXohi7SnVauAAattV05fbQ3BELy9lG2BC1H5TKE1nBv9fjiE5ohhKyDV_CEfhUxFmt8B1-ybPO3CaeJCDrDeZRuH8AggfYJzgxaKAyzkCzIP8M-FVg5hxMM1b5ZQXylic2JBJl5Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="276" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgN8dIBOFy4BJSHF8v-Aned9j2z1v9LMHacpj-_HrxyuJJxygaWhE5YxXohi7SnVauAAattV05fbQ3BELy9lG2BC1H5TKE1nBv9fjiE5ohhKyDV_CEfhUxFmt8B1-ybPO3CaeJCDrDeZRuH8AggfYJzgxaKAyzkCzIP8M-FVg5hxMM1b5ZQXylic2JBJl5Y" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">William Powell does superior and disdainful and kind just as well. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He and Carole Lombard, the charmingly ditzy rich girl who hires him as her family's butler, were recently divorced after a two year marriage when he insisted that she be cast opposite him in the film. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Knowing that, I paid special attention to how they looked at one another.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwj9E7UXo8_wAJGhouMvTnNsBgVgp0GrnSSKRdhIjdD14uO02xN5wx32EaAOESCseWYbrdcJCaI1RQ5YFanAqdjrQ71GZ8hPq8Hr2g2VK1DXc3TFvOD5Thf-gCzypZ2M9FUIvNXZ09AMq9B6VQXmiRaI1dOY_UCFcxFI_aDYktdu9sU8BxY9cBEjWXY-FH" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="257" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwj9E7UXo8_wAJGhouMvTnNsBgVgp0GrnSSKRdhIjdD14uO02xN5wx32EaAOESCseWYbrdcJCaI1RQ5YFanAqdjrQ71GZ8hPq8Hr2g2VK1DXc3TFvOD5Thf-gCzypZ2M9FUIvNXZ09AMq9B6VQXmiRaI1dOY_UCFcxFI_aDYktdu9sU8BxY9cBEjWXY-FH" width="315" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">imdb.com<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>That's an iconic <i>irreconcilable differences but yes, I know you are adorable</i> <i>and you know it, too </i>moment. It needs no words. It just is what it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>We often refer to A Perfect Movie - one that could not be improved upon by a casting or scripting or directing or musical or sets or or or ..... change. Think <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0037382/">To Have and Have Not</a> and <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093779/">Princess Bride</a> .... and <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0028010/">My Man Godfrey</a></div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-41962505791956029592024-02-15T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-15T00:00:00.147-07:00Again<p>We were randomly flipping channels. ESPN was wrapping up coverage of the Chiefs' Super Bowl parade and celebration. It was perfect background noise to the far more interesting conversation we were having.</p><p>Then the picture changed. The reporting changed. The venue was different but the words were the same. People were running. Sirens were blaring. Stretchers. Police. Sobbing survivors. </p><p>Bright sunshine and ambulances. After a while I couldn't take any more. </p><p><i>What's on ESPN?</i></p><p><i>This is ESPN.</i></p><p>That was how we came to listen to <a href="https://twitter.com/i/status/1757878152213274914">Marcus Spears wondering if this is who we are</a> as a people, and concluding that it is.</p><p><i>No place is safe</i> was a constant refrain, as if that were a new concept.</p><p>Hug those you love. Tomorrow is not promised.</p>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-48725576529141703722024-02-14T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-14T00:00:00.226-07:00Happy Valentines Day<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: times; font-size: 19.8px;">I spent the last few months watching mothers with their daughters and missing my own Mommy. Finding this old post was like finding a hug. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;">Happy Valentines Day from my heart to yours. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;">*****</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b;"></span></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: times;"><b>This happened on Valentines weekend 12 years ago. I remember it as if it were today. </b></span></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: times; font-size: 19.8px;">Shockingly, G'ma was willing to forgo her post-prandial nap and accompany me to Target. I hustled her into the car before she could change her mind. We admired the clouds and she told me I was driving too fast and not stopping for the yellow lights and following too closely and she was my mother again, except for the clacking dentures. </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: times; font-size: 19.8px;">Be careful what you wish for, </em><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-family: times; font-size: 19.8px;">I guess.</span></p><span style="font-family: times;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;">There was an electric cart in the unloading area next to the handicapped parking space and it was calling her name. She's still got left and right implanted in her memory bank, so directionality wasn't an issue. She took a turn or two too closely, but the t-shirts didn't seem to mind the little bit of sway she put into their hangars. Humans managed to get out of her way, and her enjoyment of the scene washed away frowns before they could be formed. We chose Valentines Day cards and bought mini-packs of tissues for her purse and we giggled over but didn't purchase any of the soft pink socks with hearts that were tempting me at the register. Sorry, Little Cuter........</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;">Pie wasn't nearly enough lunch for me, so I suggested ice cream. </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;">"Drive faster!"</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;"> was her reply, so I did. There's a new Dairy Queen in the neighbrohood and that's where we headed, $5.01 bringing us her sundae (all chocolate....did you really have to ask?) and my strawberry milkshake and more napkins than we needed.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;">Sitting there in the parking lot, sipping whipped cream and watching chocolate sauce melt into chocolate soft serve, feeling the warm breeze on my bare arms, I was 10 years old again, in the drive-thru with Mommy.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #3b3b3b; font-size: 19.8px;">It felt really really good.</span></span>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2546626959391412613.post-46315179329282140532024-02-13T00:00:00.001-07:002024-02-13T00:00:00.333-07:00The Second Half (and more)The Kansas City Chiefs may not have as deep a bench as the 49'ers' but they do have Patrick Mahomes.<div><br /></div><div>San Francisco kicked a field goal. KC scored a touchdown. The last man drafted took is team into overtime, but lost to a once in a generation talent.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's hard to feel too sad.</div><div>*****</div><div>Queen T went all out in the decor for their first Super Bowl Party. There were babies and sports fans and many, many balloons. And there was this:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFh9FkDn68mgU7s0G9-YlE12fCHkKI2otlVMNzoJJgxzhJERMGhyDeNhkmyTbRlTztBZxLtGfBFkzleYPBNyQ5GjwBb-J3E3gWOUoP__flmDRi-P52QjyBocMGoFoljHu_fXu3onhNSgjQk3fhuQsECiC03ZQDeiB3ZgmUSc0rynwKZuwArQaKjINP2NS2/s2048/IMG-20240211-WA0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFh9FkDn68mgU7s0G9-YlE12fCHkKI2otlVMNzoJJgxzhJERMGhyDeNhkmyTbRlTztBZxLtGfBFkzleYPBNyQ5GjwBb-J3E3gWOUoP__flmDRi-P52QjyBocMGoFoljHu_fXu3onhNSgjQk3fhuQsECiC03ZQDeiB3ZgmUSc0rynwKZuwArQaKjINP2NS2/s320/IMG-20240211-WA0001.jpg" width="240" /></a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd say she wins for creative presentation.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">*****</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The sun was shining and the air was crisp and clean after some night time rain. There's still snow on the Pusch Ridge, even on the west facing slopes. Long sleeves keep me warm enough, though sometimes a long cotton scarf needs to wrap around my neck for perfect comfort.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tomorrow morning, Taos Bubbe and I will be doing yoga outside at <a href="http://tohonochul.org">Tohono Chul Botanical Garden</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, I'm reveling in being outdoors in February without special equipment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">*****</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Grandma's Garden is fecund.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHSgbTRYES4hj4yHBQRgzj8gzPKNTNFEQkXZezMawbb-w9R8vUWS7xzN-9clyUJlaAngdv7t2ByrrEPWYW9VhjDNNEkVQBTWeGSkkDx9gVfy1ilPl17tX2UYV4B2bpho7iys5ZmiKUItQaXQSNISfHihzL5vAesZRE4EGfT31VkUKocx8hVkMoK5PJCuj/s4000/20240212_112043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHSgbTRYES4hj4yHBQRgzj8gzPKNTNFEQkXZezMawbb-w9R8vUWS7xzN-9clyUJlaAngdv7t2ByrrEPWYW9VhjDNNEkVQBTWeGSkkDx9gVfy1ilPl17tX2UYV4B2bpho7iys5ZmiKUItQaXQSNISfHihzL5vAesZRE4EGfT31VkUKocx8hVkMoK5PJCuj/s320/20240212_112043.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Radishes. Lettuces. Scallions. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had salad on the fly, harvested from our garden and our buckets and cut with Grandma's garden shears into tiny pieces so everyone could have a taste.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We also introduced those new to the garden to scallions, and their super power - extreme bad breath.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a good day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Ashleigh Burroughshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05790757220725900941noreply@blogger.com4