Somedays

There are times when I feel like a hero, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Today, I'm looking askance at curbstones.

I'll be back tomorrow, with thoughts. I'm not in a position to have many of those right now. 

An American Tragedy

I'm too worn out for original thought, though everything is going just as planned (for once).  Instead,  I'm giving you a link to why I think Mayor Pete's Sunday appearance with Joanna Mendoza here in Tucson was abruptly cancelled this afternoon.  

TBG and I planned to attend, had signed up on line, were waiting for the exact location to be revealed.  Instead, we received a this event is cancelled email with no explanation at all.

Later on, I opened Substack and read this, by my favorite Mayor and Presidential Candidate:

        A Terrible Thing Happened to My Family by Pete Buttigieg

Even in today's climate, there should be one fundamental principle everyone respects: whatever you think about someone in politics, you leave their kids alone.

Someone decided to hurt our family this week. I’m furious, and I want to share what happened.

Read on Substack.  There's the link.  There's no paywall.  You don't need a subscription.  

Read it and weep.

The NBA Draft

I cannot believe that I watched it.  I was enthralled, captivated, drawn in the way a good movie draws you in - slowly, the anticipation growing then the climax and then it starts all over again.  It's usually a dull, boring, repetitive process.  

Not this year.  This year I recognized most of the players.  This year I remembered the Iowa State games and the Houston games and how Arizona's Wildcats fared against them.  I had opinions on scoring and defense and attitude.

I could take issue with the talking heads about who should go one or two.  Lacking knowledge of the NBA teams' particular needs, I relied on TBG's somewhat greater insight, although he warned me that his information came solely from other talking heads.  Was Burries too short for .... where is Koa Peat..... Veesaar as one of Jay Bilas's prime picks halfway through the first round?

Tommy Lloyd's recruiting progeny are strewn over the college landscape, as NIL and the transfer portal become the highway to success.  For me, the follow one team and otherwise a casual fan, that resulted in a remarkably interesting Draft Day.

As the next day unfolded, Koa was chosen and Burries was traded and now, I think, all things basketball must be put on the shelf until next season.  I'm switching my sports calendar to the FIFA World Cup... USA and Cape Verde and Messi and Ronaldo.... does anyone know where I can get one of those long knit scarves?

In Case You Missed It

For those of you who were otherwise engaged in more substantive pursuits, allow me to share the highlights of the hours it streamed on my laptop as I watched the NBA Finals unfold.  

I tuned in after the right section of the scaffolding had been erected.  The work resumed after a lengthy rain delay, and those minions on the left are handing the metal rods onward and upwrd.

They got higher and the night got muggier and anyone who has ever had the misfortune to be in the District in the summer knows that the air is thick even when it's not between storms.

The moisture in the air must have made the support beams quite slippery.  I beame concerned when the workers got up to the piano keys.

Fortunately, most of them were tethered, as the arrows indicate.  But what about this guy out on the beam, way at the top on the right?  There wee no tarps covering the material that's being lifted, and the humidity was intense, yet he's hanging out on a board above concrete without a net.

And then it began to rain again and it was well after the court's deadline and it was tomorrow morning already so they exited, descending scaffolding left.  

I can't bear reprinting the shower curtain that appeared the next day.  This will have to suffice.
 

And Now It's Tuesday

And we're home and life is much better.

A hospitalist listened and questioned and followed him from the hallway to the private room (Be very grateful about this!) spending all the time needed to figure out what came next.  She was the first person to consider the why, to share the lab results and what they might and eventually did reveal, and to help us create a viable plan going forward.

There are still so many floating pieces, so many appointments and tests and treatments to schedule.  There's so much to understand.  We have insurance and the means to pay for it (and all its hefty deductible and co-pays).  We have no work or child care obligations.  We have smart and supportive family and friends, and we're not afraid to abuse them.  I am comfortable dealing with the system.

I've spent all day watching soccer and swimming and cooking and recognizing that I live a very privileged life.  A change in any one of those pieces would throw everything else out of kilter.  Two or three blips and chaos looms.

Most of America does live one kidney stone away from disaster.  I'm anxious and exhausted and living on the edge of overwhelmed and there's nothing I need that I don't have or can't get.  And I'm not most of America.

The Hospital is Full

We arrived at the Emergency Room yesterday about 2pm. TBG's pain and nausea were treated well and efficiently..... in the hall. 

There were 50+ patients waiting for beds in the hospital.  We were seated in the hallway 

******

That was the start of Friday's post, written Thursday afternoon, on my phone, still in the hallway. the patient no longer seated but able to lie down on a stretcher in a screen-divided, open to all passersby cubby.

Those hours, all eighteen of them in the Emergency Room hallways before a room became available, revealed the open wound that is America's health care system.  Without a curtain separating us from our fellow captives, we saw and heard it all.

Sir, are you living outside? 

The strong smell of urine as the bedraggled man struggled by us on his way to the restroom; and the lengthy clean up afterwards.

The EMT's from car accidents all over the county and beyond.  The Yuma EMT who explained their four hour drive to his gurney riding patient this way: The nearer hospitals are closing departments and now not all of them have everything you might need.  But this is a University hospital and they have all the bells and whistles. So, here we are.

Nurses doing yeoman's work on twelve and a half hour shifts, with a 30 minute lunch break.... unless it's overwhelmingly busy.  We felt well tended.  It took only a bit of my pushy personality to find TBG a place to lie down and at least pretend to be comfortable.  His needs were met almost instantaneously, since he was open to all the action and all the actors all the time.

This isn't how it should be.  

The uninsured are once again showing up at hospitals instead of clinics.  The underfed and untreated are not turned away.

Instead, our Medicare Advantage plans went up 30 and 40 percent, respectively.  No one in the hospital, from the cashier in the cafeteria to the hospitalist who solved TBG's problem, received a thirty or forty percent bump in their salary.

This isn't how it should be.

The bill from his last hospitalization was $121,239.50.   We have insurance that covered it all.  It's easy to see how the uninsured are one kidney stone away from bankruptcy.

This isn't how it should be.

On The White House Lawn

It happened on our lawn.

Not only was it tacky.  Not only did the grift include paying the fighters in the felon's personal crypto.  Not only were the military personnel (fit and clean shaven) used (illegally) for political capital.  Not only did the fly over shake buildings in DC and delay flights out of National Airport (without prior notification of the airlines, passengers, or air traffic control).  Not only were the lights bright enough to cause a pilot to file an incident report (because he couldn't see) with the FAA.

Nope, that's not all.  At the end, the winner decided to opine on Michelle Obama's gender.  The head of the UFC smiled.  There were cheers.  

All of this happened in front of the people's house.  A president created a situation that allowed (and appreciated) a foul remark about a woman to go unchallenged.  That woman lived for eight (exemplary) years in that house.  It was her lawn.  

On FFOTUS's birthday, he defiled it.  

If your neighbor's animal crapped on your lawn, you'd do something about it, right?  As Nicole Wallace pointed out, none of the corporate sponsors whose banners decorated the arena have spoken out about the outrageous behavior.  I searched and found that I don't patronize most of them - Ram trucks, Budweiser, Monster Energy (there were others).  But there was one place I thought I could make a difference - Scotts Miracle Gro.

I have a conflicted relationship with them.  I usually buy untreated (but excellent) soil and add my own amendments.  Especially for the school garden, it's the most cost effective way to grow.  I don't have grass, but Scotts line of grass related products is extensive and profitable.  

Their advertising is ubiquitous, featuring responsible, middle class, home owning family men, none of whom are shown shirtless.  I get the trucks and the beer and the energy drinks.  I don't get Scotts Miracle Gro, not one little bit. 

That this obscenity occurred on a lawn makes their lack of response even more egregious.  

I went to the computer, found the website, looked high low, clicked on all the links I thought would be relevant, and finally found  Send us an email.   Obediently, I clicked.  And, after several failed attempts to load the page, this is what I found:

            So sorry.
We're currently updating this site.

It won't take long, so check back soon.

We apologize for any inconvenience.

- The Scotts Company

There's a phone number I can call in the morning.  There's a land address to which I can send a (soon to be more expensive) letter or postcard.  Those are at the end of the post if you want them.  They offered a chat option, but this is what I got when I typed how can i comment in the little box:

Agent said  Could you tell me a bit more about what you'd like to comment on? Are you looking to leave feedback about a product, an article, your order, or something else? Let me know so I can guide you!

You said  corporate response to ufc fight

Agent said I’m sorry, I can’t help with that request.       

They really don't want to hear from me.     

But I needed to write about the cowardice of executives who do nothing when their advertising is used to promote the most vile of insults.  There's no walking this back.  Target lost $12 billion when they abandoned DEI. This fool insulted the most admired woman in America in front of the people's house and got paid to do so. 

Some of the money that went through FFOTUS's crypto company on its way to rewarding the slimiest (expression of freedom of) speech imaginable originated in The Scotts Company's coffers.  If they deplore such behavior they should say so.  

Actually, they should have said so already.  

Their silence speaks volumes.  I'm no longer conflicted.  I hate them.

And yes, I promised to post the address and phone number but I've just spent five fruitless minutes searching for them, all to no avail.  Have I mentioned that I deplore them?

I Found The Joy

The World Cup was barely on my radar.  

Then it started. 

Suddenly I'm cheering for Uruguay and searching for the exact location of Cape Verde (which is now Cabo Verde and has always been about 350 miles off the coast of Guinea Bissau).  

I can type during hydration breaks and half times.  Otherwise, I'm mesmerized.

Almost like I was mesmerized on Friday night, watching the scaffolding, and the rain, and the workers outside The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.  

But that's a post for another day. The Iranians and the Kiwis are about to go at it again.  

Gotta go.

I Got It Back

Big Cuter learned about MJ in preschool.  He was a devoted fan until Jordan's last (championship) game with the Bulls in 1998.  His loyalty never transferred to the team.

We were living in Marin by then, and the 1990's Warriors were uninspiring, to say the least.  The 49'ers, on the other hand, were the winningest NFL team of the decade, and his fandom stretched to cover every aspect of his life except, perhaps, his underwear.  

He moved to the East Coast and took his 9'ers gear with him.  He was a regular at the neighborhood sports bar which showed their games.  He dragged us to one here in Tucson in what he said was a crucial situation.  Sunday game times were sacrosanct; call only if you wanted to talk football. 

We knew that Queen T was the one when he shared a photo of them hiking while his team was on tv.  Granted, they weren't playing that well and being disappointed had dampened his affections just a bit, but still.... these were his 49'ers.

I envied him his devotion.  I didn't think I had it.  I came to the Cubbies in my twenties and I love them still.  That's felt like my longest connection until this past week.  Once I heard the organ in the Garden I was transported back to my childhood on Long Island, when tickets for the family didn't call for a second mortgage, when Daddooooo or Uncle Abby chaperoned one or two of us into the city to see The Knicks. 

They were very good and then they were very bad and I had the Bulls and glommed onto Big Cuter's Warrior's obsession once they moved across the bay and I didn't miss the Kncks at all. Or so I thought.

I've spent the past ten days feeling every bit the New Yorker I am at heart.  Taos Bubbe and I text about it frequently, as does Sister.  OG Anunoby's Indiana University heritage creates a double whammy of affection, as proud alum Little Cuter delights in reminding me.  Big Cuter calls cheering for the Spurs and my New York snark joyfully fills the air.  

I am seriously thinking about investing in a championship t-shirt.  Turns out I do have a childhood sports connection.  It ust took 53 years to reappear.

I Understand It Now

He did it often.  It was commonplace.  Others of his species appreciated it and were willing to join in his enjoyment.  More than once.  It amazed me that he could find something new to see or feel.

There were times I could identify what was on the screen before entering the room.  Not always from the announcers' voices, but from TBG's moans, groans, and cheers of delight.  Watching and re-watching and re-re-re-re-watching certain sporting events made him inordinately happy.  

I didn't really understand it until now.  But I spent the better part of last night watching and re-watching the Knicks come from behind, erase a 29 point deficit, and triumph with 30 seconds of exceptional basketball to end the game.  It made me inordinately happy.

This morning I watched rabid Knicks fan Stephen A Smith tear up recounting his experience on his couch with his kids.  I never watch him willingly; today I awaited him anxiously.  Michael Wilbon called it the most epic collapse he'd ever seen in a championship series, and I enjoyed ever schadenfreud laden moment.  

I watched those last 30 seconds again and again and again all day long.  TBG tried to find something else to watch and I whined until he relented.  The last time I could name more than one player on the Knicks was 1970.  Listening to Let's Go Knicks chanted with the MSG organ's encouragement brought the fervor of those days right back.  

Sister texted me her memories, including specific point totals and players' actions.  She'll happily engage in a Was Game 5 or Game 6 more impressive conversation at the drop of a hat.  She doesn't recognize this new game, calling it football with jumping.  I suppose that's why she gave up and slept through the second half, a fact I plan to use when she goes on too long about her long ago devotion to the team.

And now it's time to watch the hockey finals.  I can't believe I'm watching and enjoying hockey.  As my life continues to expand in unexpected ways,  it's nice to find one that one of those ways amuses me.

 

And Now It's Wednesday

And that sports post is still awaiting ... lurking... hiding in the shadows of my draft folder and seemingly unable to escape.  There's another game tonight and another game tomorrow night (basketball then hockey... yes, hockey) so it will still be relevant if I ever finish writing it.

But it's hard to focus on The Burrow when I'm just feeling sad and overwhelmed and angry at the world.

FFOTUS doesn't think Stephen A Smith has the brainpower to be President.  Rolling Stone attibutes this to racism.  I think it's a doddering old man's go to response when he has no idea what he's talking about.  Whether the Orange Menace's presence at the 3rd game of the NBA Finals caused the Knicks to lose is debatable.  The fact that he fell asleep during the game is just unacceptable.

TBG's medical regime creates unbelievable tiredness and dizziness. This gets in the way of most everything he (or I or we) want to do.  Part of the reason my posting has been sporadic is because nothing is happening.  I don't like leaving him alone; falling is not part of the future I have planned.

It's triple digits and getting hotter here in Tucson.  It was too hot to plant seeds at 9am.  I tried to see The Kiss again last night (Venus and Jupiter touching in the sky.... not really, since they're zillions of miles apart, but to us here on earth it's pretty spectacular) but there were clouds in the early evening when they would have been visible.  My zip code is not being kind to me.

I'll try to recover my good humor and my sanity and anything else I'm missing so that I can be back on a regular schedule once again.  Thanks for your patience as my brain sorts out this new reality.  It's really no fun at all.

Monday, Monday

Are you with me here? The next lyric describes it all - can't trust that day. 

I slept until 9:30. I did the puzzles,  and the 30 minutes of doomscrolling i allow myself each morning, and there were house chores and laundry and a drug store run and suddenly it was 2pm and I had yet to swim (self care for today: 45 minutes in the pool and garden) orshower before TBG's appointment. 

Somewhere in there i was supposed to put the finishing touches on today's post.  That will now appear tomorrow. 

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

 Explicatory Bloviating

The Big Cuter thinks I should divulge more of myself because, in this medium ("New Media, Gasp" said Princess Myrtle one day) bloviating is encouraged. The Little Cuter is my first follower. It's nice to be loved and supported and mentored by those you've loved and supported and mentored yourself. Maybe that's what G'ma means when she thanks me these days.

Ashleigh Burroughs has been with me since college, when I realized that I was never going to write the great American novel but that, perhaps, Ashleigh would. It's good to have dreams and it's awful when your dreams make your reality seem paltry in comparison - especially when your reality is a good one. Giving Ashleigh her own persona cured that problem lickety-split. Like her namesake from Gone With the Wind, her intentions are stronger than her actions. But that's ok. She's been waiting for just this occasion to shine.

The Edgar Rice Burroughs Martian series kept The Big Guy sane during boring summer jobs in his youth. He read them aloud on Carribbean beaches and at Floridian pool-sides and they prompted a 7 year old reluctant reader to become a literary junkie. Inspiring, exciting, provocative -- I'd be glad if the Burrow meets that standard.

When I really really really like a book I'll try to make it last by rationing the chapters I allow myself to read in one sitting. Herman Wouk's The Winds of Wargot me through my first lonely weeks in graduate school that way. The Hobbitkept me company on a cloudy week near Disney World, and Sam Gamgee and Bilbo Baggins (also great names) have been by my side ever since.  Bilbo loved his burrow home, and never wanted an adventure, and fit right in with the community and his friends and went out and DID SOMETHING SPECIAL anyway. Home should be like that, I think - keep you cozy and toss you right out.

Ashleigh Burroughs is a great writer's name. A burrow is a great place to live and to leave. Living up to the name and enjoying the adventure - that's the challenge. Welcome to Ashleigh Burroughs in the Burrow.