The Burrow

It's 109 degrees outside and it's 7:25pm. My brain is as fried as my flesh. I love the heat and the sun and the smells of Tucson's summer, but usually the monsoon rains cool things off in the afternoon. We're in a dry spell right now, though, due to issues with high pressure systems over Mexico. Or New Mexico. It was already scorching hot when I read the paper this morning and as I said, my brain is fried. So, random thoughts today: If I were stuck on a desert island with only one artist/group's music I decided it would be Paul Simon. ************** Some people should not be allowed to drive - the ability to see over the top of the steering wheel should be mandatory. Of course, here in Arizona your driver's license is renewed when you turn 65. Til then, you're good to go. As my Boston First Cousin warned me upon hearing of our move to Arizona : Be careful of the tarantulas, the scorpions, the javalinas and the elderly. ******************* Why does a ...

Personal responsibility is an issue near and dear to my heart. Hearing President Obama urge Americans to take charge of their health made me smile; it was so parental and so true. " No, you'll spoil your appetite" No, you can't have THAT for dinner" "Yes, carrots are a healthy snack" "Didn't the doctor explain that ice cream gives you a tummy ache because you're allergic to milk?" Parenting thrusts ordinary humans into the roles of nutritionist and pharmacist and ER nurse, and does it all without training or support. Sure, you can look on WebMD (what I would've given for that when the Little Cuter's 2 month old body was covered with the world's most awful rash!) and read the labels and use your brain, but most of it comes from experience. And if your experience has been watching your parents shove Big Macs into their faces while driving 2 blocks to the grocery store for chips and soda then that's what you're go...

40th high school reunion is coming up - do I type My or Our or My class's ? They are 3 very different things, and it is all very confusing. I'm going to skip over the whole "where did the time go?" and "how did I/we get so old?" stuff and get right to the nitty gritty - what will I wear? Actually, that's the easy part of the whole thing. It's the people part that's weirding me out. TBG is sending me off to The Big Apple alone, and I'm just as glad. We met years after high school was over ( so over ) and he's not a piece of that action. My date is My True Friend (MTF) and we've run out of ways to say that we can hardly wait. Her aunt's apartment or the hotel I found - it doesn't matter. Staying 3 days or 4 days or maybe even 5 is sounding better and better as the date draws nigh. Ours was an accomplished class (... and all the children are above average ..... ) and there are one or two really famous people who'll be a...

I am many things to many people. Mom. Friend. Hiking Buddy. Babysitter. Weighlifting Partner. Wife. Recently, though, I seem to have added another title - Reliable Informant. There were inklings of my new status while I lived in Marin. Around election time, people would begin to ask me " Who should I vote for?" Not "For whom are you voting?" Nope, they were asking me for the name they'd put on their ballot. We've all done it. Does your neighbor work in the courthouse? I bet you've asked her for recommendations on judges and district attorneys before you made your decision. I looked at my questioners in the same light. They knew I attended School Board meetings even before I was elected to serve. Closeness to the operation in question seems to be the go-to point when information can't be found elsewhere, I guess. And so often, especially on small local boards, the ability to get along with one another is the difference between success and or dissensi...

I've had it. As G'ma would say, "It's enough already". The whining has to stop. Yes, times are tough for new graduates. Yes, only 20% of those who applied for jobs this year will be working after their commencement exercises are safely enshrined on Facebook , if my alumni magazine is to be believed. Yes, we're in a recession and society is in a mess and Americans are dying in wars on foreign soil and gee whiz it sounds a lot like when I was a new college graduate in 1973. And when I finished grad school in 1975. Prospects were dim, and there were a lot of us looking into them. The Peace Corps would've been an option were I not committed to a man who hated to travel. Besides, making money was, all of a sudden, not such an unpalatable objective. Not lots and lots of money necessarily (though that turned out to be pretty nice, too) but enough money to pay the bills with some left over to save and some to spend. The American Dream. And it felt just out of re...

(This is Friday's post. Blogspot is having issues with the scheduling feature.....) There's a lot of moving going on in my family this month The Little Cuter and SIR have commingled their possessions in an apartment which, according to her brother, "is perfect in any and every way that an apartment can be measured". Their move was easy for me; I made them new return address labels and sent them a gift card for Target and I was done. SIR's parents and friends provided the manual labor, and the kids paid for the whole thing themselves. It was a first for me, not helping her move in, and I will tell you that cheering from the sidelines is much kinder on the manicure than moving the boxes myself. I will admit to a bit of jealousy while I thought about SIR's mother helping to set it all up, but I got over it pretty fast. The Big Cuter is transporting himself from the right coast to the left as I type this. His currrent status is "retired" and he's r...

I'm smitten. TBG is, too. We have a special little place in our hearts just for him. It's both a parental pride and a communal pride. We proud of him and we're proud of America and it's really nice to have our default position be something other than cynicism. And we're not embarrassed nor are we hiding it. The Schnozz still has my first and only automotive political bumper sticker firmly affixed to its rear bumper. It's fading in the Arizona sunlight, but the red white and blue is still there. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm wearing my (possibly the most comfortable in the entire world) Obama t-shirt as I type. All this is prelude to my rant on his press conference tonight. I can't get away from it - there is no way on God's green earth that President Bush could have/would have/had/has the intellectual chops to do what President Obama did tonight. He's not afraid to stop and listen and while his answers may be long, they are never...

{ *'s are defined at the end of the post for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about} ******************************* I haven't been in a "fastest growing" sector of a demographic in a long, long time. Now, however, I am apparently quite trendy. According to Inside Facebook , women over 55 are the fastest growing sector of the Facebook " audience" . Initially, Facebook was as foreign to me as Twitter is today. The Big Cuter was amongst the first to join, back when you needed a college email account to belong. The Little Cuter borrowed my .edu address and she, too, by her senior year in high school, was publishing information about herself on-line. TBG and I didn't do a very thorough job monitoring the content; we spent more time worrying about her social life in the real world than we did with her on-line activities. Facebook seemed "classier" than MySpace, and the problems with MySpace had not reached the criti...

The Little Cuter is very wise, sometimes. "Don't go to sleep with an open issue" and "It's better to deal with it than to worry about it" were hard won lessons she's taken to heart. When she sends them my way, I know I should listen. With the Little Cuter's advice firmly affixed to my shoulder, I told the girls that G'ma will be moving in 2 weeks. They were gracious and loving and we agreed on references and help in finding new employment and promises to visit and stay in touch. After a while, I got a little choked up. G'ma was there in a heartbeat - "It'll be fine. Whatever it is, it will be fine." Once my mommy, always my mommy, I guess. So, I reminded her that she'd be moving to her corner suite in the pod-castle and that I was worried about the decision. How sad was she that she was leaving the rest of her dining room furniture behind? "Really, honey, what's in there? Family pictures come for the walls...

Does anybody really know what time it is? That is not only a lyric from an old rock and roll song that I never much liked, anyway, but it is, apparently, a valid scientific question. At least the Science Channel thought enough of the question to film a really cute Brit flying around the world with his camera crew and his accent that was made to be imitated and his search for time. I wish I had seen this when my younger brother was in high school. Frugal with his time as well as his money, he saw no reason to be in the building before his first period class. Homeroom, he felt, was optional. The attendance lady saw things in a different light, and their on-going tussles are the stuff of legend. " Mrs. Lemon, the hairdryer wouldn't work and it's humid outside and you know how Little Sister gets when her hair's not right so I couldn't leave until I'd fixed it." She'd sigh, and hand him his Late Card. He'd dutifully fill in the next empty line with his...

I've written about this before, and I'm sure I will be writing about it again. Today I selected an apartment for G'ma. She wasn't with me, though she did see it yesterday. I decided when she'll be leaving her current space and "transitioning" (apparently, the elderly do not "move", they "transition") to her pod-castle. I didn't ask her if she wanted to rush right into it or wait a month or so. I looked at my calendar and I picked a date. She'll have to give up some of her furniture (as she shrinks so does her living space, it seems) and though I'm sympathetic to her feelings of loss, I've also given her no choice in the matter. It is what it is. Because I say so. And I'm uncomfortable with the power. That's an unusual state of affairs for me. The gavel was one of my favorite parts of being President of the School Board. I know that the world would be a better place if I were in charge. I never played d...

I'm on terminal hold. "Your wait for the next available representative will be at least 15 minutes", the computer voice told me. I suppose I shouldn't have gotten so exited when the receptionist took my call after only 4 minutes on hold; I'd waited 17 minutes for her earlier this morning. Now, if the girl telling me that she appreciates my business and that I should hold for the next available representative would just stop annoying me, I could get on with my posting without interruptions. But, not, not only do I have inoffensive guitars setting my teeth on edge as I wait, but just as I start to get going on this post I hear her voice and, for an instant, I start to smile and think I'll actually be talking to a human. Then I have to listen to her repeat her 3 sentences. And I am distracted. If this post reads less fluidly than most, blame being on hold. I used to get to my office 2 hours before my official start time, just to get my work done. Being a...

G'ma's moving. Living in her apartment in the Old Folks Home hasn't turned out to be as independent an experience as we'd hoped it would have been. She fell the first night she was in Arizona, and her first six months here were a nightmare of drugs and falls and rehab and surgeries and hospitalizations and home care. Even with a Life-Alert button around her neck and directions to and from the dining room taped to her walker, being alone didn't feel safe. Not to either of us. After several missteps, we found the perfect solution in 3 Mexican sisters who've adopted her as their own. Birthday parties, bbq's, movies, trips to the mall - G'ma was included in all of it. Their children loved having another grandmother with whom to share their treasures and their ouchies, and G'ma loved the attention. If only it didn't come at such a high price. You don't want to under-pay your caregiver, whether a babysitter or someone looking after your moth...

Chicago is........ the very best city in America. And it's just getting better and better. The University of Chicago paid me with scholarships and fellowships to get my social work degree and so G'ma and I took off in Annabelle, my 1967 aqua Chevy Impala, for the mid-west. We drove through Ohio and Indiana and marvelled at the flat expanses of farmland and the friendliness of the inhabitants. We couldn't find the University and were appalled when the police officer told us we were right in the middle of it. I couldn't possibly live there --- it was just too scary. Dark, foreboding buildings and gangs of ruffians on the street corners were quite a change from Ithaca and the waterfall at the end of my block. I'd never locked a door in 4 years of college; now I was looking at 2 sets of security locks before I reached the elevator. We found me a studio at 53rd and Dorchester, a quick bike ride from my classes, and I protected myself with a whistle in my hand and...

I was surrounded by love last week. It came in different packages and sizes and sometimes felt like more than I could bear, but it was all love. And it was all good. Midway Airport loved me. It must have, to be so worried about my health and hygiene. What other reason could there be for their announcements - every 5 minutes - reminding me to keep myself safe by washing my hands and covering my mouth when I sneezed or coughed. I decided not to be aggravated by the mind-numbing repetitiveness of it all and to take it as a sign that they cared. A lot. Often. Loudly. But, they cared. Old friends loved me - they drove me to and from the airport without my having to ask. Volunteering to wait in the cell phone lot, to battle rush hour traffic, to interrupt their daily activities so that I didn't have to take a cab or public transit were nothing compared to the fact that they fed me, too. I'm not pleasant when I'm hungry and they knew that and took care of me, because they cared. L...

I'm a wash and wear kind of girl. My "out the door" time can be 10 minutes from "when do you want to leave?" until I'm in the car with my seat belt buckled. I have cleansing products but no make-up in my vanity drawers. My favorite dress is a $9.99 special from Old Navy; I wore it to the Cuters' high school and college graduations, and it was an old dress even then. I mention this because the Little Cuter and I are attending a wedding shower on Wednesday. Pink invitations, party favors, fancy clothes --- a real girly-girl experience. If they'd let me wear jeans and my cowboy boots........... I didn't have any showers when TBG and I became engaged. It was 1975, and people weren't getting married, let alone having showers. Nannie and G'ma were peeved that I wouldn't let them plan showers. They'd attended so many - they felt like they deserved some shower gifts, even if I were the one opening them. But I was living far from...

He asked about "old books" today, and it got me thinking about books and the Cuters. I remember every detail of the Florida vacation that turned him on to reading; I was not that interested in descriptions of sword fights printed in 6pt type. But he was, and TBG was gone and what was a boy to do? So he read. And he read. And he read. When his high school friends marveled at his ability to finish in 1 hour what took them an entire night, his response was classic Big Cuter : " It's just like lacrosse, guys. If you practise, you get better at it." It was obvious to him, if not to them. And he loved the stories. Loved reading them and telling them and reading them again. And old books only get to be old books if the stories are good ones. The Little Cuter fed her obsessions with books. Gymnastics books. Dog books. Horse books. She was the go-to person in the family for any questions appertaining thereto. The first chapter book I remember her reading is The Pink Mo...

There's a bunny in my courtyard. He's nibbling the leaves of the moorea lily. He's kind of scruffy looking; his ears have notches in them. Has someone been nibbling on them? The monsoon has arrived. We don't say "monsoon season" because it's redundant - the monsoon is the season in which most of our rain falls. The monsoon start date is determined when the average daily dewpoint is 54 degrees or greater, according to NOAA. That is, it was up until 2008 when The National Weather Service decided that it would start, every year, despite the weather or the rainfall or the dewpoint, on June 15th. These people must be related to the fools who decided that George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were both born on the 3rd Monday in February, thus depriving generations of school children the pleasure of having two 4-day weeks happening two weeks apart. A bobcat just strolled by. Happily, he was outside the gate to the courtyard. Anyhow, back to the monsoon. ...