The Burrow

This is the week I throw out my old spices. I'm not a good enough cook to use anything but the freshest ingredients; I need all the help I can get. This is also the week that I move the "wear me or toss me in here" bag into my closet. White shirts with ring-around-the-collar are always the first inhabitants. As soon as I put away the last of the holiday decorations I'll give the potting shed its annual cleansing. January may be long and dark and c-c-c-cold in the mornings but it's time for my Boris Badenov imitation -- out with the bad..... in with the good. I made my first serious New Year's Resolution in graduate school in 1974. In truth, it was more of an assignment that I transformed into a resolution. Behaviorism - think B. F. Skinner rewarding pigeons for appropriate pecking - was all the rage and we were a class of skeptics until the professor had us create a personal program to change one of our own unwanted behaviors. I will not bite my nai...

Spoiler Alert: You might not want to read this if you plan to see the movie. Details will, no doubt, be revealed. Mariah Carey plays me at 25. That's only one of the wonderful surprises in Precious . The Little Cuter took herself on a date to see it earlier this month, and she was on the phone to me that night encouraging me to take myself, too. ( "Do not bring Dad.... it is so not his kind of movie." ) So, today, feeling bereft, I took her advice. TBG didn't want to sit in the dark, anyway, so there wasn't even any guilt at leaving him to fend for himself on this first Cuter-less day. I went in smiling. That lasted about 3 minutes. Awful doesn't come close to the life lived in that 3 room duplex, and Alfred Hitchcock could take lessons about what happens at the top of these stairs. Every time I though it couldn't get worse, it did. It wasn't over-the-top horrible, it was believable and wretched and it felt true. That was how it got unde...

There's an emptiness in the old homestead this evening. The Little Cuter landed safely at O'Hare this afternoon, and the Big Cuter is packing as I type. His plane leaves first thing in the morning, and I am already feeling bereft. I was never one of those mothers who longed for the first day of school. The house echoed with the sounds of my footsteps .... and nothing else. No teasing, no poking, no whining, no screeching - all the sounds of kids who knew exactly how far they could go and who went there with glee. I could skip lunch and no one was the wiser.... or the hungrier. Groceries went into the cart without discussion. Errands were silent endeavors, devoid of explanations and side-trips to the toy store next door. I was efficient, but I was lonely. I missed the unscheduled chaos of summertime. Don't get me wrong - I love the fact that the kids have their own lives separate and apart from their parents'. I'm just wishing that those lives were lived in...

Our neighbors had a few tons of cacti delivered last week. This is not as simple a task as it might appear. There's really no equipment designed for the job. The men charged with the task created a platform lined with packing materials which they attached to an hydraulic lift on their flatbed. The cactus was secured to the platform with rug remnants, duct tape and the occasional bungee cord. Despite their height, saguaros have a shallow root system. Wrapped lightly in burlap, the tendrils were protected during the 10 mile trek from their old home to the pre-dug holes next door. I'm always impressed by designers who can place a plant before it arrives on the scene. It's a skill I lack. Digging the holes before the plant material arrives makes the installation a simple matter: aim the back of the truck in the general direction of its final destination and tilt. With 5 strong men supporting its weight (upwards of 1000 pounds for the really big ones) the crew leader re...

I give you, today, my all-time favorite Xmas carol, courtesy of Walt Kelly and Pogo. Sing loudly and lustily to the tune of Deck the Halls..... Deck us all with Boston Charlie, Walla Walla, Wash., an' Kalamazoo! Nora's freezin' on the trolley, Swaller dollar cauliflower alley-garoo! Don't we know archaic barrel Lullaby Lilla Boy, Louisville Lou? Trolley Molly don't love Harold, Boola boola Pensacoola hullabaloo! Bark us all bow-wows of folly, Polly wolly cracker 'n' too-da-loo! Donkey Bonny brays a carol, Antelope Cantaloupe, 'lope with you! Hunky Dory's pop is lolly gaggin' on the wagon, Willy, folly go through! Chollie's collie barks at Barrow, Harum scarum five alarm bung-a-loo! Dunk us all in bowls of barley, Hinky dinky dink an' polly voo! Chilly Filly's name is Chollie, Chollie Filly's jolly chilly view halloo! Bark us all bow-wows of folly, Double-bubble, toyland trouble! Woof, woof, woo...

We were sitting on the steps in the main hallway of Annie's Washington abode, watching the 2 little girls play in their fantasy land, when he asked the question. Not "How does the seed get into the egg, Mom?" Nope, that one was just before the Fullerton exit on Lake Shore Drive in a raging snowstorm on barely plowed roads when we were already 15 minutes late and traffic wasn't moving. Peacefully watching the girls, the sunshine through the magnificent beveled windows making rainbows we were, I thought, busily counting, out of his 7 year old mouth came " Santa's not really real, is he, Mom?" He noted my pause, and, ever the Big Cuter, his face took a serious cast as he reassured me: "Don't worry. I won't tell her. She really believes he's real." What followed was a precise analysis, continent by continent, time zone by time zone, of the why-nots of Santa's voyage. He was quietly demolishing every possible rational explanation ...

The holidays have definitely gotten to me. I tripped over a grocery cart (don't ask.... please, don't ask....) and bruised my shin. Worse than that, I yelped aloud in the parking lot and attracted a few helpful by-standers. Pain and embarrassment..... wonderful. I drove past the post office twice without remembering to mail the last box of brownies. I forgot to have lunch. It was 3pm before I thought to bring in the morning papers. So, when I tell you that yesterday's post was written well in advance but scheduled for 7:02pm (when I began to write it) instead of 6:00am and that is why you were Burrow-less Tuesday morning, dear readers, you have to believe that it is true. The holidays have definitely gotten to me. I've run out of scotch tape in the dispenser and I can't remember where I've stashed the extra rolls. I bought 2 sheets of forever stamps and they have vanished, as well. And TBG just reminded me that I have a meeting tonight at 7pm. WHO sched...

I am not going to be a crabby old lady, complaining in the line waiting to pay for my goods. I am not. I promise. I'm going to put my mind to it and squelch the urge to bitch and moan and wonder aloud why, on the Monday before Christmas, Best Buy decided that they only needed to staff 6 of their 13 registers. The Big Cuter pointed out that being right doesn't always mean that you get to be right out loud. After all, the kid who was in charge of the line certainly wasn't the one in charge of staffing patterns. But the experience made me consider the nature of the modern shopping experience. Accustomed as I am to instant access to customer service (live-chat on the shopping sites is my favorite e-tail feature of the last few years) and a ten click sequence from shopping cart to shipping, even one person ahead of me in a line tends to make me antsy. Un-staffed registers drive me to distraction. Oops, used to drive me to distraction. We were in the store to investigate...

One year ago, G'ma was in the rehabilitation hospital trying not to melt into the bed. Friday night she was in the middle of the Happy Ladies Club cocktail party in my living room. If I'm going to beat myself up when she rolls off the couch , I'm going to have to remember to revel in the times she's up and out and having fun. G'ma's a member of the Club, and we've been to luncheons and, of course, she's the cheerleader when we bowl. Not that she remembers any of this, but the women who've been there with us all recognize her limitations and they've learned to create conversations in which she can participate. The bowling ladies all spent time yakking with her and my hiking buddies each made a special effort to wonder why she didn't hike with us...... which led to G'ma demonstrating her exercise routine (bending and unbending her index finger) and laughing. Laughing is good. Those who didn't know her were respectful of her shor...

The Big Cuter is sitting on Douglas (our couch, for those who've forgotten) with his hands clasped behind his head and his sweatpants down and his t-shirt up just enough for his belly to peek out and beg me to rub it.... only he's a grown man and not my 3 month old bundle of protoplasm so I stifle the urge to rub and instead I type to you. I remember coming home from college and embracing the sounds and the smells and the routine rhythms of the life I'd left (happily) behind but which still cosseted me as I walked in the front door. There was hostility and uncertainty and lots and lots of yelling or quiet steaming but it was home and it felt right. Not necessarily wonderful but right nonetheless. And tonight I look over and see my husband and my son in the exact same position on the couch, yelling at the exact same time as the Colt's run the length of the field for a touchdown, wearing the same outfit and examining each corn chip in exactly the same manner. And it...

This beastie has been living on the courtyard's south column for the past week. (yes, I live in a house with columns..... it's also stucco..... two attributes with which I never imagined I'd live. And yet they work here. Kinda. But TBG loves them and I love him so they make me happy, too.) Anyhow, I took these pictures over several days, at different times and, amazingly for Tucson, in different kinds of weather. Yes, we had weather in Tucson. When you live with 350 days of sunshine every year, 50 and cloudy counts as weather. And it rained this week and that's really weather . I've been through the courtyard a lot this week, meeting the UPS guys running to and fro, faster than my brownie offering fingers could greet them and signing for the FedEx lady who really loves the brownies. And no matter what time I went out there this green beastie was on the column, at my eye level, letting me get within inches of himself.... herself??? Doesn't he look l...

I'm having a very nice day. The sun is out, the sky is blue, and the temperature is clement enough that G'ma is comfy in just her sweatsuit. Old ladies in sweatsuits is my favorite sartorial statement of the last quarter century. It's such an obvious solution to a universal problem - old people are cold all the time and many don't have the manual dexterity to make buttons and zippers useful appurtenances. The home economist in me loves them. But, back to my nice day. The Little Cuter sent me several heart-warming emails, most of them dealing with how much she loves this season and how she channels me while making a gigantic mess creating her latkes. She's gushing over the fabulous gift tags she found this season, and I know just exactly what she means when she tells me that she crumbles with joy as she attaches them to her presents. She's my girl, and I love her. The Big Cuter woke up early to be functional for his last exam of his first semester of law schoo...

I hiked in the rain today. Here in the desert we cherish days like this. This year was particularly dry. 6.06" may not seem like very many inches for normal rainfall to date , but since our actual rainfall to date has been a mere 2.86 " you can see why Paul Newman bi-cycling Katherine Ross on his handlebars while singing about raindrops falling on his head is not as ridiculous as it might seem. The rain felt wonderful. We all had appropriate attire, some more absurd than others. Our fearless leader was ensconced in the world's droopiest maroon poncho after her jacket's water-proofing-spray-on-goo had repelled its last raindrop .... we watched, fascinated, as the water was sucked into the fabric at an alarming rate. And we smiled. Especially as she picked up her frock/tunic/toga/sailcloth to trip lightly over the very very rocky but totally walkable trail. It really wasn't her fault that we missed the trail head she'd intended to take and it didn't r...

the Burrow is featured on the Where Elders Blog page of the blog Time Goes By. Click and see where I sit as we talk . Time Goes By is a lovely place to linger. The Little Cuter tells me of days spent falling down the blogosphere-rabbit-hole as she wends her way back through the archives of her favorite blogs. Usually, I'd rather spend my time curled up with a book than scrunched over the monitor's screen, but Time Goes By made me feel like I was spending a pleasant hour or so with friends. Smart friends. Talented friends. Distinguished and awarded friends. Friends who are talking about things I think about and write about and who bring a nuanced and intelligent and provocative perspective to the conversation. They are smart people ... and not just because they are old. Had I the internet and blogging when the Big Cuter was an infant, those long lonely boring nights which began when he woke up to play at 11pm would have been much different. Before the advent...

I'm in mid-brownie baking mode and my brain is fried. Every moment is consumed with melting and mixing and cutting and bagging and boxing and labeling then driving to the post office where I am a whiz at the very cool APC (Automated Postal Center) and then coming home and starting all over again. Coherent thoughts are few and far between. ******** The fact that I know the name of the self-serve machine in the lobby of the post office gives you some idea of how I've been spending my time lately. ************** My mind is filled with conversations. It's reminding me of putting books onto library shelves in a new house. The characters are adjusting to their new neighbors and I'm talking to the recipients and yes it's all a bit .... can I actually be thinking of using this word???..... surreal but is it possible that you might know what I mean? I'm choosing cards carefully and my box of bubble-wrap-on-a-roll is my new best friend and I'm grinning from ea...

Helicopter Parent. Rocky was describing herself that way last night as she worried about her senior in college with a 3.8 GPA and no job prospects. She knows she's powerless. She knows it's his issue. She knows he's a grown-up and he has to take responsibility for his own future. She knows all this and yet she's panic stricken because his life is unsettled and insecure. She needs to fix it and she knows that she shouldn't and, worse than that, she knows that she can't. These thoughts co-exist uneasily. Princess Myrtle is headed to Yemen for a month, after promising the only parent she was brave enough to tell that she wouldn't leave the capital city. Apparently, working during the day and taking Arabic at night while living in an apartment in Cairo wasn't enough of an immersion program. I've asked her to let me worry. MTF's daughter's plan to visit 50 states and 50 countries by the time she's 50 has taken her to hotels where you ...

It started innocently enough. HDK & Zanner and TBG & I were celebrating our first holiday season as working adults and we gave them a pan of my brownies and they gave us fire place tools. You know what I'm talking about..... the big brass stand and the little broom and dust pan and the oversized tongs and the pokey thing that's the only piece you ever really use anyway so why are the rest of them there???? Well, dear reader, I was abashed. Obviously, there was a mysterious Christmas gift giving code to which I was not privy. TBG was able to laugh it off and I liked the fire place tools a lot so I didn't make too much of a fuss but you can be damn sure that the next year I took Zanner shopping with me for their gift. But that was because she kept score by dollars spent. In their divorce, there was only one point on which both they and the judge agreed --- neither of them had a very healthy attitude toward money. I was used to TBG's family Christmases, whi...

Watch Monday Night Football with me, will you? I'm trying to muster up some interest in Aaron Rogers and his amazing season and the faux-Browns (aka the Ravens) but I only vaguely remember the running back from that Rutgers team we liked a few years ago and the fact that he's Ray Rice on the Ravens doesn't make that much difference to me. I just recognized Michael Ohr, #74 on the white team (the home team, the Baltimore Ravens) and I smiled. The Michael Lewis book was wonderful and once TBG recovers from the cold from hell we'll trek to the multi-plex to see the movie. I wonder if his teammates are on him about being the subject of the number one movie in the country, if Mike Tirico can be believed. I like the font the Ravens use on their uniforms. The Big Cuter says that such comments should be treated with 50,000 volts of electricity through a shock collar. I'm impervious to his scorn. If I'm going to sit on the couch for hours at a time I will pay atten...

Sometimes you're in the presence of greatness. You know it going in and you're not disappointed during the performance. There's a general sense of smile in the audience and everyone is in his seat or has established position on the floor in front of the stage well before the lights go down. The intermission is a buzz of cheery wonder, and no one is complaining about the long line for the women's room or the price of the cold drinks in the lobby. We're all just happy to be there. I've felt it at Grateful Dead concerts and hearing Colin Powell speak and it happened again last night. TBG and I went to The Music Hall to hear the Tucson Symphony Orchestra play Beethoven's Fifth before intermission and after perform Dvorzak's Concerto in B Minor for Violoncello and Orchestra, Op.104 ..... with Yo Yo Ma as the soloist. Yes, Yo Yo Ma was in Tucson. Every time I begin to worry that I'm buried alive here in the desert something wonderful like this happen...

The Little Cuter is my lifeline when it comes to popular culture. I try to keep up, but without regular visits to the beauty salon my exposure to People or Us! or the E! Network is nil. Tucson's not exactly a hot bed of celebrity sightings - there are not a lot of paparazzi in the spas. Unless it's on ESPN or CNBC I'm pretty much clueless. So, when Shaunna waxed eloquently about Adam Lambert's performance at the American Music Awards and the feeding frenzy which followed, I was hearing of it for the first time. TBG and I had watched the occasional season of American Idol, but we'd skipped this last one. We always agreed with Simon, we thought Randy knew what he was talking about and the girls were just too annoying to watch any more. (Yes, girls ..... 'cause that's what they were acting like.... and it's something we ought to outgrow by the time we're nearer to 50 than 15). Shaunna writes well - since I agree with her most all the time sh...

I've been thinking about it all day. I haven't listened to the radio or political talking heads and the sports guys are all caught up in Tiger's privacy statement so I've gotten no input from that angle, either. The local paper is filled with the usual crime and mayhem and good deeds being done around town and the Wall Street Journal didn't offer much more than a recap of the speech itself. These thoughts, therefore, are totally my own. I love listening to President Obama speak. He is the very best of teachers and explainers and convincers. He looks me right in the eye and tells me that he refuses to believe that we can't recapture that feeling of all being in it together that we had after 9/11 and suddenly I want to go out and hang the flag as I did all through September and October and November of 2001. He tells the Afghan people straight out that he has no interest in occupying their country nor of becoming a permanent military presence and I almost-ne...

It kept getting stranger and stranger as the hours went by. There was snow on Mount Lemmon (aka the southernmost ski resort in the USofA) and what might have been melted frost on the front yard's stone mulch when I went out to get the papers this morning. It's the desert in Arizona, for crying out loud. Why am I wrapped up in a polar fleece full length bathrobe (a great gift from the Big Cuter but usually waaaay too warm for Tucson). I should have been paying more attention; the day was only going to get weirder. VISA decided to protect me from myself by placing a fraud watch on my account without telling me. Unfortunately, it took rejecting my card twice while making purchases over the phone and a couple of calls to VISA before Kesha listened as I ranted and raved and foamed at the mouth over missing yoga to deal with their misguided efforts to keep me safe when all they'd accomplished was to humiliate me and force me to waste my time in an effort to do what the robo-v...