The Burrow

I admit it, denizens.  I am frazzled.  Fried.  Toast.  Stick a fork in me; I'm done. The absence of Cuters and sunshine have combined to give me a case of the blahs, and I really don't need to share them with you.  My usual method of writing - to let my mind wander and my fingers follow along for the ride - will not yield anything worth reading, I fear. So, for the new year, I leave you with words, mangled and otherwise.  I promise to be back in 2011 with more serious rantings and ravings.  For now, though think about the fact that.... You can be listless , but if you are full of energy does that mean you have list ? This came up in my first he's sick and I don't know what to do phone call to the pediatrician.  In my frantic description I said that Big Cuter was listless.  Sensing my over-concern, the doctor asked if he had had any list in the morning.   It took me a minute, but I was able to laugh.... kinda sorta not really......

Every relationship has its rules.  You are on-time or you are relaxed about showing up whenever .  You share a toothbrush or you each have your own vanity.  One cooks and the other cleans or gardens or repairs or sits on the couch.  It doesn't matter what they are, but the rules are there.  Like manners, they make the world go 'round.   What happens when one participant decides to change the rules?   On a practical level, take Elizabeth from Season 10 of The Biggest Loser.  Those of you who read the sidebars might remember that I love this show.  It's a triumph of mind over matter... lots and lots of matter.  Elizabeth went home and moved in with a boyfriend whose diet consisted of pizza and beer, with frozen chicken tenders for variety.  She tried to fill the refrigerator with fresh produce and healthy carbs.  When she showed up for the finale six weeks later, the boyfriend was conspicuously absent from the audience.  ...

JES left a lovely comment on yesterday's post.  It gave me a frisson of joy and a moment of reflection - I am not used to thinking of myself as a writer who is admired by others.  I enjoy my time on the keyboard, and I am not embarrassed by my output, but the fact that JES, who has written one book and is writing another, and Maid Marian, a widely published author of many novels and short stories translated into 17 languages, have each encouraged me to write a book gives me cause for pause. Maid Marian paid me a great compliment early on in The Burrow's existence.  She told me that I had a voice .  It's funny how what may have been a throw-away comment from her was so meaningful to me.   I've always had a noticeable voice.  Ask anyone who has ever heard it.  I was lost at the Grant Park Fourth of July concert in an audience of over 1million people.  I had no idea where TBG had placed the blanket, and I'd been looking for a long long time....

Many many many years ago, Big Steve picked me up for the trip down to campus.  He'd done it before and would do it again and each morning would sound exactly the same. "Hi Thanks for driving I love this music" which was always true and always made me happy.  Big Steve's second career is managing a venue in a college town; if ever a person were made for a job this is it.  But this morning was different.  This morning I was dressed to the nines.  I remember the outfit to this day: navy polished cotton trousers topped with a subtly patterned see-through voile long sleeved blouse, left open to reveal the cream colored shell (do you remember that particular article of clothing?) underneath.  I had a belt and matching shoes and trouser socks and my earrings were powerful and perfect.  I'd blown out my hair.  I was impressive.  At least to myself. But Big Steve was not impressed.   "Why are you smiling?" What are you wearing?"  No...

This is an odd week.  It's in between. It's at the end.  It's afterward.  It's the last. It's filled with comings and goings and staying put.  There is no pressure and party pressure and mostly there is cleaning up.  Lots and lots of cleaning up. I like it when Christmas and New Years fall on the weekend.  With a shopping deadline of Friday there is a pleasing symmetry to the tasks I face.  All the gifts must be wrapped and all the groceries in the house by the end of the week ... because even though it's been nearly 40 years my life since it had to be, my life is still governed by a scholastic calendar.  Friday is the end of the week; Saturday and Sunday are the respite before the week starts again.  So, when the holiday is on a Saturday my internal sense of what's right is already in rest and relax mode.   My trip to the pod-castle Christmas morning was a non-stop glide and slide over the empty roads.  The Schnozz likes to...

With MUCH LOVE and gratitude for joining me in The Burrow every day, ashleigh with thanks to Laura for providing the link

(Republished from last year.  I hope you liked it then as much as I did.... and still do.) We were sitting on the steps in the main hallway of Annie's Washington manse, watching the girls play in their fantasy land, when Big Cuter asked the question. Not "How does the seed get into the egg, Mom?" No, that happened 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 which I thought we were busily counting, out of his 7 year old mouth came this: " Santa's not really real, is he, Mom?" He noted my pause, and, ever the adoring big brother, his face took on a serious cast as he looked over at his little sister and reassured me:   "Don't worry. I won't tell her. She really believes he's real." What followed was a precise...

Paragraphs may be beyond me at this point.  I had hoped to be finished with wrapping and mailing and baking by this week.  My plan was to sit on the couch, admiring my tree and my son and my perfect manicure.  My reality is that Little Cuter's room is still covered in wrapping paraphernalia, G'ma's caregivers have yet to be rewarded for their kindnesses, and my nails are in a sorry state of disrepair.  There are more brownies to be baked and the Costco wreath needs to be replaced and I was at the post office once again today.  I'm not unhappy... except for my nails. ***** The stamp machines have been removed from the lobby of my post office.  The line to interact with a sullen human (I am not stereotyping, I am speaking from personal experience) behind the counter was 20+ people long and the line for the APC was barely moving.  I was third in line for 15 minutes.  The little girl behind me wasn't all that fascinating and I'd forgotten my book in...

Big Cuter and I sang along with the Tuvan Throat Singers and Bela Fleck and the Flecktones at the Rialto Theater last night.  Had there been an aura-camera in front of us, I am certain that there would have been but one halo of wonderful light surrounding the two of us.  We were each with the other's perfect person for that moment.   I bought the tickets in September, as those of you who keep track of the information in the sidebar can attest.  I found Bela Fleck on Pandora, and liked the sound enough to click over and see what it was.  His banjo picking is clear and precise and quick, and even if  "the banjo isn't a real instrument," as Victor Wooten, the Flektone's tonsured-with-dreadlocks bass player snarkily smirked, he sure does make pretty music on it.  He's been nominated for Grammy's in more categories than any other artist, and I'd give him a statue in each and every one of them. We were sitting in the balcony, always the right choice...

The thing you have to keep in mind as you read this post is that I cannot dance.  I missed the piece where the angels were handing out rhythm.  I can't carry a tune in a bucket with the lid on top.  I was sent to piano lessons until I absolutely refused to leave the house to take them; I knew how the songs should sound and I knew that I wasn't even coming close.  I was much happier listening to my teacher play.  I love to sing along to the radio, although, according to Little Cuter, I am always a beat or so ahead or behind.  These traits combine to make my appearance on the dance floor a triumph of desire over vanity. I also don't do aerobics classes.  In fact, I have never done aerobics classes, even when I could have bought those cool leg warmers to wear to them.  I don't have much in the way of aerobic capacity, and I don't spend much time developing it.  When we first moved to Marin I went to a jazzercise class.  At the end, the te...

This is the first holiday since the Cuters were toddlers which will include no electronics.  There are no DVD's, no computer games, no remote controlled vehicles - neither airborne nor with wheels.  I have no small devices which require arcane sizes of batteries which I usually forget to buy.  I'm not complaining.  I'm just noticing.  ***** Once again this year, Little Cuter asked for UGGS for Christmas and once again we tried to order them on-line and once again that didn't happen so now it's cold and snowy in Chicago and it's too cold for her to leave her apartment and go to the store and get them.  Seriously.  I'm so glad she'll be coming home to warm up. ***** Big Cuter is watching his hapless 49'ers on Thursday Night Football as his adoring father watches him watch them.  I'm surrounded by boys being boys.  The balance is shifting and now there are two of them and the house just feels different. Again, I'm not complaining.  ...

I'm the one. I've always been the one.  I didn't realize it until I came home from college for Reading Break in December of my freshman year (10 days off over the holidays and then back to campus to study for and take finals - what kind of vacation was that ?)  to find that absolutely nothing had been done for Hanukkah.  The kids had not been organized around gifting their elders, and no one had considered what to do about G'ma.  There was a general sense of something is missing but neither my siblings nor my father could figure it out.  G'ma was organized (of course) but the rest of the family was stuck in neutral.  I made lists, I assigned duties, we drove and shopped and wrapped and were ready for the first night, but it was not the most relaxed way to start the season.  I asked and asked again how we had arrived at this state of affairs, but no one had a clue.    By the time G'mas's birthday and Mothers Day rolled around I was prepared f...

Big Cuter and I stayed up really really late last night.  The moon was waxing gibbous (growing larger and more than half lit) so we had to wait for it to set before we could see the Geminids meteor shower.  We played Guillotine for hours, and, for the first time in a long time I had a 4 game winning streak.  Suddenly it was 4-1 and he decided that we should play "best of 11" and promptly won 6 in a row.  How he does this is a mystery which, I surmise, will remain unsolved until the end of time.  I'm going along nicely, slamming him with cards that will cost him points and turns and opportunities, and then, in the blink of an eye, with the shuffling of the deck, with the movement of the planets around the sun, he beats the crap out of me.  I'd have been sad except that I had those 4 winners in a row bolstering my ego and because I love him.  TBG had  been long a-bed when he triumphed that 6th and final time, so his celebration had to be non-verbal...

Actually, I am besmirching myself unfairly.  It's just that I didn't start on any of the things on my To Do List until 4 o'clock this afternoon.... and the things on the list were important things.  Things which needed to be done.  Today.  Things which could not be put off until tomorrow for a variety of important reasons.  Things like writing The Burrow so that you could sip your morning coffee and read it.   Instead of working on the newsletter or reading El Cid or wrapping holiday presents for the caregivers in the pod-castle (which, in all honesty, can wait to be done tomorrow) or making sure that there were milk and eggs and Diet Coke for Big Cuter's arrival tonight, today I hiked. The Happy Ladies' Club has spawned a plenitude of groups which cover ground on foot.  Some walk on on city sidewalks, some take flat, short trips on easy terrain, and some of us hike.  Today there were four of us and our intrepid guide, Mme. Hiker's long-suf...

I can think of dozens of ways to divide the world's population, but one of the most profound divisors is this: When you walk into a room do you turn on the television? I'm home alone tonight and there's not a sound in the house except for the muted thumps of Nellie's keyboard.   There are the usual house noises, the ones you ignore until the power goes out and you realize that the refrigerator's humming is a constant you've come to accept as background noise.  There is nothing else. It is absolutely heavenly. TBG's family always had the tv going.  They played cards in front of the tv, they read the paper in front of the tv, they had family arguments in front of the tv.  Nannie spent her last years at home firmly ensconced in her recliner.  That recliner was possibly the most comfortable piece of furniture I have ever had the privilege to be enveloped by.  Placed strategically so that she could see the kitchen and living room and dining room as well at ...

This is the season of sharing.  It is also the season of overwhelmed givers of gifts.  I plead guilt to being one of them right now.  It's after dinner and I've been running all day and I have not had a thought in my head.  Not just a thought worth sharing.  Literally, there have been no thoughts. So, I have decided to introduce you to some of my favorites here in the blogosphere.  I've mentioned some of them before, but today I am giving you links to some of my favorite posts on some of my favorite sites. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have. ***** John Simpson's blog is writerly.  Although there is the occasional lagniappe, most of his posts are nice, long, settle-back-in-the-couch-and-get-comfortable reads.  He has a few recurring themes, but the musical posts are my favorites.  Everyone knows the melody to Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, but JES knows the story.  Click on over and you will, too. ***** Joann Mannix is a famous blog...

IntenseDebate is non-responsive.  Their fact page caused me to delete all your beautiful commentary.  I am furious.  I am trying to work with them to repair the damage, but they don't reply.  I will fix this, I hope.  For now, though, please keep trying. And, IntenseDebate, if you are reading this: I AM AGGRAVATED!!! a/b

Not-Kathy's mom and I went to lunch today. She's back in town after fleeing Maine's wintry weather and I haven't seen her so I emailed an invitation to visit the new Janos restaurant downtown.  Her response arrived in my inbox almost before I hit send.  She was delighted with the invitation and with the experience and to see me and to get out of the house and I was overwhelmed by her joy.  I like to be reminded that the simplest things are often the most important.  I love that this time of year provides so many opportunities for them to happen. I thought I'd be arriving at her house after my class on the Nibelungenlied was over at noon.  Unfortunately for the expansion of my literary horizons, I stopped to say good morning to G'ma on my way to the U and I fell asleep on her couch.  For 3 hours.  In my clothes.... including cowboy boots.  No blanket, just her flattened out couch pillows to support my head, but I was out.  The worker bees com...