The Burrow

Megan had been thinking about Christina-Taylor while brushing her 9 year old's hair and she commented yesterday that she had to keep myself from crying in front of my daughter.  She'd gone right into protective mode.  It's a reaction I've seen a lot of lately.  More often than not I am on the receiving end of the equation.  I haven't had much energy going toward protecting other people.  Please don't ask TBG how that has been working out.  I'm self-involved and reference everything in life vis-a-vis my situation and my situation is all that I can think about and my friends and family and strangers on the street have been enabling my addiction.  Protecting anyone but myself has been beyond my capabilities for the last 4 months.  I couldn't even take care of a 9 year old on a Saturday morning in front of a grocery store in an upscale neighborhood.  I couldn't keep either of us out of harm's way.  How in the world could I possibly ...

You find yourself screaming at laundry detergent.  Filled with rage, you are prepared to throw the plastic container through the roof and your fist through a wall. Someone leaves a voice-mail which is incomprehensible to you but totally clear to your spouse.  You listen again as your confusion turns to fury.  How dare he be so obtuse?  And then mad turns to tears then to sobs then to an emptiness in the middle of your soul as your body rocks from side to side and the sorrow comes pouring out. Rudeness on the bus?  Torture the perpetrator.  Sun not shining?  What the hell is going on?  Wake up in the morning.... and there it is again.... that rage... directed at something specific,  but really not. Somewhere inside you might have a clue that PTSD is why you are so mightily angry or sad or lost.  Friends and loved ones and professionals try to help. From the outside you hear him saying that he knows your sobs are PTSD, though they ar...

Chicago was home for nearly 20 years.  I lived on my own for the very first time in a tiny studio I shared with the roaches.  We came to an uneasy truce, the bugs and I: they stayed off the bed and I didn't smash them when they ran for cover as I turned on the light in the kitchenette.  The apartment was awful but the city was grand. DePaul before it was gentrified, then Lincoln Park and Lakeview and Buena Park but mostly the city itself, we lived all over the city.  Longtime denizens know of my love affair with Chicago; the lakefront and the parks and the music and the people.  It was hard to leave and we love going back, especially now that Little Cuter and SIR are there.  So, when we received the 60th birthday party invitation last month I made it a goal.  Air travel by the last week of April. We were leaving 90 and sunny for 40 and dreary but we didn't care.  Our kids in our favorite city with some of our favorite people thrown in for spic...

Nathakes knows everyone. Every walk down Michigan Avenue was a trip through her past. Kindergarten classmates, camp counselors, divorced neighbors who had moved away - they all recognized her and hugged her on our journey between work and lunch. Every single day. We met up again today for lunch at Fred's at Barney's .  A place for ladies who lunch, located on the 7th floor of the store with a view of the lake, we were disappointed to find no famous socialites drinking martinis and flashing their diamonds.  Little Cuter and TBG ordered artisan pizza; the waitress encouraged them to use their fingers instead of a knife and fork.  It was that kind of place. There were seven of us around the table, and the conversation touched on friends and colleagues and acquaintances from now and then.  Poor Little Cuter and SIR were subjected, once again, to a series of reminiscences with no connection to their own lives at all.  The meal was fine, nothing special, and ve...

We came to Chicago for her 60th birthday party.  The invitation showed her child self in an Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it.  There was no doubt about her identity.  She looks exactly the same. She's always looked the same - taller and thinner and classier than I, but uninterested in those distinctions.  She was Connecticut and Madison Avenue and boarding school.  I was Long Island and the garment district and public schools.  It didn't matter; we were friends. The mother of three boys, she was always ready to advise on Little Cuter's attire.  Some women are meant to mother little girls.... or meant to dress little girls, at least.... and she was certainly one.  She put Little Cuter in one of my ribbed camisoles, wrapped a belt around her middle, and suddenly my 3 year old was stylin'.  Without her, I would never have known that a white blouse over a black skirt could be my default outfit for any event.  Look in my closet ...

Happy Earth Day, denizens! TBG and I are visiting Little Cuter and SIR in Chicago.  I flew without trouble, though TSA in Tucson had some issues with my walker and my cane and the x-ray machines.  My repaired hip didn't set off any alarms and pre-boarding put us in the bulkhead seats with plenty of leg room for TBG's long legs and my achy short one. It's cold and crowded and I'm having too much fun sitting on the couch snuggling with my girl to think about anything worth writing or reading today.  So, while you are planting a tree or recycling refuse or otherwise celebrating one of my favorite made-up holidays, I am going to continue to hug her and revel in the familial joy. Have a great weekend.  I'll be back on Monday with more in the continuing adventures of Ashleigh Burroughs.

It's nice to be needed.  Having been the recipient of the largesse of my neighbors and friends for the last 3 months, I've been starting to feel as if I've overstayed my welcome.  Guests, like fish, begin to smell after 3 days. What odor do you suppose I, who have been needy for 300times that long, am emitting? Were I to ask my food providers or drivers or other SuziSitters I am certain that they would say something like "Chanel No.5" or "gardenias" because "it was our pleasure" and "we loved doing it."  I heard those sentiments every afternoon all through the winter and into the spring.  I never quite got comfortable with it, though.  I always felt vaguely guilty about interrupting someone's day to ask them to meet my own personal needs.  One of our chefs is disabled herself and she and her husband and TBG and I had a conversation which helped me turn the corner on this issue.  I watched from the window over my desk as she li...

Dear Miss Levine's Kindergarten Class, Thank you for inviting me to be your Special Reader this morning.  Although waking up and getting dressed and eating breakfast and getting to your school on time was not easy, I reminded myself that each and every one of you does it each and every day.  I remembered that you will continue to do the same thing every day for the next 15 years, until you graduate from college.  I know this because I know that you are all College Bound. While I was remembering, I was getting ready.  I packed my bag, just as you pack your backpacks, and I checked it a few times just to be sure that I had not forgotten anything.  Checking it wasn't much fun, because when I remembered something I had to walk all the way back to where it was lying and walking was hard and I didn't feel like doing it but my house is a No Whining Zone so I had to take a deep breath and put on my Super Girl cloak and whiz back to my desk to pick up those pickle ...

Thanking our dinner providers and airport transporters and get-Suzi-out-of-the-house people took place at a hug fest in our backyard Saturday night.  Scheduled around JannyLou's chemo and my ability to ambulate and Chicago Gal's gallivanting ways, I somehow managed to choose the most perfect Saturday night of the season.  Warm all day to heat up the air so that, as the sun got lower in the sky, our sleeveless guests could meander on the hardscape and admire the landscape and watch the colors come out behind Stafford Peak. Not taken that night, but this is the general idea. Guest brought guests and children and wine and guest towels and candles and cards.  A crocheted heart was appended to a hand-written hug from a friend who was tired of sending me angels.  It didn't really matter; I've loved them all. There were two sets of DVD's recording moments revolving around The Event.  One set is more personal, with healing vibes sent out into the community by p...

There's a family of quail who roam my courtyard every morning and eveing. There's a very clean bunny who looks like his mom and dad brought him lots of yummy to-grow-on meals.  He hops himself up the berms and takes the lantana leaves in his paws and I can just about hear him sigh. The ground squirrels are making a mess of my newly rock-mulched front yard as they drop the husks barrel cacti tuna on their way home.   I wonder if I need to apologize to their leader for covering the burrow with 20 tons of cracked stone?  After all, they were here before we were. The birds hide someplace during the heat of the day, but the morning sun brings dozens of woodpeckers and doves and assorted don't-mind-me-I'm-just-migrating-through species.  They weigh down the branches of the palo verde surrounding the saguaro, all but the lone black bird who perches on the tallest branch of the neighbor's ocotillo.  My sentinel, my gatekeeper, and today, my muse.  I neede...

First things first : What is it with the hair? Are those enough hints? Did you already know that I'm writing about The Donald, father of a Georgetown classmate or two of Big Cuter, possible candidate for the presidency of these United States of America. Is this really happening?  The man has been married three times and is looking to be embraced by the family values crowd.  He's lost more money in more real estate deals than we'll all make in our collective lifetimes and he wants us to put him in charge of the federal budget. I thought it was strange here in Arizona, but maybe the rest of you ought to sit up and take a look at what's happening out there.  Or maybe you have already noticed, and I've been too self-absorbed to realize it.  But self-absorption brings us right back to Donald Trump, doesn't it. Watching the talking heads this afternoon - and yes, it is nice to be doing something normal for a change - I was struck by the tone of the comment...

She was a ball of fire.  She was the twinkle in your eye.  She was curious and passionate and thoughtful.  She was respectful.  She loved her parents and her brother and her large and wonderful extended family.  She played well to children and grown-ups. She understood the nuances of getting elected, promising a chicken in every pot and winning with style.  She sang and danced and swam.  She gave back and paid things forward.  There wasn't a hostile bone in her body, at least not one that I could find. She was always up for an adventure, always saying "YES!" to something new.  She took her responsibilities seriously, and treated every venture with the respect it deserved.  My plants never looked better than when she was taking care of them. She was a little girl and a bullet took her from us. More than that, it took her from her family, the people who loved her the most.  The Crayolas have been trying to heal in a private ma...

Drove myself over to visit G'ma today.  The pod-castle is in the midst of a management shake-up and there were Care Plans to be approved and releases to be signed.  My presence was requested. Being nothing if not compliant in my rehabilitation, I was weeks overdue for this meeting.  But G'ma's blood work (and hence, her medications) have been stable for months and she doesn't remember that I haven't been by to see her, so I couldn't really feel rushed.  And, honestly, it was hard for me to tell my story over and over again, especially on days (like today) when she manages to remember not only my piece but Christina's, too.  She's not a hard-hearted woman, my mother, and she tears up just a little bit each time she repeats the story to me aloud.  That's what she does.  She tells the story aloud, with a question mark at the end of her recitation, and looks outward for verification.  The staff deals with her in the here and now; she's fine wit...

Mei-Mei and I have been friends since we were 12 and in the 7th grade.  She convinced me to take the bus to Sunrise Shopping Center, the first really big mall on Long Island, and G'ma let me do it.  Just the two of us, $20 for clothes in my pocket, and public transportation.  I was used to the LIRR and commuters; for errands we took the car.  But there we were, surrounded by people who needed the bus to get around town, who were on their way home from the store, bags puddles at their feet. I do believe it was the first time I realized that everyone didn't live as I did.  I'm sure I didn't share that thought with Mei-Mei.  I was busy pretending that this was something I did every day. The years and then we reconnected at our 40th high school reunion. We were the two little ones giggling, loudly.  She looks the same as she did in 1969; the travails of the intervening decades made no mark on her.  Her life hasn't been smooth and easy, though she ...

It was just another Sunday morning.  I straightened up the kitchen, picked up a few things at the grocery store, made brownies for TBG and Big Cuter and Amster's kids, read a novel and watched some sports on tv.  I checked my email in the late afternoon, e-chatted a bit, and came to tell you all about it before I dice up the chicken for dinner.  I'm at ease in my heart and soul. Today is the 13th Sunday since January 8th. I just counted them out to be sure.  Running my finger down the Saturdays, zipping through January and then a little slower through February and even slower through March, stopping here in the 2nd week of April.  All those weeks, all those Sundays, all that time.  It wasn't wasted or unproductive time, especially if you bought into the notion that my only job was to heal. It was, however, a long time. I came back to the house after the store, stuck things on the shelves I can reach, wobbled about the kitchen melting butter and chocol...

...... to sort out attitude from emotional range. Nance left that as part of her comment yesterday.  As usual, she is exactly right, nuances and all.   And so, today more than ever, I'm going to bore you with more of my self-indulgent crap, my thoughts on my thoughts.  I'm kinda sorta tired of it myself, truth be told.  But that's part of the story, so read on if you're interested.  If not, I understand.  Really, I do.  I'm not sure how it happened, but it seems that I was under the impression that I'd be walking by now.  Striding out.  Covering some territory.  Taking the Recycling Container out to the street.... or at accompanying TBG as he lugged the thing out there .... I'd be taking a picture for you right now.  That, it seems, was my plan. I never said it out loud.  I'm not sure I said it to myself.  I was never tempted to put weight on Dr. Boaz's hip because I'd been instructed not to do so.  I was co...

When you reach a certain age, it seems to me that things just start to go wrong. For some people, that age is 12.  Adolescence, filled with acne and addled senses, makes every day a lousy day.  Some people never manage to get past those years.  Stuck in their sad sack soup, there's not a lot of room for sunshine and smiles.  When you leave your teen years with a chip on your shoulder, a chip reinforced by the daily hurts and slights of middle school and high school, you develop a protective covering.  That carapace keeps others at bay while keeping you safe within your "no expectations = no disappointments" zone. It's a lonely way to live. For some people, it starts when their athletic career is over, when there is no frisson of excitement as they walk into a room.  Suddenly those aches and pains which were just a part of the game are now just a regular part of their regular lives.  Machismo meets the mundane, and mountains become moleh...

Coming tomorrow in this space.  Blogger just couldn't resist posting it today. Grrrr.

Imelda wondered this afternoon, amidst giggles, what will happen in a couple of months, when my celebrity light has dimmed, and I try to boss people around. OK, those of you who know me can stop laughing now. Really.  I mean it.  Stop laughing. See.... I'm even doing it now.  Because this is who I am.  I boss people around.  Someone must have reinforced it when I was young.  Imelda was admiring my baby picture... at least I thought she was admiring it until I listened more closely and found that she was laughing at my sense of annoyance, of being interrupted while performing very important chewing.  Uh, people.... I'm busy here! She marveled that my parents chose this particular shot, one with so much attitude, instead of a more traditional portrait.  She thinks it says a lot about them.  I'd never considered that before.  I do know that I still have that handset. But I digress. When we played house in elementar...

  Yes, it's in German, but it doesn't really matter. The first clip (2:20 minutes) is all you need to watch. I can walk! I can walk! I am permitted to walk and I can do it. I was worried about both of those things as we drove to see Dr. Boaz this morning.  We were 5 minutes late, which never happens with us.  There were no examining rooms available.  That was unusual, too. We waited next to the neighbor of another patient - she'd answered the door to find the patient, new to the area, asking for the phone number of a cab company.  Where are you heading? turned into Oh, dear, of course I'll drive you there.  She didn't recognize me until TBG gave me up; suddenly I was awash in blessings and smiles.   Is there any wonder that we love Tucson and Tucsonans?  We care about one another, friend and stranger and new neighbor alike. My x-rays were taken and reviewed and brought up on the monitor in the exam room where TBG and I could st...

I've been reading a lot about myself this week, this last week of sitting and reflecting, this last week when appliances will define my abilities, this very odd week. ******* I'm much faster and defter in maneuvering my wheelchair.  I laughed as AnnaFarkle shook her head, marveling at my quick turns.  GrandFarkle#3 and I exchanged sly grins as I gaily replied "It's really kind of fun!" ... because it is what it is so I smile and move on. I like this new me, this able to smile instead of growl me. ***** I guess it wasn't enough to have one pseudonym.  Now I need a name for who I was before January 8th.  Suzi is who you all know since TBG told the media that was my name.  I'm glad he did; Susan is much too formal. After all, we've been sharing stories about infirmities and blood loss and death and healing.  I think you qualify as friends after all this time. But who was I before this? ***** In amongst the search results I came acros...

Blogger decided that I didn't want to post it tomorrow at 6am.  Noooo, they decided to share it with you right then and there.  But no one makes ME do what I don't want to do.  I deleted it and will share it tomorrow.  I will not be controlled!

For the first few weeks after January 8th, I really didn't think about my clothes.  Hospital gowns were fine for meeting the President and First Lady, fine for walks with the physical therapist through the hallways, fine for going to x-ray.  The only time clothes became an issue was when I wanted to go out in front of the hospital and roll through the memorial garden.  The kind nurses found me scrubs and The Bride handed me the girls' sweatshirt and I was good to go.  When I returned to my room, my cell phone was ringing.  Big Cuter was laughing as he greeted me with " Nice yellow socks, Mom."  CNN had me on a continuous loop, my bright yellow hospital gripping socks attracting my son's attention more than my teary face.  Clothes make the woman?  Let's hope not. Once I was home, TBG's elastic waist gym clothes were my go-to outfits.  This plan was short lived, as the physical therapist didn't want me tripping over their length and TBG f...