The Burrow

Sometimes, it all just seems to come together.  The weather, the people, the events, and the travel all line up in perfect harmony.  Life feels good. I awoke without needing the alarm.  My favorite gym clothes were clean.  The soaker hose was still attached to the connecting hose so watering the un-irrigated, newly planted Texas ebony tree was simply a matter of turning the faucet to the right.  It was nice to get to the gym without stones in my shoes and cactus prickers in my hands. There was a parking space right in front of the door.  My favorite greeter was behind the desk and Amster and the Littlest Little One arrived right on time.  The LLO gave me a warm and mushy kiss on my neck, leaving lots of pink lipstick to prove that she'd been there.  Her hug, filled with excitement and love, was balm to my soul. We worked our legs, doing squats and quad curls and calf raises while we caught up on our lives.  Blending two families involve...

I was ready to plunge into the nifty tidbits my favorite little girl sent my way when the title stopped me in my tracks.   Skinflint  is an interesting word, or was to me, at least as I saw it up there on the monitor.  I'm always amused when my fingers do something that my brain doesn't recognize.  Reading the Phaedo  for class this week I'm considering everything in terms of recollection ; how did that get up there, anyway?  Saved, as always, by the interweb, I found the Online Etymology Dictionary   which quickly demystified the whole thing.   Sadly, it's just word soup.... someone who would skin a flint to gain an advantage.  Now, that  is being tight with your money. Many of us are feeling skinflint-ish these days, I fear.  It's hard to buy extras when necessities might be a struggle.  Random gifting, unnecessary trifles, the times call for more than that, I think.  Nurturing those thoughts but not sharing them,...

Have you seen this, denizens? TBG and I were channel surfing and even the magic fingers tickling the remote were stunned and immobilized by the last 15 seconds of this ad.  Is Mark Bloch, Herman Cain's campaign manager and COO of The Friends of Herman Cain really blowing smoke? I just don't get it.  If I were The Onion, I'd create an add like this.  Did no one in Mr. Cain's campaign ever take a course in literature?  Has no one there ever hear of allusion?  taking a drag on a ciggie may make you feel like a real man (more on that below... believe me, lots more on that below) but you've left the viewer while blowing smoke ... which The Urban Dictionary defines as   giving a gratuitous and insincere compliment, possibly to deceive. If that's not the perfect definition of a campaign ad, I don't know what is.  The in your face  nature of this one is just so blatant, so insulting, so perfect. Perfect, you ask?  Yes, p...

Nathakes made the match, and she knew what she was doing. We'd been trying to get together for several months.  Schedules and illness and life in general kept getting in the way.  They flew in last night, though, and the dinner we'd had on the calendar for a month or so was actually going to happen. I decided at the last minute not to wear my cowboy boots  I walk better in my Chucks. This is only relevant because I'd told her I'd be wearing the boots and corduroy shorts.  We'd never seen one another before; I was worried about recognizing them.   We parked and walked and arrived 8 minutes early, entering the restaurant's patio behind a couple we really hoped were not to be our dinner companions.  Worrying, we closed the gate behind ourselves and looked up to see a smiling couple waving in our direction.   They looked just like us, albeit somewhat less careworn.  There was a lot of It must be them It is Are you Oh, w...

Although it has been a while since I've posted on my recovery, the rest of the world has been quite involved in my progress.  As we approach the anniversary of the shootings, the opportunities for comparison, condolences and consideration of consequences have multiplied exponentially,  My calendar is filled with meetings about event planning and my in-box is filled with inquiries.  Each and every one of these situations includes a reference to healing.... specifically, my healing.... more pointedly, my hip. It's very odd when others take a proprietary interest in your getting well.  The cashier in the grocery store is as proud of me as I am of myself when she sees me bending over and lifting the heavier items out of my cart.  Another perforated attendee and I compare our problems remembering to utilize our ankles and our toes as we walk.  It's hard to escape, hard not to focus on the fact of getting shot . A costumed young man wore a bandolier of bullet...

My holiday spirit, that is. For a while, I though I'd lost it. But Amster's kids located it while she was at Wally-World this morning. Messer's 6 and 8 remembered the drill from years past . They chose the clothes they wanted to use, and began stuffing. Some of us worked diligently at our assigned tasks. Others were more interested in collecting bugs. or in stacking towers. Proving, once again, that the toy is less important than the box in which it was delivered, that box filled with styrofoam and empty space and imagination.  These pill containers I've salvaged from G'ma kept the Littles occupied while Mr. 8 did some serious problem solving.  A precise young man, he did not appreciate the fact that his stuffing was coming out of the shredded jeans.   The fact that I had an entire container of brand new safety pins just added to the fun. Unnamed but not unloved, our creations were transported to the front yard. Where serious arranging a...

Sometimes it's just easier to do one big thing.  Friday Shopping Secrets understands this, and would like to offer some suggestions.  Just remember that little ones like something to open now ; I'll be appending ideas for those who cannot experience delay of gratification.  Never fear, denizens, I've got you covered. I'm a big proponent of experiences over products.  I remember holiday hikes more than what gifts were presented when the Cuters were 8 and 10.  The infamous Christmas of '96  is notable for the absence of appropriate batteries and the crushing misery which followed.  I suppose this counts as an experience; the feelings are certainly more memorable than the actual toy itself.  At least for me. For several years we instituted a walk through the open space between turkey and dessert on Thanksgiving.  We'd pass neighbors and friends and smile through the introductions of nieces and grandparents and sons-in-law-to-be and then we'd...

I promised myself that I would not attend meetings.  I was moving to a new town, a new state, a new set of connections and none of it was going to revolve around meetings.  I don't like meetings.  I don't do well in meetings.  I tend to annoy those around me with my discomforted sighing and eye rolling as discussions wander aimlessly and time trudges by.  I really shouldn't go to meetings; no one benefits from my presence. That promise was tested early and often.  Creating a newsletter seemed to require attendance at board meetings.  Interviewing high school seniors for my alma mater required attendance at board meetings.  I was beginning to feel a bit of mission creep so I began to set my boundaries more definitively: if I wasn't on the agenda I didn't show up. This made those who presided over the meetings happier than they would have been if I'd been there, even if they were unaware of the gift I was bestowing by not attendin...

I've missed a lot this past year, at least as far as holiday decor goes.  My Valentines Day box, the Easter bunnies, the American flags for Memorial Day and July 4th..... all undisturbed in the garage.  I missed them, but not enough to direct someone else to place them just so.  Maneuvering them off the shelves myself was impossible, and anyway, my one and only job was  to heal .  I gave myself a pass. Now it's the middle of October.  Halloween is 2 weeks away.  I have one pillow,  one candle holder and my blinking haunted house That's it.  No rows of orange plastic pumpkins lining the stairs; there are no stairs.  No wheeled ghosts or goblins or scarecrows to trip on; no children have been in this house for ages.  G'ma has all my straw decor; TBG claimed it made him sneeze. I managed to save these for the powder room but it's a far cry from the days of crescent moon shaped soaps and tiny erasers in the shapes of bats and...

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. George was right.  If we don't look backwards we can't understand our future.  If we're smart, we'll examine the past and learn our lessons.  Wouldn't that be nice?  Not likely these days, with the elevation of ignorance over knowledge (see the global warming "debate" or minimum-wage earners lusting after Herman Cain's 9-9-9 plan as exemplars) but I'm an optimistic sort of a girl these days, so I thought I'd take a chance and share my thoughts with you.   Perhaps you were as ignorant as I was when it comes to the history of Ancient Rome.  The Cuters, with more than a decade of Latin between them, were always more articulate than I on the subject.  Big Cuter brought his painted miniatures to explain Caesar's battles to his high school classmates; the visuals made all the difference.  I'm finding that age and cynicism is making the difference for me right now, and I ca...

JannyLou and I went to the Southern Arizona Blues heritage Foundation Blues and Heritage Festival.  It was held at Reid Park's Demeester Bandshell, a structure neither of us had known about. There was a sound system that went up with the event  and there was a really big tent covering the roadies. Actually, they weren't roadies since there was no traveling involved.   Their t-shirts identified them as TP&R Sound Crew. Nobody told us that there would be no chairs. Nobody told us that there would be no shade. Obviously, most everyone else had been there before They came prepared. JannyLou and I shared some shade behind these folks, who came with side panels for their shade. There were umbrellas everywhere we looked including this giant red one right between us and the stage. Since we were lying on the yoga mats we could kinda sorta see through the people and beneath the canvas. It didn't really matter.  We didn't know the musicians and ...

Today we will not feel the loss.  Today we will not say "last year I'd have gotten her....."  Today we will not look backward.  Today we will accept what is and we will smile. Smile with me as I suggest comestibles and experiences and no care goodies that will delight those who are marking the passage of time in the "I don't buy green bananas" department. G'ma used to say that she was divesting  instead of acquiring; her greatest joy was to send me Bubba's cut glass serving dish ("Be careful, sweetheart, I think it's leaded crystal.  I wouldn't use it too often, if I were you.") or Daddooooo's Shakespeare for Chanukah or my birthday or just because.   It didn't happen often; she wasn't a spontaneous gift giver.  But when UPS dropped off a thoroughly taped reused shipping carton addressed in her perfect printed penmanship I started to smile before I looked for the implements with which to cut through the brown and sil...

I was beginning to worry that it was gone forever.  You know, that edge, that hostile piece of your reply which impels the listener to wonder just what part of New York you had lived in during your formative years.  The coarse, rough edge,the what IS your problem sense of entitlement because it's not that much that I'm asking.... just DO YOUR JOB in a timely, intelligent, thoughtful manner which does not insult my intelligence. I'd lost that piece of myself after getting shot.  Nothing seemed to be worth getting that het up about.  The sun came up and I was here to see it - by definition it was a good day.  I worried a bit.  I fretted on occasion.  I never got pissed. It was never worth the effort.  Being content was simpler and felt better. I didn't need the snark. Not until today.  Not until Walgreens By Mail, which is now called something else, decided to get in my way.  Not until my mental health was unhealthy because my prescrip...

Dr. Mike Lippman, formerly of New Jersey and Emory University, is visiting Tucson this semester, bringing his fascination with the ancients along with his love for east coast pizza to the Humanities Seminars every Tuesday morning.  The reading s are longer and deeper than many other Seminars have required, but I find myself referring back to Scullard when Plutarch has me scratching my head.  Did  Satullus really just tell the same story from another perspective, or had I forgotten who had bribed whom to achieve success on the battlefield?  It started out as a mystery and ended up as a parable and I wish you had all been there with me, denizens.  My head was spinning and my brain was stretched and 3/4 of the students were participants in a conversation that ranged from Eisenhower to Caesar to OWS. Why are wars fought?  If you have a standing army, is it standing around looking for someone to fight?  Will a draftee fight harder or long...

I decided that it was time to look January 8th in the eye and see what was back there, so I went to therapy and I searched.  There were tears, there was laughter and there was confusion.  Lots and lots of confusion. Turns out I was not required to sort it all out.  Turns out that I could hold the paradox, one piece in each hand  and not seek a solution.  The answer could be both  and that would be okay. It was nice to hear someone else say it, especially a person who'd been trustworthy and believable and helpful in the past.  Especially when it turns out that her website lists trauma  as the first thing she's interested in fixing.... or exploring.... or teaching the person on the couch about as she smiles and suggests holding  the paradox in two hands, saying  "Breathe ." encount.com (This is a "find a Russian bride" site) I'm finding it interesting that both talk therapy and pilates focus on the breath.  I feel like Boris...