The Burrow

It's finally cold enough to wear my bright yellow polar fleece vest.  The days may be getting longer, but it's still dark much earlier than I'd like.  The full moon woke us up, shining through the shades, and neither one of us was enthusiastic about leaving the warm covers to change the angle of the blinds.   There's no snow, Elizibeth wore flip-flops on our hike today, and I walked comfortably and barefoot out to soak in the spa and consider the advisablility of planting gerberer daisies in the containers out back.  It's not the end of December as I knew it, but it's what I've got, so I'm going with the flow. There is no traffic on the roads.  The parking lot at the trailhead had plenty of spots when we arrived at 10:15am.  Lines are non-existent in the grocery store and the mall lot is full only near the entrances to the movies.  I'm not sure where everyone has gone.   It's winter in Tucson. ***** There are hours to go before we ...

We've been sleeping with the bedroom window open.  Most places, you do that in the spring and the summer, but here, when the temps reach the 90's by April, winter is the only time that fresh air feels good in the middle of the night. It's hard to feel Christmas-y when the temperature is in the 70's; all my winter sweaters are vacuum packed away, waiting for a trip to the kids in Chicago.  I was lucky enough to have cool weather on the 25th; I could wear my new sweater to JannyLou's for dinner and not feel that I was pushing the season.  Of course, I didn't need a jacket to walk next door, either. Winter's our second rainy season, plumping up the succulents and the cacti.  For those of us who have placed containers strategically beneath the downspouts, there will be no need to drag out the watering can this week. The downside of this free watering is the mess on the side of the pots. The rain comes in fast and furious   pushing the blue sky...

Her birthday was December 26th.  No wonder her son, whose birthday is January 2nd, and she didn't care that much about celebrating the event.  The big deal had already happened. For each of them, I think, that was the way it ought to be. She was a presence, my mother-in-law.  A great athlete in her youth, and her son's youth, by the time I met her she was on her cancer/heart/macular degeneration way toward the end.  I never ran the bases in Awful Arabs vs Terrible Turks family baseball games in the backyard, but I heard tales of her smacking the ball far enough for the littlest one, who grew up to be my Big Guy, to make it all the way home. Home was what she made.  G'ma kept us fed and clothed and I always knew I was loved, but home for me was overlaid with a patina of angst, of worry, of waiting for the next shoe to fall.  According to TBG, home for him was safety and comfort and laughter.  It was his mom. He remembers her sitting at the breakfa...

I'm back on Douglas, Big Cuter to my right, each of us engaged with our netbooks and the Knicks and the Lakers and the holiday.  He's got his "Open Me First"  sweatpants on above his new, no-show, running socks.  He chose the t-shirt himself last weekend; it's no surprise that it's keeping him covered now. We're sharing the occasional laugh or gasp or  "Need anything from the kitchen?" 's as the afternoon winds down. The boxes are flattened, the bags collapsed and folded, the ribbons stuffed in the glitter-dripping-everywhere-free-if-you-buy-3-greeting-cards-shiny-red box.  There is no such thing as a free lunch. I'll be finding little bits of red shiny stuff all year long. It's already all over the chair... the floor... the couch... my lap.... My stash is stacked on the wooden table Adele-the-decorator told us we'd have forever.  When she was right, she was right.  We won't talk about the scary fabric she insisted on...

I was sitting on Douglas, left-over wedding wine in one hand, Kate Shugak on the Kindle in the other, my big boy to my right, listening Soft Rock: Holiday Hits on Comcast's music channel. My nearly kindling tree looked  beautiful, CTG's angel front and center, Mei-Mei's monogrammed bird house right above it.  The sun was setting and peaceful was the relevant adjective. We looked up and saw that the factoid on the screen was revealing the rather alarming fact that a two-headed Buddhist god gave children Christmas presents.  There were so many, many, many questions, but first and foremost the two of us were wondering why a Buddhist god was sending gifts for Christmas. Then, Big Cuter smiled. " It's like the fork, Mom.  Once you've seen it, you realize that it's great!" On that theory, I wish you all, each and every Buddhist and Zoroastrian and Jew and Muslim the happiest of happy holidays on this, a day that celebrates a baby's birth.  We can...

It started with Stuff the Hummers for the Christina-Taylor Green Memorial Foundation . It was a rainy day, but it didn't seem to matter much.  By the end of the day, there were over 200 bikes for the Salvation Army to donate to needy kids. There were all kinds of toys, too. They covered the entire covered patio at Sullivans.  First responders and military personnel were there to pose for photo ops and to load the goodies  into the decorated Hummers. There were elves to help, too. Then there was the Hanukkah Party at Amsters. I love living in a place where the McMahan/Hernandez house hosts a party with menorahs. Miss Texas helped put the wrapping paper on the table  to protect it from random dreidling. Making menorahs with clay   is a messy business. especially when Ms Suzi insists that you clean up after yourself.  The finished product was lovely.  although the nuts as candle holders turned o...

There were six of them.  They were neatly dressed in first-time-this-season cold weather gear, or what passes for such when Tucson's temperatures dip to the 50's.  Each one held a prettily wrapped gift as she walked through the door and into Five Guys this afternoon. Sitting at an outdoor table in the sun, waiting for TBG and Big Cuter to arrive from the airport, I smiled at those grown up Madelines, walking in one straight line, happy and healthy and ..... oh, no, they didn't do that.  They did not let that door slam in the face of the older woman who had been waiting patiently just inside the restaurant as they made their way past her.  They did not do that.  It's too nice a day for such bad manners. Sigh.  The woman and her two female companions opened the door themselves and smiled at me and the girls as we all shook our heads. "Obviously raised by wolves,"  I opined. "Oh, no," said the leader of the pack, "they're just kids....

Shopping is much less stressful when your children are adults.  The newlyweds wanted unpurchased items from their registry.  Big Cuter wants jeans and a sweater and he wants to go with me and pick them out.  TBG and I need nothing and want even less. It's easier, true.  It's also a lot less fun. ***** Last year I bought our tree at WallyWorld.  It was inexpensive and they put it in my car and I drove around the corner and I was home.  The tree was so healthy, so vibrant, so verdant, that it dropped not a single green dribble on the floor.  I kept it up through all twelve days of Christmas.  I couldn't let it go. This year, hoping to repeat my success, I ran into the yard, picked one that looked straight-trunked and full, and ran right home.  I put on the base all by myself and carried it all into the house unaided.  Then I stood it up. Cascades of dead needles fell on my head.  Clumps of brown needles were nestled in every c...

I spent this afternoon at school.  I walked around the playground with the kindergarteners and the third graders, all of us with smiles on our faces and Jingle Bells filling our throats. I gave star stickers to everyone who completed a lap, and then we started around again. The whistle blew and half the crew had to line up to return to class, but the next cohort was leaving the cafeteria and they were ready to roll by the time the rest of us met them at the path.   "Do you want to walk with us?"  I asked, and then there were twenty of us, once again. We passed the garden, and the teachers tending the plants grinned from ear to ear.  We approached the pre-school nestled in the far corner and made the grown-ups supervising the play structure smile.  Our trek past the monkey bars brought joy to the aide supervising the little ones. Then, the whistle blew again. I knew the first graders who joined the march.  They'd been in Ms Levine's kindergarten last y...

I've stayed away from discussing weaponry in The Burrow. We had a conversation about it, my family and I, while I was on a morphine drip in the hospital.   There are angry people associated with the issue, Mom.  I couldn't bear it if you got shot, again.  Those are powerful words to hear from your adult daughter.  They made an impact.  I stayed away, and focused on doing good and healing. Then twenty children were slaughtered by a young man with a gun. Little Cuter and I agree; it's time to act. I'm putting my energies behind Michael Bloomberg's Mayors Against Illegal Guns'  effort to bring the record keeping efforts related to gun purchases into the 21st century and to Demand a Plan  to end gun violence.  Our elected officials must have thought about the issue once in a while.  NOW is the time for them to share their thoughts. We have been silent too long.  There is something fundamentally wrong with a system that allows indivi...

Dear Newtown, You woke up on Saturday morning, just as you will wake up every morning from now on.You'll roll over, eyes bleary. You'll look at the clock, check the weather, and sigh... or cry... or go back to bed and pull the covers over your heads. It's just too much to bear. You woke up with a hole in your lives, a hole that cannot be filled, no matter how well intentioned friends and family might be, no matter how much love is riding the tidal wave to your town. The school bus.... the breakfast dishes.... the toothbrush in the SpongeBob cup.... the ornament she made last Christmas hanging front and center on the tree he decorated two nights ago... before …. Your world is divided: Now and Then. There's no going back. I know. I've tried. What you want, you cannot have. You don't want very much, just to have things be as they were on Wednesday night, when you tucked your sons and daughters into bed, visions of sugar plums and vacation ...

It only happened once.  I cried one time, and one time only, when talking to the prosecutors. Often, I was angry, or furious, or disgusted.  Always, I was sad.  But I sobbed for the first and last time when the lead prosecutor asked me to describe the moment when Christina-Taylor met Gabby. In retrospect, it's surprising that I'd never gotten that perspective on what I'd missed.  On January 8th, I was in the moment, just the way a nine year old is in the moment, flitting from one fascinating topic to another with barely a breath between.  We hadn't gotten that far in our adventure; we were still in anticipation mode when the bullets began to fly.  I don't indulge in what if's  about that morning.  It is what it was; I smile ruefully accept the facts GRIN , and move on. So, Wally's question took me by surprise.  I'd never considered it until he asked about it.  It took me aback.  Literally, I stepped backwards and found myself o...

Jim DeMint decided to quit the Senate.  Just like that (cue snapping fingers), i t's time for (him) to pass the torch to someone else and take on a new role in the fight for America's future. At least, that's what his press release said . Funny thing about that timing thing, Senator.  Your constituents elected you to serve them for six years.  The time frame was agreed upon when you interviewed for the job (cue election stump speech). Leaving early may suit your needs, but what about those of the people who chose you to represent them?  They didn't have much to say about your decision, did they? And now, they will have a newbie Senator in Washington, a representative chosen by one woman (albeit the Governor) rather than the entire electorate.  Were I a South Carolinian, I'd be pissed. Mr. DeMint anticipated this line of attack.  My constituents know that being a Senator was never going to be my career. I came to Congress as a citizen legislator and I've...

Bad things shouldn't happen to little girls, but when they do, it's easier to bear when the little girls are warriors, willing to fight for every gain possible or promised or tantalizingly just out of reach.  Thanks to Little Cuter and SIR getting hitched, TBG and I have such a warrior in our midst these days. She's wearing the bracelet that Brigitte gave me after I was shot, a flat leather contraption that came with a love note extolling my strength and my courage.  I wasn't feeling particularly strong or courageous when I opened the box last year; but reading that someone I admired thought I was gave me that little extra boost I needed. Because that's the funky little secret hiding behind all the progress I seem to be making.  I need to be shoved in order to move on.  The gains are slow and awkward and often seem two steps forward and three steps back.  I feel great and I overdo it and I suffer and I sit and I regress and I have only myself to blame. I'm n...

When people ask me why I took Christina-Taylor to shake her congresswoman's hand that sunny Saturday morning, my answer is always the same: Why didn't you have a child with you at the event, too? Don't you know someone who'd enjoy it just as much as you do?  I founded  GRIN  to put the love to good use. It seemed so obvious to me.  How will the little ones learn if the big ones don't show them the way?  How can you bemoan the fact that young people don't go to the polls when you've done nothing to show them that all politics is, ultimately, local. Our representative was coming to the neighborhood; I took the kid and off we went. In the aftermath, lying on Douglas and wondering what I would be able to do when I got up and around again, the notion of bringing together those who have time and those who have needs began to form.  Nearly two years later, eleven months into the process of receiving a 501c3 designation, GRIN has brought smiles to schools all...

We are a microcosm of the world outside. That was how Cris Carter summed up the last ten days of NFL headlines on ESPN this morning.  The players and their families mirror the average guy sitting in his living room, watching other men play.  What goes on outside  goes on inside, too. Yes, he actually said outside.   Since I'm spending my days with Kate Shugak in the Alaskan Bush , I'm quite familiar with the concept.  Those who battle to survive, who come up against the elements 24/7/365, who care for one another (or respect the other's solitude), they know that they are sui generis.  There is no way anyone who lives outside  can share their outlook.  Only they know what it's like. It's theirs and theirs alone.  The rules are around, but bend to their convenience... and no one looks askance.  Rangers and state troopers announce that they are not in the room, not seeing what might otherwise be reportable events.  It will be taken c...

Tragedy in Tucson.  Tucson Massacre.  Victims.  Plaintiffs. I hated those words.  I hated the emotional space they occupied in my brain.  The negativity overwhelmed me.  I was trying to stay positive, to look on the bright side, to concentrate on what I had and not what was taken.  Those words got in my way. There is still nothing I can use to name that day. Incident  is too small.   That day  works only in context. The shooting  is too harsh for most people to hear, and I have to respect that.   Tragedy sticks me deep in the sadness.   Massacre brings me right back to the cold pavement beneath my bleeding self.  I am open to suggestions; it's been twenty-three months and I'm still searching so don't fret if you come up empty, too. In the days immediately following January 11, generous donations began to accumulate.  Television stations, hospitals, schools, churches, they all started funds to gather...

My kids are nearly thirty years old. Can you hear the screaming from their desks right now?  " Not til May!"  he cries. " Not for two more years," she yelps.  NO! It cannot be. I share their perplexity (have I just coined another new word?). Thirty years is a very long time.  Decades begin to be counted.  Humans are born who have never seen a land line, a pager, a world where the Red Sox never win the big one. I knew my grandmothers for thirty some years; they were always old and I was always young.  They gave advice.  I listened dutifully.  There was never a question about it - I was young, they were old. I never thought to ask if they saw me as an adult.  It never crossed my mind.  I was always their little girl; Bubba called me tateleh  til she died.   Tateleh, little one, was how she saw me.  Though I had her first great-grandchild, the only one she knew before she died, I was still her eldest grandbaby, her ta...