The Burrow

Going into her apartment is like ripping off a bandaid, exposing the raw wound to the cold, fresh air once again. She's not in the blue recliner just inside the door, nor is the blue recliner just inside the door, anymore.  I pick up a fallen t-shirt and remember the cruise on which it originated.  I turn to remind her how much Daddooooo didn't want to go to Alaska, and how she prevailed in the end, and how he insisted that he'd had a terrible time, all the while regaling us with stories of ice floes and more food than you could shake a stick at.... and she's not there. She's inside my head in a way she wasn't when her body was still living down the road.  Why I could ignore her then but cannot now? Is her spirit that confused?  Is it stuck on a cactus thorn?  She just can't seem to leave me alone. I watched a young man with a bandaged foot maneuver the mobile shopping cart through the aisles at Target and I turn to laugh with her about the time she to...

The sun is friendly these days.  Rather than blistering my mom's thin skin, it's warming up the air to the point where a sweatshirt is a nice addition but hardly a necessity.  The rays are less piercing than caressing.  They send me back to G'ma's first winter here, when she fell and broke both her ankles and spent the holidays at a rehabilitation center.  We were sitting on the patio, admiring the big blue sky, when G'ma wondered why " that woman is wearing a Santa sweater." The disconnect between the ambient temperature and her memory of Decembers in New York was profound. She grew to love being outside all afternoon in January, although it never ceased to confuse her.  How things looked was at odds with how things were supposed to be, and her dementia only added to the problem. Her furniture spent the morning being carted out of her apartment and transported via The Firefighter's truck to Elizibeth's bedroom.  The Thomasville bedroo...

It's hard to concentrate... there are so many competing thoughts. I'm overcome with happiness and with sorrow. I need some time to sort it out. And then there's the matter of the boxes littering the garage. So, enjoy the weekend, denizens. I'll be back on Monday, publishing five days a week, as usual.

2009: Merry Merry Christmas to You All!* 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, toyl...

Big Cuter and I, ably assisted by Elizibeth and her access to The Firefighter's truck, delivered most of G'ma's furniture and furnishings to the-happiest-family-in-Tucson-right-now.  I found them through a classmate at The Humanities Seminars program down at the UofA. The father, a member of the wrong tribe, spent nine years in prison in Rwanda. After his release, he and his wife and three of their five children escaped to Malawi.  Two sons had managed to flee earlier; they lived abroad, wondering.   After nine more years in a resettlement camp, they were chosen,  by the IRC ,  to start again in Tucson. Do you know the International Rescue Committee ? Their website draws you right in: Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein.  It's barebones, which is fitting since only 5% of their funds  go to administration .  The benefits offered to refugees are not forever entitlements.  This family was looking at eviction in Januar...

A friend has a new prosthesis.  She's been using mechanical supplements to locomote since she was a very little girl.  As the decades passed and research and technology caught up with one another, the capabilities of her lower leg improved.  The changes have not always translated to better ambulation. We proved that today on The Loop.  Well-signed and well-paved and well-traveled, this multi-use path circumnavigates Tucson.  We met at one of the parking areas, leaving a space between our two little white cars for a baby, should our vehicles choose to get to know one another on a deeper level.  We hugged, she gave me baked goods, we hugged again, and then she showed me her new equipment. It's an elegant piece of machinery which allows her to use all the toes and to swivel on the ankle. These are new experiences for her. I oohed and aahed and tried to absorb the description she was sharing.  She's matter-of-fact about the whole thing; I'm constantly ...

And it's all stuff.   Anything remotely valuable or marginally sentimental was distributed when she left the East Coast for Arizona.  What she had left were trinkets.  They made her smile, especially since someone else dusted them twice a week.  Somehow, they've taken on new importance since her death.   A $10 small river rock painted with a blue bird's face was claimed by several relatives across the generations.  The gorgeous glass paperweight was on everyone's list. I received emails and text messages and picture-grams with circles around the items that absolutely had to be sent so that G'ma could be remembered. Apparently, the crewel work pictures are stretched on important frames; I am not to release them from their bonds. There are many reasons families should live close to one another.  Having to ship 6' long framed stitchery is only one of them. It's not as if I can throw them out, of course.  They are my mother's creations,and he...

and I was here to see it.   By definition, it is a good day.   I was up and on the road as the sun was rising. I had an appointment at Prince Elementary School. The student council was waiting to hear how they can help promote the Stroll and Roll. Telling elementary schoolers about Christina-Taylor at the Safeway is always a tricky business. These were good listeners, sympathetic to the loss of a child near their own age. They were delighted to be able to assuage my pain and do their part to stay fit and healthy. Posters will be made, emails will be sent, conversations will be had. They all agreed that the sparkling grape juice was tasty, the pomegranate juice was sweeter, and the green apple sparkling soda was just this side of disgusting. My brownies, of course, received rave reviews. The manager in the bagel store was happy to see me again. She moved from our local outlet to one on the way to everywhere . I'm not a regular in her new home...

My thoughts won't stay focused.  I begin to opine about sequestration, and I wonder how I'd explain it to G'ma.  I listen to a fascinating four minutes on health care costs and consider that post on where does the money go  which I've been trying to write for a year or more and then I devolve into thinking about how much G'ma's broken leg cost the insurance company and Medicare.  I wander into the room where TBG is watching talking heads and I burrow into his chest for a hug and a kiss. I miss my mommy. The post you read yesterday was written the afternoon before she died.  I had it scheduled as a buffer between remembrance and reality.  I just re-read it.  I don't think I could write that right now. It's an olio for sure, but one without G'ma.  Since she died in her sleep  two Thursday's ago, I haven't had three thoughts in a row without my mother poking herself into the stew.  In the grocery store, every second customer is a moth...

December should be cold and cloudy and snowy. It should make my nose freeze and fingers tingle and my toes go numb.  Driving should be hazardous and dressing should take a long, long time. Layers and gloves and scarves and hats and coats buttoned up to the neck and beyond are de rigeur.... if you live someplace other than the desert Southwest. Here, we wear jeans and long sleeve shirts in the morning, rolling up the sleeves by mid-day, rolling down our windows and smiling at the cars in the next lane as we enjoy the wintry temperatures... in the 50's and 60's.... clement any place else but fairly frigid here. Holding onto the holiday spirit when I'm wearing shorts takes effort.  I'm just sayin'... ***** Chanukah decor is not on sale yet.  Tonight's the last night and I have high hopes that Bed Bath and Beyond will be marking down their candles and dreidles after sunrise tomorrow.  There aren't many places to find Jewish decorations here in Tucson; BB...

She got her wish. She went to sleep and she didn't wake up. ***** I was there the night before, bringing brownies for the caregivers, making sure she was in a comfy, flannel, Lanz nightgown, turning down the lights, kissing her cheek. Every tiny movement caused tiny little ouch 's and so I chattered over them, trying to distract her.  I told her about my phone call with Gladys, her oldest friend, and the memories she shared of horseback riding and skiing and driving in the days when girls didn't do those things and the caregiver smiled at me as I said, "You're not really hearing any of this. You're not really here at all, are you, Mommy?" We were both stunned when the wraith-masquerading-as-my-mother looked up at me from the bed and said "Nope." Not one to give up on a responsive moment, I went right back at her. "Do you know where you are?" "No,"  she said, bemused. "Is it okay?" And whether she said...

This series of reprinted posts is a tribute to my mother, Esther Tamara Rukasin Annis, who died on December 5, 2013.  Fresh posts will resume sometime soon.  For now, I hope you'll spend the time with us as we remember our mom. 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 won...

This series of reprinted posts is a tribute to my mother, Esther Tamara Rukasin Annis, who died on December 5, 2013.  Fresh posts will resume sometime soon.  For now, I hope you'll spend the time with us as we remember our mom. It's election day.  I took myself to my polling place and walked right into a voting booth (after proving that I was who I said I was by presenting my driver's license) and was finished in 3 minutes.  It was vaguely unsatisfying.  The room was empty except for the poll workers and me.  It was lonely voting without another citizen to share a smile and a civic connection.  A low turn out is probably bad news for the candidates and issues about which I care, but that wasn't what was going through my head as I inked in my choices.  Instead, I was wondering about the lack of respect for the privilege of being a citizen of these United States of America which obviously exists in this precinct.  The franchise was ...

This series of reprinted posts is a tribute to my mother, Esther Tamara Rukasin Annis, who died on December 5, 2013.  Fresh posts will resume sometime soon.  For now, I hope you'll spend the time with us as we remember our mom. I was in Costco last week, shopping for G'ma.  Tissues and toilet paper are two areas in which I can really make a difference in her quality of life.  The pod castle would provide both of them, and I'm sure they are included in her cost of care, but Posh Plus and Kleenex with Aloe are much nicer for my only mother.  The product placement people know what they're doing -  the bulk items are all the way in the back of the store.  I had to walk the gantlet of neatly folded temptations on my way to the Ultra-Soft Charmin.  It was hopeless.  I succumbed immediately.   The Little Cuter and I love Costco.  She sat on the big orange flat-bed as I pushed her up and down the aisles.... until she we...

This series of reprinted posts is a tribute to my mother, Esther Tamara Rukasin Annis, who died on December 5, 2013.  Fresh posts will resume sometime soon.  For now, I hope you'll spend the time with us as we remember our mom. G'ma and I went bowling with the Happy Ladies Club yesterday. When I stopped by the pod-castle just after 9am, she was curled up snug as a bug in a rug in her comforter. Without her glasses on, she could only see my outline until I bent down to kiss her hello. I guess the caregivers don't include that service in their daily rounds, because she knew it was I, even with her eyes closed. I do love having a mother around. I'd come to remind her that I'd be back at 11:30 to collect her for lunch. As she sank deeper into her blankets to resume the sleep I'd so rudely interrupted, I left with little confidence that she'd remember to get up and get ready. I backtracked and left her a written reminder on the seat of her walker. I do wish my...