The Burrow

My birthday doesn't mean that much to me any more. That may not look like a startling statement, but I assure you, denizens, it is.  I am known for celebrating my Birthday Month; what else is there to do in February in the winter in cold climes?  Lunch and music and breakfasts and hikes fit easily into the 28 days allotted to my celebration; all my friends and relatives could be accommodated with ease. The sun always shines on my birthday, just as it is now.  I could make plans without fear of weather interfering with the festivities.  The world knew that this day was different, and Mother Nature never rained on my parade.  She knew, too. I celebrated for 365 days the year I turned 50.  I had t-shirts created commemorating the wonderfulness of it all.   They were distributed to everyone with whom I shared an adventure that year. It's much more fun to distribute the love than to be the only one on the receiving end of the present train. The firs...

She got me through the holidays, Kate Shugak did.  The boys were immersed in football involving all manner of replays and Red Zones and mental acuity.  I hung in there as long as I could, but even I had to admit defeat.   Finding Kate on the Kindle  introduced me to a new heroine and a new author and kept me occupied for days.  I read nineteen of nineteen books in the series straight through; I received the twentieth today from the hands of the author. The luncheon was held at Scottsdale Community College whose Culinary Arts department grows its own produce, it seems.  Broccoli florets were just beginning to percolate while the Texas Tarragon was spent....  or, perhaps, harvested for dinner last night.  The mesculum reminded me of G'ma telling Daddooooo that the salad I'd lovingly crafted from farmers' market produce was " garden clippings; shut up and eat it." The dining room filled with Danamaniacs, Facebook friends who ...

A woman I like and respect has put me in a bit of a pickle. Typically, on the questions she asks, the concerns she raises, I don't hesitate to chime in.   "Kids like rules" and similar aphorisms clutter the comment box on her blog and on Facebook.  I believe everything I write, and I am always certain that I am correct in my thinking.  She's always seemed happy to hear my advice, my opinions, my suggestions.  I'm not sure how she'll respond this time.  Then, again, I'm not sure what I'm going to say.  "Tween son keeps offering to make me a margarita. I have either done a really bad job as a parent, or a really great job." My judgmental parental self said Bad Job  almost immediately.  First, I had to take a moment to read the statement again. This didn't seem like sharing-a-snippet-from-my-adorable-child's-life; to me, it seemed that she was truly wondering.  To me, that last clause had a raised eyebrow and a questioning tone.  I l...

I've written the prelude here . We had so much fun creating, we decided to return to decorate. We didn't know how complicated that would turn out to be. It was cold outside but the activity was inside the gym  and GRIN  was there to help.  The bowls we'd created two weeks ago had been fired. They were waiting for us . One of those is mine.   Rest assured, it is not one of the ones to which your eye was immediately attracted. I am many things; an artiste is not one of them.  Our first task was to sand the pointy spots. There were to be " no little pieces which might break off in the kiln" . There were a lot of "No" and "Don't" instructions. On some level, it was quite intimidating.  Some sanded quickly.  Some were quite precise.  Some stood and some sat Some protected their lungs with masks.  There was a lot of dust accumulating on the tables. This picture wa...

Brother is putting away the ladder, having added a remote doorbell to our existing system.  This is after spending yesterday defragging and otherwise improving the health and well-being of my desktop and my netbook. He also fixed G'ma's telephone, which had been broken for a month or more. He had the good grace to tell me quietly and privately that it had been unplugged, though he couldn't refrain from laughing as he said the words.  That's a repair that even I could accomplish. ***** I played on the desktop last night. I've been unable to turn it on since November.  I spent a delightful few hours syncing and organizing and, once again, not saving my photos to a thumb drive.  Then I turned it off and went to bed.  It refused to turn on this morning. Brother thwacked it and blew on it and shook it and decided that it needed more care than he was able to provide.  He and Ryan at Computer Renaissance spoke geek for a while, and then told me to pay for a $6...

This is not supposed to be happening on my windshield.  I live in Tucson, in the desert. The signage is not supposed to be covered with snow.   My sneakers should not be leaving prints in the snow.  The Schnozz should not need a handkerchief. It's so very, very wrong. Brother and I drove up to Biosphere 2 this morning. A lovely lady from Coeur d'Alene, Idaho took our picture. She was trying to laugh about the snow following her to Arizona, but her shorts-clad companions were not amused.  Neither was I. Yes, that is snow on my polar fleece. It's just wrong. The succulents were being very brave, covered in all that snow.  The prickly pear cacti seemed to huddle together for warmth. If this doesn't look like a scene from the northern plains,  perhaps all those cowboy movies have led me astray. But it's not.  It's just off Rte 77 in Arizona. Brother didn't want to bother with his coat when...