The Burrow

It was heavenly. Cell phones - off. Messages - not returned. On the schedule - nothing but what felt good to us. Amster and Beautiful Annie and I, no kids, no responsibilities, no worries. Did I say it was heavenly? We were at Canyon Ranch , a plan hatched when I tried to figure out how to thank Beautiful Annie for all the pro bono legal wrangling she and her staff did for GRIN . We are now officially a  501(c)(3) entity, although the story of how this came about will make for another post where I rant about the IRS. The process was, in theory, very simple. In actuality, it was frustrating and time consuming and didn't cost me a dime. Canyon Ranch was the least I could do. Amster and I arrived first, valet parking The Schnozz and changed into our weight lifting attire forty minutes after I picked her up. Why don't the rest of you live here?  Look what's right at my doorstep: cnn.com Amster and I began our friendship as weight lifting buddies.  I had the expertise...

I spent a morning with 19 five and six year olds this week. As always, it was impossible to be sad. I was surrounded by little ones who couldn't get enough of me, and it was easy to return the favor. It was a surprisingly well-behaved crew, sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of Miss Levine. These are the English language learners who speak another language at home but who are fairly fluent in English. It has a lot to do with the families' involvement and the value placed on education at home, the teacher opines as she places the iPads and headphones at one of the learning centers.  iPads and headphones? Miss Levine researched their use, a grant paid for them, and the kids are part of the digital age, moving seamlessly from iPad math games through  cutting out A's and a's and gluing them to a worksheet to writing in their journals to listening and spelling on the desktops-and-headphones beneath the windows. They didn't need any help beyond squeezing the ...

I used to get a lot of reading done between September and the Super Bowl. My guy watches a lot of sports, sometimes the same game over and over again, dissecting strategies and reveling in joyous moments, all the while leaving me free to work a crossword puzzle or read a book... or, sometimes, lots of books.   Kate Shugak and I became acquainted  during a football soaked December when TBG and Big Cuter sat, transfixed, by grown men chasing a pigskin. I wanted their company, but not their entertainment. Click, click, open and read - I had a twenty volume series in my Kindle without moving more than a forefinger. I was headed that way again, my left thumb making a weird clicking sound which I diagnosed as Kindle Page Turning Syndrome, my eyes accustomed to a bright page with an ever larger font as the nights wore on and my eyes grew weary. And then we found Breaking Bad  on Netflix and realized that there are alternatives on the television screen. Let me point out that,...

The problem with organizers is that their skill set is limited.  They can rally the troops to take action, energize the un-involved, get the message out, and make a lot of noise along the way.  They drop in, work on a problem, then move on to the next unsolved issue.  They don't stay in one place and try to make things work. Unfortunately, governing requires fortitude for the long fight.  It demands that you revisit the same issues, ironing out the kinks while retaining support.  That takes focus. It's playing the long game. It's selling and reselling and then doing it again, proving to the skeptics that you were right then and you are right now.  It's less exciting, perhaps, than a glossy new challenge might be, but that really doesn't matter. I think this is the problem with President Obama's absence from the health care debate these days. He's not sure what to do. He can complain that the fight is personal rather than issue-driven, but that doesn...

I was waiting for a new friend on Saturday, and Starbucks across from Body Works made sense for both of us. Fortuitously, Moms Demand Action 's call to action for the weekend was to show up at Starbucks and thank Howard Schultz for taking a stand.  I'm obedient..... even if I wasn't terribly impressed or convinced.   Baby Steps , I keep reminding myself.   Baby Steps will get us where we need to be. Incrementalism has never been my cup of tea. I smiled about that as I ordered my passion fruit ice tea... my shaken  iced tea... on Saturday afternoon.  It was too precious for words, but that wasn't the barrista's fault (shouldn't he be a barristo?) so I took my attitude and my large and expensive and very pink drink outside. There was shade, a breeze, comfy steel tables and chairs, and sunshine, all conspiring to keep me smiling as I tried and failed and tried and failed and tried and failed to take a selfie that didn't send me screaming for a plastic surg...

A year ago right now I was wearing pretty much what I'm wearing now - a t-shirt and gym shorts. I was just back from Wally World, where I'd run to purchase a full-length mirror.  The bridesmaids had been shuffled from our bedroom to the big guest room and somehow, jumping up and down to see how their dresses looked in the mirror above the sink just didn't cut it. That full length mirror had been on my list for months; I didn't plan to be shopping for it three hours before the wedding.  No one in the store seemed at all interested in the fact that my little girl was getting married; they were oblivious to the joy.  It didn't seem possible, somehow.  It was oozing from every pore of my being. I was a reluctant late comer to the excitement; worrying over the weather, over being the hostess, over making it perfect without overwhelming, it all kept my glee in check.  But a year ago there was not a cloud in the sky, there was no suspiciously cool breeze tossing th...

I was a lot less relaxed last year. Every cloud on the horizon sent me scurrying to the National Weather Service's web site for reassurance. Brunch food and flower deliveries had me in a tizzy. I didn't have time to think about the grand adventure unfolding before my little girl. But now, with a year's worth of memories behind us, I can stand in the back yard and laugh at my dying container plants and remember dashing frantically between home and Rillito Nursery  last year... this week... finding replacements for those plants choosing that time to die. Beth had the yellow and blue hanging baskets she'd ordered just for us, and now, looking at the spent vinca, I'm motivated to find a healthier resident for the top of that post. I'll do it in their honor. They've done well, this first year, my girl and her guy. They know who vacuums where when, and are delighted when the other does it, "just because."  They laugh at the same silly jokes and prod ...

It's time to concentrate on the things which make me smile.  Without too much effort, I could list a dozen or more things which make me grimace. I wish I didn't have to look beneath them to find the happy places.  I wondered aloud, hobbling up the small step in the garage, the one that tripped G'ma and left me wondering how such a small obstacle could cause such a huge calamity, the one that had both TBG and me stopped in our tracks right then, just for a moment, considering which leg might be better suited for weight bearing, "Why did this have to happen to me?" I don't go there very often. It's not very useful nor enlightening nor uplifting.  It certainly does not make me smile. But my migraine was still roaring away in the background and my gait was more roiling than rolling and I was tired of it all. The words didn't sound right, hanging there above the cars and my two healthy feet and my husband who loves me and I felt an electric shock up my sp...

Big Cuter wanted to know how we were dealing with the news of the day. I was honest, and told him I'd ignored the whole thing.  He thought that was a good plan.  I'm not so sure. Between the 49'ers' dismal performance, Breaking Bad's emotional roller coaster, and G'ma falling down, I was in no mood at all to add one other piece of sorrow to my life.  I know, I know, I know.... football and television and my ancient mother ought to be on very different levels of the Worry Ladder, and they are.  Unfortunately, my psyche is less than vigilant about keeping an appropriate amount of distance between them; I'm finding them mushing together just below my heart. I feel for my boy, who loves his team to distraction. I worry about Jesse and twist around the axis of guilt/hubris/disappointment/ego Walt's constructed, and I'm still seeing G'ma collapsing under my car while I stood helplessly nearby. That's a typical Monday's worth of angst, and I...

I didn't want to go. I wanted to read the T Jefferson Parker police procedural I downloaded from the library's website. I wanted to swim, or go to the gym, or even watch professional football.  I just didn't want to go over to the pod castle. I'm still raw from thinking about what used to be and what is now. But I was also hungry for soft serve ice cream and the pod castle was concerned about a swelling on G'ma's jaw so I bundled my nerves in swaddling clothes and drove over to see my mom.  Going over to the grandparents on Sunday afternoon is an old routine.  Perhaps I was channeling the angst that came from sitting in the backseat, listening to G'ma's "Two hands on the wheel!!"  as Daddooooo sang along to opera and pointed out the varieties of airplanes flying overhead. I had two miles not twenty to drive, and only one old woman to see. It was totally different. There would be no one to play canasta with me, no one to make me a hamburger...

I love my brother. The phone rang this afternoon just as I settled down for the last third of Lee Child's latest Jack Reacher novel. The pace was quickening, the bad guys were dropping like flies, and the phone was ringing.  I was all full of grrr  and leave me alone  until caller id told me that Brother was there. I knew before I said "Hello!" that he and his girls were driving from their new home at the end of the Red Line to their synagogue much closer to town. Talking to me on their way to Kol Nidre was a good use of time.  It was good for my soul, as well. There aren't a lot of people who want to hear me talk about my mother.  I write about it here because I know that you can click away if you find me annoying or self-indulgent or too morose for where you want to be right now. There's no harm and no foul; I don't know and you don't have to worry about offending me. I get it off my chest, and I feel better. Healing through blogging; it's the...

I was only gone for three days.  It feels like an eternity. I'm having serious re-entry problems. There was a garbage can to drag out to the street this morning.  There was a newspaper to retrieve at the end of the driveway. I had an appointment in the morning and a luncheon date at noon; I wanted to do both of them but I resented their presence on the calendar anyway. We're on the last gallon of milk and the bread is looking a little green around the edges. Nothing in the house can create an edible dinner. The grocery store is in my future. I'm blue because there was no elevator to take me down to the bakery in the building for a fresh blueberry muffin, a muffin that is Goldilocks-like in its perfection - not too big nor too small but exactly the right number of bites to fill me up but not out. I made oatmeal as I dreamed of Little Griddle  doing all the work, leaving only the eating to me. I like vacation. The real world is rearing its all too normal head and I...

I spent a week in Chicago-land, my home base the house SIR and Little Cuter bought just before they wed last year. They were up and out to work before I rolled over and looked at the clock. The guest bed was comfy and the house was quiet and there was no reason to get up and get moving. I rambled around, upstairs and down, but there were no chores to be done. When G'ma would visit me she always found something to do.  She'd sew or clean, organize and cook, pick up kids at school and play with the dog. I had nothing. The dog slept all day, raising a semi-curious eyebrow at me as I glanced into the bedroom where he, comfortably ensconced amidst pillows and blanket, ruled the roost. Nothing was out of place.  Nothing needed fixing (by me) or cleaning or straightening or washing or ironing.  Yes, I would have ironed. I wanted to be useful. I did the grocery shopping, but I couldn't put the newly purchased items away. Their kitchen is well organized in a way that only they...

I went to church on Sunday.   I felt no strong pull to attend synagogue, despite the High Holy Days and Days of Awe which my family and friends are celebrating this week. I've been speaking to my heart this week, examining corners and wondering where the new year will take me, but I've been unmotivated to pray in public. There was nothing for me to say, there. Today is Christina-Taylor's birthday, though, and last Sunday was the second Sunday in September, the day on which a mass is celebrated in her name. So, there I was, at St. Odilia's, her family's church, two traffic lights away from the Safeway where bullets took her from us. Honestly, I'd rather have been at her 12th birthday party. But, the day and time were announced on Facebook, and everyone was invited. I rolled out of bed and through the shower and my closet without thinking too much. I was in the parking lot fifteen minutes later, leaving my car next to her parents' car, and in front of ...

I have met the devil. I lost the battle for my soul. It doesn't look like much, sitting on the island surrounding the cooktop. It's small and light and easy to lift. The handle tilts up and out of the way. There's even a plastic lid to keep the used oil from sloshing over the sides when the machine is stored. The cord goes in one way, and one way only, and I made sure that it couldn't be pulled out inadvertently. The instructions were quite clear. This was a dangerous piece of machinery. If only they knew just how dangerous it was. I found a recipe for Faux Cronuts on-line. It was right up my alley - open a package, deep fry, dip in sugar/cinnamon mix, eat. The fact that the package had two boxtops for Prince Elementary School's collection box just added to the joy..... as if it needed any enhancement from external sources. I'm a carb-aholic. Sweets don't do much for me. I've never eaten chocolate - not a candy ba...

Thursday, late afternoon.  His joy is permeating the house. He is more than a little disappointed that The Tweety Birds, aka the Arizona Cardinals, will preempt the Forty-Niners on Sunday afternoon, forcing him to leave the house and watch them play Green Bay at a sports bar.  I suggested that we join Miss Margo at the place up the road; she watches the Packers there every Sunday. "A Packers' Bar???????" We'll be searching for another venue. ***** NBC has a countdown, marking the minutes, now the seconds, until the NFL season begins.  Every second has a different man smiling at the camera. Mine is sitting on the couch, relaxed and energized at the same time. It's a comfort to us both.  He watches and I read. He plots plays and I peruse plots (sorry, I couldn't resist) and life is good. We can be together, doing exactly what we want to be doing, enjoying the other's company without really participating in an activity that is of marginal interest. ...

My friend Cindy paints.  She gardens and exercises and comforts friends just home from the hospital, but when she's not doing any of that, she paints. Starting her professional life as a pathologist, she graduated from looking at slides to creating beauty.  You can find her work  here . Every once in a while she sends a love note to her mailing list.  Today, amidst traffic jams and undercooked burgers and noisy hips and disappointing yard workers and Comcast voice mail hell, I spent first a few minutes, then some more, then a very long time looking at the images and feeling peace descend over my shoulders like a warm blanket.  She said that I could share her words and pictures with you, and so I have. I hope it brings you the same joy that it brought to me.  Happy Weekend! ***** Enhanced by Art September 2013 I believe that engagement with art can change your life, sometimes profoundly. While I hope that my art in some small way enhances the lives of ...

It takes a village to raise a generation. My village is doing quite nicely, thank you very much. GRIN 's partnership with Body Works Studios and Amphi Middle School is at it again. This public/private/not-for-profit collaboration started its second year this morning.  The swept and cleaned Dance Room at the newly renovated Amphi Middle School campus was the scene, equipped with mats and magic circles courtesy of Balanced Body, Inc. The girls in Coach Powell's  Sports Conditioning Class  were the participants. The girls were a bit skeptical at first. Kyria got them off the mats and onto their feet. They were amazed at the amount of work it takes to put your feet firmly on the ground. Hands placed on the front of the hips lets you feel how open they are, how you can raise your ribs and settle your pelvis and feel taller. These girls have long, aristocratic necks without even trying. Hands on the hips, not in anger, but in service of crea...