The Burrow

That's my role.  I'm not in charge of anything.  I'm not responsible for anything.  My job is to pickup the slack. Their Iowa friend had already called the bagel shop by the time I arrived.  No, they don't deliver, as he'd requested, but I was happy to take the lox and bagels we both knew Little Cuter had craved for nine, cured-fish-free, months. The cashier wrote a love note on the brown sack containing our breakfast; it's impossible to avoid the joy a newborn brings. I watched the pediatrician examine and the photographer photograph and then I left the kids alone. Bonding is easier when you're not worrying if Mom is comfortable in the upright chair.  I spent a lovely late morning on the porch, reading Jane Eyre . The beauty of visiting the home of an English major is that there is always something wonderful to read.  I'm starting at the top right corner of the guest room bookshelf; by the time Flapjilly graduates from high school I should be fin...

Born July 29, 2014, amidst so much love that there was barely room to breathe! Mother and baby are happy and healthy and doing just fine. Grandma can't stop smiling. She is perfect and gorgeous,  with her Mommy's mouth, her Daddy's nose,  and TBG's feet. There are no words......

I was told that there were enough diaper covers to last a lifetime.   I was informed that there were enough little bonnets and berets and turbans to match every outfit she would ever own. I was told that the small baby blankets were lovely, but frustrating.  Mom wanted to snuggle with her newborn, not just wrap her in love. I created some sweaters, but making something that has to fit an actual human being is a challenge for me.  My garments were too long and too short and too wide and too narrow.  Looking at them in the closet, I wonder what I was thinking.  Unless my granddaughter is built like a square, those sweaters may look a bit odd. So, when Little Cuter sent me a link to a round, ripple afghan, I agreed to try.  She chose the colors.  I was to do the work.   And so, I began.  The pattern was for an intermediate crocheter; I think I am still an advanced beginner.  I had a terrible time determining exactly whi...

I couldn't fall asleep last night.  I tossed and turned and changed pillows and blankets and I wasn't anywhere near relaxed.  Then, I rolled over to the side of the bed on which Thomas the Wonder Dog had taken a nap, smooshing the covers into a wrinkled mess.  He was long gone, but his aura must have remained; I fell asleep immediately. I'm in Illinois, awaiting the arrival of FlapJilly.  I filled a giant rolling suitcase with assorted shorts and skirts and dresses and shirts and every pair of summer shoes I own... because there was room and why not.  TBG hefted the finished product and concluded that I was very close to the 50 pound weight limit. The scale at the airport concurred; 46.9 pounds was the digital conclusion. The plane ride was fun because I was surrounded by grandmothers.  My seat mate shared picutres of her four daughters and three granddaughters and the lady across the aisle and I shared stories of our pregnant daughters and the hours fl...

My hair is cut.  My nails are done. The clothes are in a laundry basket on the floor of my closet, awaiting transfer to the big rolling suitcase.  My reading material and crossword puzzles have been considered and collected; I'm still vacillating between a vast array of totes/carry-ons/purses.  I have the yarn and the crochet hooks for the extra-large blanket the kids requested sitting in the closet of the room I'll be occupying. My granddaughter and I are on our way. The baby is descending nicely, thank you for asking.  Mom is in love with yoga's cat and cow poses, and credits them for keeping everything moving in the right direction.  They promised that she won't deliver today or tomorrow, but I am very glad that my plane ticket puts me on the ground in Chicago tomorrow night.  Little Cuter still can't really get her head around it, or so she claims.  I think she's as close to it as it is possible to be.  There is no real preparation for t...

She's everywhere these days.  Sitting on my desk is a picture of her playing with a goat when she was 21.  I never knew that woman.  Wearing short shorts and a midriff revealing blouse, her hair in two braids, she's completely in the moment, not wondering what others were thinking, not judging herself.  She was a wonderful mother but she was never like this. And yet, when I think of myself I conjure images of college and building sand castles and reading in bed by the light from the hallway and in none of them do I have grey hair.  My thirties and forties are filled with pictures of my children, and myself in relation to my children, but the visions are of the kids ... not of me.    I have no idea when my hair tilted more toward the white than the black side of things. The face I see in my mind's eye is filled with more color than the one the mirror reflects.  It's younger.  For the first time, I am wondering if this young wom...

"Do you want to tell me about being on television? The teacher told me to ask you about it." "Not really......" She's always at the studio, amusing herself while her mom exercises.  Dressed to the nines, with hair accessories matching her outfits, her smile as big as the sky.  She dances to the rest room, streaking past our sweating bodies, trying to become invisible.  That is impossible; her personality fills the room. Not wanting to be too pushy, I left the conversation at that.  I'd done what I'd been asked to do; I posed the query.  We were both satisfied, but her maternal unit was having none of it.  Pressured by her parent, she relented. "I was on that bus in Oracle, on my way to camp." That bus .... the yellow school bus GOP Congressional candidate Adam Kwasman and his fellow protestors were trying to block ... the one that they feared was carrying disease ridden, gang prone, undocumented children.... children who were terrifi...

He's unworthy of her.  No one disagrees with that piece of the equation, not even he.  Somewhere beneath the destructive behaviors is a kind heart and a giving soul.  Unfortunately, he always seems to get in his own way. When she asks, he's there ... but she doesn't want to have to ask.  She's not asking him to read her mind.  She's perfectly comfortable telling him when she is in pain, when she needs comfort, when his support is the only thing that will make it all seem right.  Those are the times when there are new heartaches, new situations, new needs.  But certain things just come with the territory.  Family life includes child care and discipline and entertainment and supervision.  None of it should be a topic of conversation.  It should go without saying.  For a while, it seemed like a men are from Mars, women are from Venus issue; moms being hardwired to worry.  Over time, it became obvious that he wasn't payin...

When did August become Autumn?  On our mall walk this morning Brenda Starr and I saw shoe stores filled with browns and blacks with nary a sandal in sight.  School starts on August 4th ... and that's not a district with year-round classes.  The temperatures are still in triple digits.  The summer blooming Texas Rangers have just hit their peak, matching the crepe myrtles in my courtyard that herald the height of the heat.  School should start after Labor Day.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it. ***** Prep and Pastry outdid itself this morning.  We met Cali Grammy after our walk, and marveled once again at all the babies and pregnant mommies and the wonder of seeing one another after several months.  Grammy apologized as she snapped pictures of our food; "I'm one of those people...." didn't phase us at all.  We moved silverware and napkins and glasses and you are rewarded with these:  I was encouraged to include protein alon...

Where to begin?  Presidents Obama and Putin were on the phone discussing the US sanctions when the news broke about another Maylasian Airlines plane ... this one shot from the sky ... despite Ukranian separatists' denials ... with hundreds of innocents on board. Is it a problem of command and control in the field instead of at headquarters ... if there is a headquarters ...so that a jumpy junior officer shot first and asked questions later?  Is it a plot against the airline itself ... not a far-fetched idea from a woman who enjoys reading international thrillers?  Is President Putin lighting the wick of a global conflict?  It must have been an interesting conversation, don't you think? And then there's the invasion .... or incursion ... into Gaza.  TBG wonders what Hamas hopes to accomplish by shooting rockets into Israel. Beyond drawing attention to themselves, I have no answer. Those rockets are, for the most part, repelled by the Iron D...

It seems that I am at the forefront of a new trend.  Colbie Caillat told Elle magazine  that she's tired of being Photoshopped.  She wants to be able to walk out the front door without makeup and without judgment. I've been doing that for years. Big Cuter says I have spoiled him for all other women, since it takes me no time at all to get ready to go.  I search for my keys and my phone and my wallet - you'd think I would have learned to keep them in the same place by now, wouldn't you? - and I'm out the door.  I don't own any makeup to put on. My hair is wash and shake and finger comb to dry.  I like everything in my closet these days and the temperature is always hot so there aren't that many decisions to be made. I can be up and in the shower and in my clothes and out the door in less than ten minutes, if I have to.  I don't look that much different when I have an hour to prepare.  Colbie Caillat told Elle that she worries about disappoint...

....came the Costco Magazine, featuring an illustrated article on myofascial release strategies, including the deep tissue work which has been so helpful in my recovery.  As we age we tend to dessicate, inside and out.  As our fascia dry out, they become adhesive, clinging to the tissues around them.  Separating them from others and themselves is something we should all be thinking about, because we are never too young to take prophylactic measures.  I took that information with me to meditation several weeks ago.  I sat on the floor, legs extended, arms by my ankles as I leaned up and over my fourth and third quadrants (lower abs to pelvic floor), sinking into the pose, just as Costco advised.  After 15 minutes of clearing my mind and not judging the thoughts which entered and left, my forehead was closer to my kneecaps than it ever had been before.  My fingers were well beyond my heels, and my spine had no knots or kinks.  It took me a while...

They made a big splash in the local papers, moving from St. Philips's Plaza and landing a mile or so further south, at the racetrack, in a decidedly more income-diverse neighborhood.  JannyLou and I decided to check it out on Sunday morning.... although, to be accurate, I decided and asked if she wanted to come along.    I sighed when she said she'd already had breakfast;  Prep and Pastry was on my mind all morning.  With memories of Marin's extravagant Farmers Market at the Civic Center in mind, I skipped my usual yogurt and granola.  I was hoping for a fresh pastry.   It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood, one of those big sky, big cloud mornings G'ma loved.   Parking was free and plentiful and close.  JannyLou and I took the cloth grocery bags from The Schnozz and crossed into the Market.    Locally grown is a small universe here in the desert Southwest; these ranchers drove two and a half hours to ...

I love it when people cook for me.  One of the perks of getting shot was home cooked meals delivered six days a week.  Every night, TBG and I dined on something new and interesting which I did not have to think about, or shop for, or prepare.  Everything came in disposable containers; had we eaten on paper plates there wouldn't have been any clean up at all.  I didn't appreciate the effort it took for G'ma to live up to Ladies Home Journal and Daddooooo's mom, the world's most judgmental mother-in-law.  G'ma wrote out the week's menus and went to the Kosher butcher once a week, collecting minute steaks (arguably the toughest cut of meat on the poor dead beast) and chickens and ground beef.  If it was Tuesday, it was spaghetti and tiny, rock hard meatballs with Ragu heated up on the stove.  She became a better cook once the kids were out of the house, but I never entered into the "My Mom is a Better Cook Than Your Mom" contests.  I didn't ...

Does that rhyme in anyone else's head?  Probably not, if you were born in a state where R's are pronounced.  My Long Island heritage has replaced the last four vowels with an aw sound. I'm wondering what it sounds like in FAMBB's kitchen right now, as she tries this, over coffee, in a Boston dominated Oceanside twang.  I hope she's smiling as much as I am. ***** Is LeBron going back to Cleveland?  Inquiring home town fans yearn to know the answer.  TBG, a self-admitted fair weather follower of most professional teams, can't seem to resist a little bit of a smile when the talking heads review the reasons that the world's best basketball player will return to the Rust Belt. His mom must have a vote.  His childhood friends, the ones who head the various arms of his business empire, are from Akron, too.  TBG tells me that someone said LeBron wants to raise his kids where his mom raised him.  Miami fans are unforgiving boors who booed ...

While still the Editor in Chief of Automobile Magazine, Jean Jennings put together The Group of Seven - women from all over the USofA with an interest in cars and things automotive.  She hosted us at the Detroit Auto Show in February, 2013, and we fell in love.... with the cars, the experience, and each other.  The group hug at the end of the evening was one of the all time great ones. I missed the second gathering while tending to G'ma and her broken leg.  A third gathering never happened; Jean lost her gig at the magazine, worked on television, and is now enjoying life and planning her next step.  The rest of us have kept in touch, sporadically.  We've hoped for fast cars on a track and road trips in vintage convertibles (or that new Corvette) but we're still waiting. I have managed to maintain a relationship over time and distance and absence, though, with Anna Eby, who's perfect for Big Cuter in every way except that she is geographically inappropriate...

At some point, I moved from doing rehab to exercising.  I never considered the distinction before I lived it.  They are really not the same at all.  In rehab, you work your injured areas every day, sometimes twice or three times a day. You set a goal, identify weaknesses and strengths, and create opportunities to enhance performance.  While the same can be done when starting an exercise regimen, most people don't take it quite so seriously.  Most people don't keep records of their recreational sessions in the gym or on the bike path or running track, although that seems to be changing as FitBit and phone apps make keeping track more convenient. For me, gym time was my time. I listened to my body and did what it told me to do.  Back and biceps, then chest and triceps, then legs and glutes and shoulders... each group twice a week, and one day off to recover.  I never did legs two days in a row, and certainly never three or four or five...

I am wedded to the process, it seems.  I knew that Yogi Marsha was sending someone in her stead on Monday, and I went anyway.  There were six or seven of us when I closed my eyes, and ten or eleven when I opened them; far fewer than usual but enough to keep it from feeling creepy. For some reason, my feet reached the floor today.  I was slouching, seeking a curved spine to avoid crushing the gunk accumulating in my hip. As the humidity makes everything swell, I become increasingly less mobile; I spend a considerable amount of time during the day looking for a position that will put some distance between the various parts of my self.  I send my thigh out toward my knee.  I lift my lower ribs up and off my pelvis.  I engage my spinis erectus. I relax my hip flexors.  It's exhausting and I never know whether it's the act of concentrating on all the rest or if I've actually created space that leads to a lessening of the throbbing. That throbbing would ...

 http://tinyurl.com/7ajn4el The picture in Friday's post (reprinted to your left for those of you who are not daily readers) was not as relevant as it could have been. The holiday is so much more the picture on the right.  I was reminded of this when Brenda Starr replied that she and Basil St. John always drink Sam Adams beer on July 4th, because he was a journalist and an agitator and a signer, albeit, according to USHistory.org , an unsuccessful brewer.. That was as good a reason as any to purchase a Summer Variety Pack for the four of us for dinner on Friday night. ***** Monsoon is here, in all its peculiar glory.  Lightning striping the sky, thunderclaps that startle and remind me why I limp, humidity causing everything to ache just a little more, driving on the highway with people who are terrified of the water bouncing on the newly paved surface. It's a weird surface, the piece of I-10 around the Miracle Mile exit.  The water doesn't pool up,...

Sunburned at the beach.....eating hot dogs from the snack bar.... walking on the boardwalk as far as it went into the white sand, then hopping foot to foot back to the striped umbrella that was older than I was. Stopping at Custom Bakers for yellow cake with chocolate icing... sneaking behind the counter to run my finger around the icing vat... smiling at the bakers. Cousins in the back yard... playing Red Light Green Light and Red Rover Red Rover and Tag.... the tree serving as home and safety and shade. Daddooooo at the BBQ, waving a spatula and warning us to stay far enough away from the flames so that we didn't get burned.... as his fire smoldered, carefully tended, coals evenly greying. G'ma in the kitchen, creating salad and iced tea and standing on a step stool to reach the long straws that signified the start of summer. Driving to Long Beach, sitting in traffic on the bridge over the inlet, parking and walking the boardwalk... with SkeeBall and The Fortune Tel...