The Burrow

Jean Knows Cars links you to previews of the commercials car companies will be running during the game.  I recognize that adding that link at the beginning of this post may lose you all to teary, nearly-maudlin, smile-through-the-sighs, advertisements, but I'm willing to take the risk. The 6 minute, extended version of Toyota's tribute to good fathering is worth every second.  "All that love stuff"..... "What kind of father do you want to be?"  "THIS KIND" (as he pats his dad's shoulder).... not a puppy in sight, and I was still gob-smacked. ***** It's true that the commercials are usually the best part of the game.  By the time the hoopla has died down and the players have taken the field, the game itself is anti-climactic. I was in Chicago for the 1985 Bears, and in the Bay Area for the 49'er's reign, but since then there's been no real rooting interest firing in my breast. This year, I'm stuck between cheaters and ...

This could have been labeled Promises Unfulfilled.  The story is the same.  The aggravation quotient doesn't change.  We're still gritting our teeth and worrying. TBG became eligible for Medicare on January 2 this year.  He completed his piece of the application process in early December.  It was lengthy.  It was on-line.  My help was required.  I was glad to oblige.  We filled in little boxes, we typed in information, we agreed and concurred and allowed and informed and then we clicked Submit.   The pop-up box told us that we were done.  We should expect an answer within 3-5 days. It's been 3-5 weeks and we have heard nothing.  There have been no emails, even in the spam folder.  There have been no phone calls, even before our area became embroiled in a northwest side outage which will be repaired by 7pm this evening , according to the lovely young woman at Comcast. This means that my husband is uninsured.  T...

I slept through my alarm this morning.  The pitter-patter of raindrops was a lovely background to a fascinating dream of which I have no memory except that of wishing I were still watching it as TBG rubbed me awake and wondered why I was still abed. Rain smells different in the desert.  Creosote - love it or leave it and no one is in between - delights my nostrils as much as the raindrops dangling from the edges of the cholla's spines treat my eyes.  I was too late to enjoy it except through the car windows, but that was enough. People in the desert do not drive well in the rain. It seems to bring out the worst in everyone.  Somehow, late as I was, the gentleman poking along in front of me wasn't putting me out.  I breathed in Calm and exhaled Peace and kept my eyes open and focused on the road ahead.  My insides were relaxing as my foot modulated the gas pedal.  I was already late; 30 seconds more wouldn't change anything. It was such an ...

Maybe it's the gloomy skies. Maybe it's my little girl bemoaning the fact that work takes her from her infant daughter for twelve long hours, five days a week. Maybe it's the realization that walking from Burtt and Ernie's house to the lecture at Centennial Hall and then back again will be more than my body can handle.  Maybe it's the minor tumult in my extended family, minor only because some of us have refused to rise and take the bait. Whatever it is, it's sitting on my shoulders like stubborn dandruff.  It won't be brushed away. TBG is watching Disney's Zorro , reprising his childhood as the episodes unfold.  His knee is acting up, his usual spin teacher has been ill, the substitutes have been unsatisfying, he didn't enjoy his food last night.... and Zorro seems to be putting him in a better place.  I wish it were that easy for me to change my mood. I tried reading, but couldn't keep my mind on Amy Tan's courtesan's dau...

The Realtor connected us and it was lovely.  We dined, we chatted, we agreed that we'd meet again.  We're both busy. She's not here all the time.  We'll add one anther to email lists and consider extending invitations to events we're planning to attend. It's a Tucson friendship. "How long have you been here?" is the first question asked.  Some friends came for college and never left.  Some followed spouses with jobs at Raytheon or transferred with military orders to Davis Monthan, our friendly neighborhood Air Force base.  Many came for a vacation and couldn't imagine returning to the cold and ice of Minnesota or Michigan or the Dakotas.  I've been in Tucson for nine years, now, and I have yet to find someone who ended up here randomly.  No one seems to be stuck; everyone seems to have chosen our little piece of heaven to be their own.  It's a very manageable place, my Tucson.  Two-degrees-of-separation is the approxima...

That's what I saw when I walked into the service department at the VW dealership this afternoon.  I couldn't resist what came out of my mouth; something about under-inflation and trustworthiness and should I really leave them my car?  The service advisors' reactions were muted; they'd heard it all before... all day long. Bill Belichik's been accused of leading a team of cheaters, once again.  Briefly, for those of you who rely on The Burrow for all your sporting news, footballs are checked by the officials 135 minutes before the kick-off. In the interim, they are returned to the safekeeping of each team's equipment staff.  In last week's playoff game, 11 of the 12 balls in the Patriot's care were found to be underinflated to a level below that which is mandated for game play use.  Underinflation makes the ball easier to catch, to carry, to throw.  It makes it harder to fumble.  Tom Brady, Belichik's golden boy quarterback, prefers a softer ball....

The notion has been roaming through my thoughts for the past few weeks - what does it mean to win?  I started with a phrase - Winning Hearts and Minds.  From a conversation about Apocalypse Now , half listening to the men in my life dissecting the film, I wandered through history to the underlying thesis of the war - to win the hearts and minds of the populace.  If they could be convinced that Ho Chi Minh had nothing on Uncle Sam, the battle would be won. Using napalm and supporting corrupt officials didn't help our cause, of course, but I was going elsewhere.  Does changing someone's beliefs count as a win?  By whose lights are beliefs right or wrong?  Because you are the other , with skin tinted differently, are you always in the wrong?  Was it necessary for the people to look at the world through an American lens in order for us to win?  And why did we need to win?  The Domino Theory (if Vietnam falls to Communism, the rest of Asia...

She was a blob of protoplasm, carried from room to room, doted on and stared at.  She absorbed it all. Long, slow back rubs led to cat-like stretching.  Whispering into her tiny ear brought her head closer to my mouth. Singing Miss Adelaide's songs from Guys and Dolls slowed her breathing.  She lay on my chest, swaddled or naked, rising with my every breath.  There were creases and folds and curves to love.  The nape of her neck.... the inner bend of her elbow.... all those thigh rolls.... I could lose myself for long, lovely minutes at a time.  Her wishes were expressed in scrunched eyeballs and loud yelps, in twisting and curling away. Displeasure was clearly understandable; her face became square and purple and full of angry wrinkles.  It never felt sad; she was pissed off and letting us know it. Falling asleep with the baby on my chest, matching inhales and exhales, everyone tiptoeing around so as not to disturb the scene.  Daddy da...

I took the boys to the card and comic store last week. Mr. 11 got off the bus as I was two cars behind its yellow rear. He stopped to get the mail and to pick up the blue recorder Miss Texas had dropped that morning, thus saving it from The Schnozz's tires entering the driveway. He wondered what adventure I had planned for his little brother; he was thrilled to be invited to join us.  "Just send him in to get me," he said, and I did.   The little one was very happy to share the joy with his big brother. It's part of what makes him the kindest kid I know.   We drove down Campbell, looking on the east side of the street. We knew it was near the old Coffee X-Change but we weren't precisely sure. "There it is!" "NO"  "Uh-oh... keep going" "YES!" Who needs Google Maps when there are little boys in the back seat? Walking through the door was a blast from the past. Messers 9 and 11 were easily interchange...

It's getting to be a regular thing for us. Brenda Starr and I decided on Monday to do the Color Dash on Saturday. Somehow, a 5K doesn't seem that daunting any more. We're each walking with poles, which elongate our stride while providing just enough reassurance. They are equipped with curved rubber tips; Nordic walking poles rather than hiking poles, to be precise.  We arrived early, secured perfect parking, and had a picnic. The System, a gift from Basil St. John, had plaid cloth napkins and real plates and cutlery and with lox for protein and Simply Orange juice in the tiny china coffee mugs for Vitamin D, we feasted.  There were food trucks, had we been less prepared.  I was introduced to the concept of the poutine , and was left wondering about the person who would eat fries and gravy before exercising.  We arrived ridiculously early, and had plenty of time to watch the pre-race festivities. There was Simon Says and Macarena like line-dan...

It's been one of those weeks.  The celebrations are finished, the decorations are boxed and stored.  The house has a curiously empty feeling; it's waiting for Valentines Day to make an appearance.  For now, I'm using up all the half burned candles in the pantry, making a drippy mess on the end table, not worrying that the dark green pillar looks pretty creepy next to the deep purple pillar beside it. TBG and I are concentrating on getting our lives in order for the next era.  He turned 65 this month.  That means Social Security and Medicare and pension decisions must be made.  These require the computer.  He made an appointment with me, his secretary, to work on the applications.  We spent the morning filling in little boxes, answering security questions, deciding whether to take it all or spread it out, whether to kill trees and get those pieces of paper which warm the cockles of his heart or to have things delivered electronically, through me,...

The pictures warm the cockles of my heart. These were taken by Margo who brought Miss Sugar and Sara, who brought Earl,    to the Stroll and Roll.   While some of the kids couldn't wait to start chalking the path, others couldn't get enough off the dogs. The girls were interested in the free t-shirts, but Miss Sugar found a friend all her own. She was about as soft a pooch as I'd ever felt. Being so low to the ground gave me an excuse to sit in the watching-kids-play-soccer chairs and rest. Mr. 9 thought that Miss Sugar was a lot smaller than his Staffordshire Terriers, and therefore would be much easier to walk. Earl, on the other hand, was a much sturdier creature. This little girl is keeping all her body parts close. Earl, being a Therapy Dog, knows to give her space. So, nose to nose, they became acquainted. Tentative but brave brings gentle hands to Earl, who's resting comfortably on his mat. The ground is pretty co...

Connections are tricky.  Families are complicated.  Personalities get in the way of conventional relationships.  Expectations are raised and dashed and often it's the youngest of those involved who are hurt the most.  There's almost nothing that can be done.... or so it seems. There are people in our lives with whom we are bound to interact. Siblings.....Parents...Aunts and Uncles and Cousins and Grandparents.... society expects us to know where they are and what they are doing.  Holiday celebrations are designed to bring us closer together, to show our faces to one another, to relive and rehash and reconvene.... often with disastrous consequences. An aunt reaches out, shares her children and her experience and her love... such as it is.  She creates an attachment, she sets expectations for the future, she becomes part of the extended family.  The littlest one is thrilled.  His family is small and this is a fantastic expansion. And then, as ...

I spent last week trying to take care of myself. I decided to lose myself in literature.  I went to the library and took out the last five books of Marcia Muller's Sharon McCone mystery series.  Muller has a great sense of place.  I turn the corners with her.  I recognize the buildings she describes.  I've sat on the grass in the parks she traverses.  I was delightfully invested in the characters and the surroundings. I wasn't thinking about anything Tucson related at all.  That was the goal.  I was happy,  I went through one, two, three and a half books reveling in my new companions' travels and travails in San Francisco until Sharon McCone hears about the shooting in Tucson... where " Gabby Giffords was shot.... and six people died.... one of them a kid" NO. That was my kid. I was there.  And that's not where I wanted to be again.  The best laid plans.......

      This was the third time GRIN invited the community to walk on the path named for my little friend.  Part of BEYOND! , designed by Gabe Zimmerman's family to get the community focused on moving past the tragedy, into remembering those taken and damaged by moving in the great outdoors.  Ross, Gabe's father, likes to say that Tucson has more hiking trails in its immediate environs than any other city in the USA.  Even if it's not true, it feels like it is. We used the path along the Canada del Oro wash.  It's paved, with bridges and underpasses and a fence separating the walkway from the sandy wash.  Shared by cyclists and walkers and dogs and scooters, it's a well-used exercise venue on the northwest side of town.  On Saturday, friends and strangers joined the Humane Society's VIP Pets and GRIN volunteers as we moved BEYOND! and shared the love.  Free sidewalk chalk let participants give free reig...