The Burrow

Yoda and a strawberry joined our bumble bee at the library for story time yesterday. It was the grandest collection of adorable I've seen in a long time. FlapJilly was in heaven - all those books ready to be pulled off the shelves. Grandpa was on the floor, but he wasn't chasing after her. The antennae were annoying. The librarian was a saguaro.... how did she know that we were coming? There was singing and reading and dancing and controlled chaos and I'm still smiling. We'll be home this weekend, and I'll be able to think about Republicans yelling at ridiculous questions, about Cubbies losing four in a row, about watching West Wing from the pilot episode. For now, though, I'm going downstairs to hug the baby.

Oops.... We were having too much fun for Grandma to take time to post. Perhaps tomorrow will be different......

In between the snuggles there was decorating. Babies can't use power tools but Daddies can. I'd never seen anyone use a power tool to open a pumpkin,  but then again I'd never seen anyone use such perfect carving tools either. He did a great job, but FlapJilly had just as much fun with her Crayola water based paints.  I mention that they are water based so that you don't think she is permanently purple. Once she figured out that the colors were for the pumpkin instead of for spreading on the plate,  she took great delight in placing a delicate finger tip or two on her pint size pumpkin. Little Cuter was a helpful assistant, covering the baby's palm with purple paint and placing it on one side.  It was less than successful, and the kid was less than thrilled, but Grandma had a great time laughing at them all.  I was careful to keep the clapping to a minimum, though.  FlapJilly is a great imitator and I didn't want the pai...

It's tough, being a grandparent. You have to go to the park and climb on the slide and slide down the slide. There was lots of wandering around and crawling under  while wondering where her minions might be hiding.  There was looking for Grandpa through the bars, and following the parade behind her. You have to watch her devour a grilled cheese sandwich while flirting with the worker bees,  and then go to music class where she becomes the queen bee. And then, after singing and dancing and making music with every kind of percussion instrument ever invented, you must go to another park, where tan bark makes the littlest human in the party extremely happy. There were dinosaurs to sit upon and cars to drive before it was time to go home. As I warned you yesterday, there's not a lot of pithy thought this week. There's just lots and lots of love.

We traveled (it was delayed, it was crowded, there's a lot of stupid in the world) and arrived after the baby was asleep.  We ate and drank and hugged SIR and Little Cuter and went to sleep so that the morning would come quickly.  I needed a baby hug, and tomorrow could not come soon enough.   The day dawned, breakfast was eaten, a nap was taken, and then it was time for The Event of The Day: Kuipers' Pumpkin Farm. Pumpkin farms in October are a chancy business - they can be over-crowded and run down.  Often the animals look desperate for a rescue.   None of that was a problem for us this afternoon.  There were three parking lots filled with cars, and there was nary a crowd in sight.  There were families of all ethnicities, and children of all ages, including FlapJilly, arguably the most adorable human there. She was too little to ride the ponies, but that didn't stop her from enjoying them.   There was a palomino named Tr...

From TBG's lips: And isn't it interesting that, once again, a woman has to be smarter than everyone else..... and she is. I'm not a big fan of Mrs. Clinton.  I think she plays fast and loose with the truth (see Tysons' Foods profits in the 1980's).  I'm not talking Vince Foster rumors, but how did those Travelgate papers get on a family only table in the White House?  I think she has an interesting relationship with what the rest of us would deem appropriate. I don't fault her for personality traits; I cannot imagine that it is possible to rise to her level of influence without being ruthless (Joe Biden, it seems, to the contrary) and I think ruthless in women is characterized through a different lens.  I don't think there's an unbiased view out there and I don't have a personal one... Except when she was at a rally in Tucson, with Chelsea, and I watched them together and it felt right. And then a woman fainted in the front row and Mrs...

My family tells me that they can identify me in a crowd of thousands.   Your voice carries, Mom , is the nicest way they let me know that they heard my conversation with the cashier half way across the store.  That comment is often accompanied by rolling eyes and shrugging shoulders.  After all, what can you do about a mother who is loud? In the late 1970's, TBG and Orb Kcrob and Belly and I went to Grant Park for the 4th of July concert and fireworks.  We were meeting other friends, friends who were always late.  Our big pink sheet was on the ground, our balloons floating above it.  Unfortunately for us, every other large group had the same idea; the ground was littered with colorful, easy to identify, blankets and the air was swimming with balloons.  There was no way our friends would ever find us. (No, Millenials, we couldn't use our cell phones or send a GPS link to a device.  Those things had not yet been invented.) After finishing the ...

I have resisted for years.  Others became excited, and I was able to maintain my equanimity.  I'd been burned too many times before. I threw myself into it while sitting in the bleachers, a $2.50 extravagance which the sun and the peanuts and the beers made worthwhile.  The game was played, and we watched and cheered and threw back home run balls hit into the stands by opposing players. We wore Cubbies shirts and Cubbies caps and wrapped ourselves in plastic bags from the food vendors when the wind whipped up.  I had a wide array of gear, something for every season.  I bought Brother a Cubs jacket for his 30th birthday, which he exchanged for a Nationals jacket on his 60th birthday.  It was hard for me to buy something other than Cubbies blue, but he was cheering for his (new) hometown team and who was I to complain. We'd listen to the cheers from our backyard, leaving the gardening and running inside to watch the televised replay.  We were six b...

There were six of us, women of a certain age, playing mah jongg this morning.  We were at two tables, playing 3-and-a-dummy.  The upstairs lobby in our friend's senior living complex is bright and airy and, if I sit with my back to the hallway, I can see both the main entrance and the doorway to the balcony. It feels very safe. I traded my usual seat without much thought; my friend was warm, and I could feel a breeze she was lacking.  I decided not to mind that I couldn't see the doorways; she promised to keep an eye out if there was a tumult below. I was fine... I was winning.... once then twice then oh, dear this is embarrassing, three times in a row. I managed to fill a 2015 + winds hand; if you know the game you know that doesn't happen very often.  I had lots of jokers and it was easy to decide which hand to play and I was cruising along, smiling and accepting kudos and then I jumped about five feet in the air. A woman seated behind me stood up.  He...

When did it start to become a problem?  I never had trouble remembering lunch dates or dry cleaning or birthdays.  They were part of what I did each day, keeping track was a chore as much as the actual events were. Then, I gave up my paper calendar for my smart phone.  I used to like choosing the paper, the way the weeks were laid out, the pictures I'd be spending my year eyeing.  There was space for random notes, smiley faces and frowns, fat markers denoting important events.  I can open the shoebox marked with the relevant year and tell you exactly what I was doing on this date. I used to look back on them when I reorganized my treasures, those treasures my heirs will have to deal with once I am gone.  Now, I have to hope that the app recording my monthly activities will not vanish into the ether as technology changes.  There are no personal notes attached to Little Cuter's wedding or FlapJilly's birth day.... emoticons or emojii's don't carry th...

It stopped drizzling.  The air was warm and scented and the sky was orange and navy and Amster was on one chair, Seret was on another, and JannyLou shared the end of my lounge. The steaks were cooling next to the bbq, the prosecco was bubbling in our glasses, the guys were watching the Mets defeat the Dodgers. I was surrounded by the women who know me the best, the women who would, and did, drop everything to rush to my bedside. But, this evening there was no bathos, no sorrow.  There were giggles and stories and hugs.... so many many hugs. Life is good.

Once again, I forgot whether his birthday was the 12th or the 14th of October.  Used to be that I could remember because it was NOT Columbus Day.  Now that Columbus Day is on a Monday instead of a specific October date, that becomes more confusing.  And, every time I wondered about it, I was struck by the fact that I ought to be calling it Indigenous Peoples' Day. Life is so confusing these days. Once I determined that today is the day, I began to spend time with my dad.  True, he's been dead since the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and that Saturday occurred twelve years ago, but he was a big presence in life and, it seems, that continues in the after life, too. He was watching me schlep pots from the front to the side of the columns in the backyard.  It was a mindless, heavy, sweaty chore, a chore he'd have delighted in doing for me.  It didn't matter to him that I spent hours in the gym every day; when this kind of thing needed doing, he was the go-...

Oh, why not? It's not even Halloween and it's going to be over 100 degrees tomorrow and still Neiman-Marcus wants me to get in the Christmas Spirit.  Of course, their Christmas spirit includes a $530 Gucci leather handbag for tots and a faux fur chair for sitting on the sidelines at your kids' soccer games. At $125 it's fairly reasonable for the rest of the book.  On the other hand, my $15 collapsible chairs are still being used decades after my game watching days have ended. I was able to skip over the $2500 and $3500 handbags; my canvas sack from BlogHer'15 is my go-to purse these days. I'm always on the lookout for soft and warm headgear for my girl, and the smiley face balloon is emblematic of her sunny disposition. However, my stash of $5/skein yarn will make two or three of these, thus saving me $245 on each hat.  Mine won't have faux fox fur, it's true, but she won't lose her mind if she misplaces one of mine. The Fendi pa...

I love Ronni Bennett.  Her elderblog,  Time Goes By , is my go-to source for all things aging.  Others agree with me, as did John Gear, who sent her an article he wrote in 1999.  I'm excerpting it, with comments in italics, below.  It's an interesting idea, one that makes sense to me because it talks to Americans where they are most vulnerable - in their wallets. John Gear, in The Progressive Review : We can fix the gun problem. We can make America safer, without limiting our right to bear arms. And we can do it without an expensive, dangerous, and futile "War on Guns." To solve the real problem (keeping guns out of the wrong hands-without restricting other people) we must use an idea that has worked to limit losses from many other hazards: insurance. That's right, insurance, the system of risk-management contracts that lets people take responsibility for choices they make that impose risks on others. I know you didn't buy your gun to hurt me, but it ...

I love October.  In Ithaca, in Marin, in Tucson, in Chicago, I love October.  Two years ago, I loved October in Fort Lauderdale. The air is full of new smells.  Here, it's creosote after a rainstorm.  In my childhood, it was leaves burning.  In Marin, it was rosemary and, on certain hikes, on certain days, salty sea air. It's needing a sweater when you first go outside in the morning. Even if it's 80-something-degrees outside, it feels like winter's on its way.  My tank tops feel under-dressed in temperatures that would, in other surroundings, be perfect.  My wardrobe is turning to blacks and browns and greys; the pinks and yellows and aquamarines speak more of Mothers Day than Halloween. And then there's Halloween.  I'm not decorating outside this year, partly because we forgot to make the scarecrows and partly because TBG and I will be spending the holiday with FlapJilly. On the inside, I've taken a fairly restrained (for me) approach. ...

CUBBIES WIN!! CUBBIES WIN!! According to ESPN, everyone everywhere except Pittsburgh wanted the Cubs to win the wild card game and advance to the Division Championship 7 game series. That's all you need, if you want to look like you understand what's going on. ***** Yes, Daughter D, this next phase is a series. The first game was, absurdly, between the teams with the 2nd and 3rd best record in baseball. How did it happen?  It's the first time in the system's 17 years; no one expected it. ***** CUBBIES WIN!!! CUBBIES WIN!!! I have my t-shirt from 1989, carefully cold water washed and folded neatly, to be brought out on championship runs. I am letting myself dare to dream. ***** Little Cuter took FlapJilly to the softball field, where, to the delight of the women's league on the adjacent field, my granddaughter expressed herself I'm sorry. Kinda sorta. ***** Anyway, CUBBIES WIN!! and if FlapJilly feels it, who am I to say her nay? *****...

Sometimes, I forget to eat it.  Sometimes, it is all I can think about. Lunch and I have a very complicated relationship. It took me a long time to get used to the idea of ruining a perfectly good slice of rye bread by using it to hold meat in place.  The bread was enough for me; why was roast beef needed? It was in elementary school that this first became an issue; there was no Go-Gurt or Lunchables in the 1950's. G'ma would make a week's worth of sandwiches, label them in her tiny print, wrap them in Saran Wrap and pop one in my lunch box every morning.  By the time I opened it up at noon, the frozen bread had softened into an interesting paste, often adhering to the pastrami or salami or turkey it contained. Friends soon learned that sitting next to me would often garner them something much more interesting than their pb&j from home.  I wished I liked peanut butter; I loved jelly and bread. Trading for an apple or a cookie, I'd leave the cafeteria hungry...

I represented my alma mater, Cornell University, at the Tucson Unified School District's College Night.  Among the bright eyes and sharp minds there were those with specific needs for their next educational adventure.  Is there snow? What would a pre-med program look like?  Can I study large animals at the Vet School as an undergraduate?  I'm interested in civil engineering ... bioengineering... neuroscience ..... nutrition...  foreign languages. Yes yes yes yes yes... Ezra founded his namesake University on the premise that any person could find instruction in any course of study.  Not to worry; if you want to take Ancient Aramaic, someone will teach it to you. All night long I wondered if I'd chosen the most obscure language taught at Cornell.  My computer problems prevented me from searching the website.  This afternoon, when the fabulous AV guy  spent fifteen minutes rerouting signals and reprogramming our DVD's remote, I was tasked w...

It's all TBG's fault, actually.  He jinxed the whole thing by his one, off-hand comment last weekend. "Y'know, The Schnozz has been basically a trouble free car.  You haven't had anything major or expensive to deal with." From his mouth to Satan's ear, for sure, because this morning, on my way to Mah Jongg and the middle school and the furniture store and the gym and the library and the grocery, with the clouds lowering and the windshield showing a smattering of tiny drops, my sunroof refused to close. Yes, I know, in a normal climate a temperature of 84F would require the air conditioner at full blast.  Here in Tucson, though, we start opening our windows and reaching for sweaters once we're back down into double digits.  84 was perfect for smelling the desert air, creosote on the breeze, nothing mechanical to cool me... perfect for lowered windows and open sunroofs. It got half way there, and retreated.  Then it wouldn't move at all.  The...

Amster and the kids invited me to tag along.   I was their gear holder and photographer and cheerleader. I was there at the start when they were in the tub (" Not cold at all!!"  according to Mr. 10)  near  the army guys   who Amster thought were quite rude, using their size to advantage,  but who Mr. 10 thought were wonderful.   They stopped and helped him with the carry-the-buckets-filled-with-sand-through-the-mud obstacle. "They were really nice, Mom. Those buckets were really heavy." It was that kind of an event, a little bit family and a little bit fun . There were teams in matching outfits (Yes, they were superheroes) and there were orange shirted monitors on foot and on bike,  making sure everyone was having a great time. Getting over the top of this A-Frame stymied some, but stumped none. There was always someone to help. Those two on either side of Mr. 10 (in the gre...