The Burrow

My body returns to Tucson today, but my heart remains behind.

We've been on a tour of the local libraries this vacation. It's the best, free, indoor activity for an Indiana winter. Today's adventure took us to the St. Joseph County Public Library in South Bend. There was one marvel after another, starting with this perfectly appropriate Christmas tree in the lobby. We rode the elevator to the third floor, the space reserved for children, and found ourselves in a train centered wonderland.  First, we had to enter through the luggage tunnel: TBG and Flapjilly were the happiest campers, conversing through the train car's window. When he turned around, Grandpa was amused by this very useful moose. There were computers everywhere, on big tables and on little desks  We distracted the digital native with the magnetic table; you moved the fish and the lizards with wands from below. Somehow, Little Cuter managed to stack them atop one another; it was a bit too graphic an image for a 2 year old, so we moved on. ...

She shares hugs. She shares giggles. She shares stories and baby dolls and lots and lots of books. And, of course, she shares her germs. This is how I spent hours between 3 and 5 this morning:

Big Cuter likes to cook. FlapJilly likes to help. Little Cuter reigns in her kitchen. Grandma ate and enjoyed every bite . The food tastes much better when I don't have to do anything but bask in the love of those I love. It's a very happy Hanukkah, indeed.

For this ten day trip, I packed three library books and four new downloads on my Kindle. My girls seem to be following in my footsteps. My heart is full.

There was the library, with a quiet toy corner. There was preparing Uncle Big Cuter's air bed. There were the silly blinking glasses. There was no time to write.

You know you've been a success as parent when your daughter uses your recipe to make brownies for her colleagues and your granddaughter joins her on the counter while munching on the ones you brought from home, saying Grammma, come here!! Life is good.

The plane starts boarding at 5:30am. Yes, 5:30 in the early early morning.  That's just under 2 hours before the sun rises in Mesa, and Mesa is where the plane will be.  Unfortunately for us, Mesa is almost 2 hours away from our home. It's almost not worth it to go to sleep. We investigated using our Marriott points to stay at the Courtyard around the corner from the terminal.  But, alas, the days of stay-and-park-for-free seem to have disappeared along with the leg room in coach class.  By the time we got done with the fees, the free room wasn't so free any more.   So, we set our alarms for 3am.  We'll be on the road by 3:15 and parked in the long term lot with plenty of time to meander through the outdoor concourse to our gate. I'm trying to avoid considering just how tired I'll be; TBG's shoulder is the right height for my sleeping head, and the three hours to South Bend will be just enough for me to catch the rest of my 40 winks. Ever...

I could go off on a rant about the foxes guarding the hen houses in the proposed Trump Cabinet, leading off with one of the questions his transition team asked the Department of Energy: Which programs within DOE are essential to meeting the goal of President Obama's Climate Action Plan? but, I won't. I could rant about whether I should validate and verify the information, but it came from NPR and I'm choosing to believe that they are not purveyors of Fake News, but I won't. I could scream at the rafters that WORDS MATTER, but I won't. Instead I will relish the fact that on Monday afternoon I will have the world's sweetest grandchild snuggled in my lap...or chasing me around the house.... or bringing me a book or six to read. photo: JPetersenPhotography.com Have a wonderful weekend, denizens s.

We were really happy back in October.  TBG and I bought the supplies and SIR was delighted to have a project. Happy Anniversary!  Happy New House!   Before he installed the reclaimed and refurbished cabinets and taped and mudded ( "It's really an art that takes time to master." )   and painted the walls (the exact right shade of white) and installed the lights and panels and whatnots that make this space worthy of FlapJilly's description:  Daddy's Garage... Before he could move his most needed tools off the dining room table and onto the work bench and the pegboard...... Before the Beer 'Fridge could get out of the way of everything and come to rest in the perfect spot... ........ the floor had to be refinished. He sanded.  He swept.  He cleaned.  He re-sanded the rough spots.  He made sure the surface was pristine.    He did everything the directions told him to do, in just the same order they recommended....

A course in manners was needed, or so her parents thought.  Standing in front of the pantry while yelling M&M’s PLEASE!!!! at the top of her lungs was not to be rewarded. And so, they began to work on Excuse me.  She’s a fast learner, my delightful granddaughter. As her parents made sure to use the phrase at every possible moment, she figured it out rather quickly. Pleasing the grown-ups is FlapJilly’s favorite pastime; their smiles and congratulations on her polite asking brought joy to everyone.  But, would the work done in private translate to a social situation? She’s often a little shy when there are others about, especially if some of them are men with great big loud deep voices. Would she be brave enough to interrupt when others were watching? The question was answered last Sunday. After a grueling weekend spent removing the old roof from the new house, Daddy and Papa and Uncle were sprawled on FlapJilly’s couch, recuperating, paying minimal attention t...

I've been attending the Cornell Club of Southern Arizona's Holiday Party for more than a decade.  No matter where we hold it, it's exactly the same.   The men are wearing Cornell ties and pins and polo shirts.  The women sport shiny red things - on their feet, on their bodies, dangling from their ears.  We always have name tags, even though, by this point, we should all recognize one another.  After all, we've been doing the same thing for more years than most of the children playing tag around the edges of the adult conversation have been alive.   Some years there are more of us, some years there are fewer, but I can always count on seeing the fascinating members of the Classes of 1954 and 1963 and 1990.  They each have a story to tell, and this is the place for reminiscences.  " Of course I'd like to know what my alma mater felt like right after WWII"  is not merely polite conversation.  I was listening long before they stoppe...

Actually, Blogger and Lenore the Lenovo conspired in my iniquity. But, when it comes right down to it, I can't blame Russian hacking for the lack of a post early this morning. I wrote it.  The systems refused to save it or publish it. I copied it to a text file and promptly forgot about the whole thing. I apologize.  In my defense, I am about 50 boxes through The Brownie List, and there are so many many many more to go. Today's post will be live at midnight.  Sorry if I disappointed you this morning.  I'll try not to let it happen again.

I'd call in sick, except the Burrow prints only the truth. My truth, right now, is that I need a break. I'll be back on Monday, refreshed and ready. Have a wonderful weekend, denizens.

I read Horton Hatches The Egg  yesterday.  Fifteen English Language Learners sat silently at my feet, legs in criss-cross-applesauce, hands in their laps..... for the most part, any way.  Grandma stops reading when there is tumult on the carpet; it's amazing how quickly silence from a grown up leads to silence from the kids. I've been feeling disconnected from the Prince Kindergartens this year; Miss Levine has moved on up to 4th grade, and I had to work to establish a new routine for myself.  Miss Levine was easy; I could open her door anytime, any day, and plunge right into whatever was going on.  Different teachers have different expectations, though, and I never want to be a bother.  But last month found me chatting in the Teachers' Lounge with most of the kindergarten teachers and we developed a plan. I want to make a lasting memory, one that all of the kids and I can share.  The teachers were looking for a Cool Down period after lunch recess ...

"Put this on the doorknob."  Met by a blank stare, I commented that it wasn't a very complicated instruction. "You don't have door knobs,"  was Mr. 11's accurate if somewhat snarky response. And so it went, for minimum wage plus a tip, last Wednesday. They've been helping me for years; they know the drill. Carrying the ladder and the tall box of large, unbreakable, out-door ornament balls, they required no supervision to get started.  As I sorted and repacked and organized Halloween and Thanksgiving on the garage floor, my young assistants took to their task with all the importance it required.  My neighbors slowed down to wave and smile as my trees grew more festive.  Their work did not exist in a vacuum.  As their satisfied smiles proved, it really was important work. The inside was less prickly, at least as far as the flora was concerned. 11 and 13 are, by nature, testing the waters to see how far they can go, and Decoratin...

Bo and Luke Hazard, the Staffordshire Terriers who live with Mr's 11 and 13, were playing rough on Saturday night.  When Amster returned from dinner with the girls, her kitchen and dining room looked like a crime scene.  Blood was everywhere.  The dogs showed no puncture wounds, which led the vet to believe that it was teenage rough housing rather than fraternal terrorizing.  How to keep it from happening again remains a mystery. Needless to say, my friend is upset. Little Cuter has had a cold and a cough and a sinus infection and bronchitis for weeks.  Over the counter medications and prescription broad-spectrum antibiotics have minimized her discomfort but not eliminated the disease.  She's still coughing and sneezing and congested.  She hasn't had a full night's sleep in who knows how long.  Moving to a new town meant finding new doctors; it was one of the tasks she thought could wait.  Now, faced with a third trip to the Health Center...

My favorite Facebook meme -   In the interest of maintaining my sanity, I'm choosing to be uninformed. I've steered away from the President-Elect because it's December and I can immerse myself in elfing. I try to avoid anything that will burst my Holiday Celebration Tour bubble, from toxic relatives to toxic soon-to-be-elected-officials. But just now, watching ABC's World News Tonight's opening headline reel, I was both informed and smiling. Obviously, I came to The Burrow to share it with you. The Army Corps of Engineers will deny the Dakota Pipeline a permit and maybe, just maybe, the Water Protectors can go home for the winter.   There's a terrible fire in an artist's warehouse in Oakland; families are desperate for contact as firefighters sift through the wreckage.  I forget what the third story was but then, the fourth story, was the President-Elect's Twitter Tirade (their headline, not mine) with this image behind the verbiage: abcnews.go...

Sitting quietly on the couch, the tv humming with a TBG-approved sporting event, my eyes and my self  buried in a Tana French novel , there was peace and serenity. CRASH!! TinkleTinkleTinkleTinkle..... We were on our feet and frantic.  It doesn't take much to set off our PTSD, and loud, unexpected noises are triggers for both of us. Our heads were swiveling around, trying to locate the source in a house whose curves and angles and open floor plan distorts locations and flummoxes even the most efficient seeker of sound. There was nothing on any of the kitchen counters; we'd cleared them and emptied the dishwasher and nothing was out of place.  Nothing could have fallen.  The cabinets were shut; nothing fell out of them.  Looking inside and on top failed us.  Then, we looked down. The floor was scattered with shards of glass.  They were everywhere, but where did they originate?  The Thanksgiving decorations were neatly stacked in the niche; ...

I agree with Rain , a denizen, that individuals boycotting companies to make a political statement is unlikely to make a difference, in policy or the bottom line.  I wrote the post, and I wrote the emails, and I talked it up to my friends (once again, preaching to the choir), but inside, I was sighing. And then I read that Kellogg's is pulling its ads from Breitbart News.  Their reasoning turned my boycotting frown upside down: "We regularly work with our media-buying partners to ensure our ads do not appear on sites that aren't aligned with our values as a company," Kellogg's said in a statement. "We recently reviewed the list of sites where our ads can be placed and decided to discontinue advertising on Breitbart.com. We are working to remove our ads from that site." CNN/Money goes on to describe Steve Bannon's hissy fit, which includes calling his views mainstream America  and calling for a boycott of his own. And so, denizens, here's ...

I love writing the cards and baking the brownies and decorating the packages and dropping them off in the post office, one by one down the chute, smiling as I send loving thoughts to the recipients. I love putting out the pillows and the candle holders and the door hangers.  I love watching my house move from TBG's Episcopal sparseness to his mother's Christmas-on-every-surface. There is nothing I relish more than an afternoon in a comfy chair, with a good book in my lap and liquid refreshment by my side.  It's even better if the sun is out and the temperatures are in the 60's -Tucson's version of winter - and if the book is #10 in a 20 book series, and all the remaining ten texts are on my bookshelf, on loan from the library, just waiting to be read. And that's where I am right now.  I have something from every column of my Smile Through December spreadsheet, and I don't know what to do.  I punted, earlier in the day, by getting my nails done.  Out wi...

Big Cuter says I never send him brownies any more.  We'll see if he reads this and reacts with a smile. I have something to send Megan, frequent comment-leaver and fierce woman incarnate, and it seemed silly not to send her brownies, too. Not-Kathy and Dr. K know the holidays begin when my brownies arrive; it's early this year, my friends. And, perhaps, my treats will arrive at R-Square's before their lands on my doorstep. It's Brownie Season, and I'm happy. I will not ruin it by thinking about that which I cannot change (ie. President-elect tweets) having done what I can to make my voice heard (emailed my Senators re: Jeff Sessions for anything). I will smell the baking and write the cards and start the season off with a full heart.

Thanksgiving was early.  Chanukah is late.  This is an extra week. My holiday season revolves around the baking and distribution of dozens of boxes of brownies. The fact that I didn't bump into December this weekend means that this is an extra week, a week which has no assignments, a week in which can be used to compile and prepare. It's a luxury I rarely experience. This year, as always, I lost the Brownie List.  Not the hard copy I always print out, the list of names I can check off as cards are written, labels are printed, and boxes are packed.  No, the list that Little Cuter created for me a decade or so ago, the one with the addresses, the Official Brownie List. I searched this PC  and documents  and Gmail messages and came up empty.  There were links to folders which had been deleted.  There was no Brownie List.  My girl attached it to the plaintive email I sent.  I realized that it was a Google Doc..... easily accessible f...

I've been re-reading Thanksgiving posts, and smiling a lot. Here is some of the joy.   I'll be back to reality on Monday; I'm taking the weekend off. ***** Memories Then: ..... of full bellies lying on the couch, begging for relief, as Hough's creamed spinach wound its way through an overloaded digestive tract..... ..... of my first niece, a veg even as a toddler, eating cucumbers for dinner and feeling just fine..... ..... of walks around the neighborhood, wrapped in scarves and hats culled from the front hall closet, surrounded by all ages and temperaments, mellowed by tryptophan On dinner in Cleveland Heights at Nannie's house: We'd sit in the dining room, using it, for once, as more than an inconvenient space between the kitchen and the tv room, sideboards groaning, waiting for Nannie's yearly screech.  Thanksgiving wouldn't be Thanksgiving without my mother-in-law jumping up from the table, just as the first fork was lifted and yelping,  ...

For my happy, healthy family, here and there, For my friends, near and far, old and new, and old-and-found-again, For the abundance of goodness I see every day, For the richness of the world I inhabit, For the fact that I am here at all,  I am truly thankful. Happy Thanksgiving to you all !

RE: The President Elect His phone call with Mr. Abe was on an unsecured line.  Surely this is as disturbing as Mrs. Clinton's use of a private server. His businesses are intertwined with the business of the nation, and his children (who cannot really run a "blind trust" for him, now can they?) are in the room making policy even as they plan to run the businesses after the inauguration.  How is this not a conflict of interest? His DC hotel touting their space to diplomats - how is this not Pay for Play? I am quite concerned about the integrity of our government.  I hope that you will pay close attention to these matters, as you have to Mrs. Clinton's emails. That's what I wrote in the space provided at the Blow the Whistle  tab on the  House Oversight and Government Reform Committee's  website.  I signed my name, and the site assures me that I'm safe:  Any personal information you provide us will be kept in strict confidenc...

I wrote this missive to my Congresswoman: Dear Rep. McSally, Silence=Acquiescence. Hatred, division, and vengeance have no place in civil discourse. Can you stand up for women, and our right not to be groped? Can you stand up for the First Amendment, and the right of cast members to speak truth to power: You took on the Air Force and won; I admired that.  Are you brave enough to speak out for others, too? I await your response.  Mr. Trump's behavior is often inappropriate - will you call him on it? I took my letter (handwritten, on my embossed stationary) to a Pantsuit Nation Tucson Meet Up  on the street in front of Rep. McSally's office.   There we stood, men and women of all ages and descriptions, holding signs and smiling at the cars passing us by. I joined them after thanking the Tucson Police for their presence in the parking lot nearby; they were looking out for us and that made me feel marginally safer.  Drivers slowed to re...

I spent Saturday sending emails to strangers.  Every time I hit SEND I smiled.  Big Cuter, comfortably ensconced on Douglas-the-Couch, wondered what was making me so happy. I'm hitting him where it hurts the most, and it feels great. What was it? #GrabYourWallet was created last month in response to Trump's bragging about sexual assault. They created a spreadsheet  of companies carrying Trump branded products and encouraged consumers to contact the retailers with this message: I'm a customer/fan of your brand. Unfortunately, I'll no longer be able to shop there because you do business with the Trump family.  If you were no longer to do so I would consider returning as a customer. Since Ivanka has campaigned so passionately for her father, I feel that her brand, too, has become politicized. This was something I could do, right then.  I wouldn't have to wait on hold, or be told that voice mailboxes were full (see tomorrow's post).  I could type a...