The Burrow

We took our time getting downstairs. There were books to read and foam candles to put in and out of the foam menorah. But hunger overtook Grandma, so on went the clothes and downstairs we went. Breakfast was cottage cheese (note the spoon for self feeding) and fruit and then it was time to brush brush brush those teeth. Once again, FlapJilly asserted her independence. She gets those back molars with enthusiasm and vigor. It was a very soft shirt she wore for breakfast. The sippy cup with milk was empty. Refilling it was easy; replacing the cap was not. I failed. She was covered in milk. Off went the soft pink outfit, and on went Outfit #2.... which fell victim to Grandma's Perrier bottle. For some reason, I thought that sharing with Miss Independent was appropriate. It was not. I was tired of choosing outfits, so into the tub we went. The Splash Party was so much fun,  but naked baby pictures are not going to make their way into The Burrow ...

There was breakfast in the big girl chair, once again. Mommy is not too pleased with me, but I'm ignoring her. FlapJilly is happy to be there, and that's all that matters to me. We went to the big library in Naperville. The kids' area is different from the children's libraries I knew as a child. Toys, play rugs, noise.... it was a welcoming space with no shushing.  Family Story Time was nearly 100 kids and grown ups in a sunny, carpeted auditorium. The librarian had a microphone and a projector to display the pages on the screen and a lovely felt board right in front of us. FlapJilly was enthralled.   We danced and listened and danced some more. The Hokey Pokey is ubiquitous; she remembered it from Music Class and had a great time shaking it all about. Grandma was hungry after all that fun, so we hit Panera for some mac and cheese. After some initial exploration, my apple became her dessert. She was quite serious abo...

We read books. We ate breakfast and snacks sitting in the big girl chair, even though Mommy said the high chair was the appropriate venue. Grandma's a soft touch. We cleaned up the balls, after dumping them out and picking them up and dumping them out and picking them up.   Sometimes the basket ended up on her head,  but books could be read through the mesh,  so there was nothing to worry about. There was time to love the doggie, and then there were more books. After nap, and a change of outfits, we spent some time watching the migrating birds out the front window. Thomas the Wonder Dog was as interested as we were,  and we were very very glad that he was around. A trip to the grocery store afforded the opportunity to wear the silliest hat that Grandma crocheted. And then Mommy came home and joy abounded.  The young family rested while Grandma made dinner. They worked all day and deserved the couch time. ...

I left class at noon, and couldn't find anyplace enticing for lunch on the way to the airport. I parked, splurging for the $3.99 per day covered space, and was delivered to the terminal efficiently and effortlessly.  Since I leave clothes with the kids, I travel with electronics and not much else.  Packing is a breeze, and walking through the airport is a non-event. How different this is as time passes.  It wasn't long ago that I was leaning on a cane, begging for an early boarding pass so that no one would bump me.  I'm a comfortable, confident traveler again, and it feels great.  Progress is hard to measure when all the days are the same; it takes returning to a formerly-difficult-situation to impress myself. My change-in-DFW flight was at the gate next to the direct flight, which hadn't left yet, which had seats available, and which carried me non-stop from Tucson to O'Hare.  From the sunshine to the pouring rain.... but at least it isn't snowing. ...

It must be love.  There is no other answer.  I am leaving the sunshine and temperatures broaching the 70's for clouds and rain and half the therms.  I'm leaving my exercise routine and my husband and the pile of work on my desk. The baby awaits and I am ready.  Little Cuter and SIR have unbreakable work commitments and Michelle the Magnificent, their own personal Mary Poppins, is taking vacation.   "Mom, would you be willing to...." Obviously, she didn't have to finish the sentence.  Grandma is on her way. I have practical worries. Will FlapJilly have grown so much that retrieving her from her crib will be an undertaking of massive proportions?  I'm sure I'll get her out eventually; I am much stronger than I was the last time I visited, and so is she.  With some help on both sides of the crib slats, I'm certain that I will manage to extricate her from her bed. At least, that's what I am telling myself as I slip into an anxious sleep these ...

Sierra Leonean Technologist teams with American Sculptor to create GIF inspired Stop-motion  Afrobeat music video.. Joey Foster Ellis is the American Sculptor, although I know him as the son of our Cornell friends, the one who decided to cross California Street in San Francisco all by himself, when he was about 10, without considering where his family and friends might be headed, nor whether the approaching cable car, clanging with great enthusiasm, might intersect with his path. He has been on that same path from Upstate New York to China, where he became the first American graduate of the prestigious China Central Academy of Fine Arts , to Doha and Kathmandu and Juarez and Delhi and Istanbul.  He is curious and insatiable and delightful.  His work has been showcased at The Smithsonian Institution's 40 Under 40 exhibition at the Renwick.  He's one to watch, and I'd say that even if he weren't my friend... and my friends' son..... and a really great guy. Th...

When Dr. Jim was diagnosed, he became obsessed.  He woke early, he stayed up late. He read and researched and pondered and worried and thought about nothing else. He could be distracted, but only momentarily.  His brain refused to think about anything else.  His psyche kept him in lock step.  The result was anxiety. He was never present, in the moment, unless the moment was centered on the disease.  This became tiresome to his wife, and, ultimately, to himself.  Even so, he was stuck in the sludge.  He saw no way out. That's the charm of anxiety, a close friend of PTSD.  They are gifts which keep on giving, tossing the victim into a tumbling stew for which there seems to be no ladle. I offered a ladle, of sorts.  To this 68 year old who was on no medication at all, I suggested an anti-anxiety medication.  Ativan has been a close companion of mine for years; I was happy to share her with a friend. He was surprised at me.  I...

Jesse, he of The Wedding and G'ma and my stylist for the last 8 years, Jesse has moved to San Diego. His Dad travels through there for work on a regular basis, often landing for several months at a time. His lover is in school there.  He's found a salon with a welcoming atmosphere, and he's slowly building his clientele.  Traveling back to Tucson every month for 7 days, styling his steady clients and reconnecting with his Mom and siblings, was too distracting. He had to make A Decision.  December was his last month of travels.  He's committed to making a life in So Cal.  He left me despondent. Finding the right person to touch my scalp is crazy making for me.  I am quite particular.  I know that, with the right cut, I can shower and dress and be in the car in ten minutes; my hair is an afterthought.  I towel it dry and run my hands through the strands and I'm good to go.  If I'm  really feeling special, I'll use a brush. With a b...

The Short Version for the Water Cooler after Sunday's NFC playoff game - The Cardinals won both coin flips.  Green Bay's defense allowed the Cardinals to score.  End of story. The Long Version- The rule in overtime is that the team which wins the coin flip decides whether their offense or their defense will take the field first. Please, note that I said coin flip.   This is important because the first time the coin went into the air it did not flip.  The big boys surrounding it were upset. The ref tossed it again, the Cardinals won again, and three plays later Larry Fitzgerald caught a deflected pass in the end zone and, by scoring that touchdown, sent the Cardinals to the NFC Championship Game next weekend. The nay-sayers, read that Cheeseheads from Wisconsin,  think that Aaron Rogers should have had the opportunity to change his call before the re-flip. My response?   Oh, stop whining.  The other complaint is that Green Bay never got the ...

FAMBB sent a lovely set of blue napkins along with her thank you note for my Christmas brownies.  She's been sending me Hanukkah gifts since my post several years ago bemoaning the lack of the holiday's tchotchkes here in Tucson. I smile at the pillows and the towels and, this year, the napkins.  It's obviously getting harder for her to find cool things, too. But it was her letter that stumped me.  She's been making my brownies for her family ever since I sent her the recipe years ago.  They are named after me.  The kids love them.  I really don't have to send them to her every year.  She'll know I love her without the chocolatey evidence. I wonder if she feels obliged to reciprocate and is singing the I-Can't-Find-Any-Hanukkah-Stuff blues?  That would make me laugh. I never wonder if she doesn't like them; according to Mr. 10 everyone should like these brownies - they are the best in the world.   Is she trying to pare down and assumi...

I shared a lovely lunch with lovely women in a lovely setting this afternoon. We were all of a mind, politically, and we were all outraged. Trump.... Cruz.... where is the Republican Party of old?.... he's a Democratic Socialist.... There was so much to be upset about. And then someone wondered if I was as angry as they were. And, I'm not. We're women who drove ourselves to a public place where we shared political opinions loudly and freely.  We wore pants.  Some of us were thrice married and some of us were lapsed Catholics and no one paid us any attention at all. Yes, Donald J Trump and Ted Cruz scare me.  No, I don't have any idea where those-who-used-to-call-themselves-Republicans have gone.  I really don't care if Bernie Sanders calls himself a Democratic Socialist or a Purple People Eater. The sun came up this morning, and I was here to see it.  The fact that we had this conversation, that we asked these questions, in a Mexican restaurant 6...

Lunch is a big deal at Prince Elementary School The trays are created behind the steam table by the staff, but the veggies and milk are serve yourself. The stickers (see the cheeks and the pointer finger?) come from me, the Official Adopted Grandmother of Prince Elementary School. I put them on shoulders. I put them on chests. I put them on noses and cheeks and foreheads and ears. Some students are stunned.....  and some are bemused. Bemused is an interesting word to share with kids. These faces are a dictionary definition of the word.  The littlest ones go for the cookies first. Try to avoid crying over the lack of color on the trays. This is what passes for healthy school lunches in Arizona these days. There are carbs and there is grease and there is ketchup-as-a-vegetable. I sigh, and compliment the kids with carrots and cucumbers on their trays. It's the best I can do.  The kids remember Christina-Taylor, at least the ones ...

Actually, I'm not sure I got through it at all. The day happened, and I lived.  That's one way of looking at it. But the sludge of the sorrow is stuck to my skin and I can't seem to shake it. It didn't help that when I drove to and from playing cards this afternoon   the Safeway parking lot where I was perforated was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape,  was filled with fire engines and police cars and ambulances,  was noisy and sunny and frantic. Four hours of commotion; this was more than a fender bender, I'm sure. For me, it was lying on the cement outside that Safeway,  it was being carried on a slant board to a medevac helicopter,  it was feeling terrified, it was Christina-Taylor. The feelings are never too far from the surface.  Sometimes they refuse to be kept down. That's how it was last Friday. The five year anniversary was, as Ms Levine told her kindergarteners, "a tricky day"  for me. Bec...

He's 13 years old.   At about 2:30 AM I started drawing and I was just searching the computer for ideas  and I realized how relevant shootings are  so I created that. His mother sent the artwork to me this morning. Her son's late night thoughts should revolve around pretty people he'd like to kiss, not dead 9 year olds, or 17 year olds, or college students, or high schoolers. Ta'Nehisi Coates's  Between The World And Me  describes his daily struggle to get through the day. His body language, his clothing, his gaze - all circumscribed by the violence surrounding him. He didn't relax.  He couldn't.  It wasn't safe.   He might die. When it's  the other  who is afraid to walk home from school, it's easy to shake your head and sigh. When it's a friend's son facing the reality of gun violence at 2:30 in the morning, it's harder. Perhaps this is what the current focus on guns can achieve. Our chil...

A guest post by Big Cuter. It’s not because my formerly beloved San Francisco 49ers have gone completely in the tank.  Sure that helps, but I like to think that it really just freed me to follow my head.  My heart is no longer in it. This isn’t some knee jerk reaction.  This is something that I’ve struggled with for the past 18 months. Lets back up a bit.  Who am I and why does/should my trial separation matter to the NFL?  Well, Burrow denizens, I’m Ashleigh’s son, so there’s that.  I’m a 32 year old, single (much to my mother’s dismay), man who for most of my life defined myself by my football fandom.  Examples?  Well, I’m glad you (didn’t) ask!  Shallowly, in those Facebook word-clouds of most used words in the last year, FOOTBALL easily came in first.   I’ve created 15 page PowerPoints to teach football to significant others. Every Wednesday during the football season TBG  and I go through every single NFL game an...

In 2012 I was too wrapped up in planning the commemorative event to write about the shooting that created the need for an anniversary.  Or, maybe I was too wrapped up in the sad and the sorrow to allow myself to think about it right then.  In  2013  I was looking forward, planning good deeds and civic engagement and confident that I could make a difference.  There wasn't a lot of retrospective then, either.  Was it because I wasn't strong enough to look backward, or was it that I didn't have far to look.  Backward was with me all the time, every day.    2014  and  2015  were cut from a different cloth.  I was saying good-bye to CTG, although I didn't know it at the time. I know that the distance which time has put between that sunny day and the rain I'm looking at right now has softened some of the edges.  I'm not healing the way I was a year ago, and I'll probably approach it from a different perspective next ...

BlogHer.com asked me to expand on Wednesday's post  about President Obama's Executive Actions on gun safety. This is the link, if you think you want more of me.

I'd been stressed about it for a while.  I asked for opinions, and, as expected, the answers revealed more about the respondents than they did anything to resolve the issue. I was starting to cry at odd moments.  It's a tough week, and the confusion was making it worse. Then, I reconnected with a helper-bee from years ago.  She's in a new job, but her willingness to fix things hasn't changed a bit.  I explained the problem, after swearing her to secrecy. We were discussing solutions when, in an aside, she mentioned me that what I thought was a problem was actually viewed as a positive by the other side. The issue was in my head.  Not unusual for me, but startling nonetheless. I started to cry.  I thanked my old acquaintance for providing relief, unwitting relief but relief all the same. She laughed, and thanked me for thanking her.  She said I made her day. She has no idea how important she was to mine.

Not many grown men cry ... not many grown men cry at work .... not many grown men cry on television.  Our President did all of that, and more this morning.  I am so very very proud of him. My friends were there - Roxanna and John and Daniel and Pat and Pam and Mark and Gabby - representing our shooting, which has gotten lost in the shuffle as time passes and more deaths are recorded.  My President hugged and smiled and hugged some more.  The audience clapped and cheered as the simple solutions - mental health services, expanded background checks, responsibility for lost and stolen weaponry - were detailed. As he said, It's not enough.   Those of us on the right side of the issue (my side, obviously!) must be as loud and committed to action as those on the other side.  As Mr. Obama reminded us, 90% of Americans want action on this issue.  If our elected representatives can't give it to us, then it behooves us to vote them out and replace them with t...