The Burrow

I am rarely ill.   Hearty peasant stock  is how our family refers to the fact that TBG is laid prostrate with what barely bothers me.  If I do come down with something, it doesn't last more than 24 hours.  I go to sleep and wake up refreshed and healthy. Would that that had happened last night. Instead, I was up every three hours, medicating and whimpering and coughing and achy.  TBG knows not to disturb me when I'm in this state; where he requires hugs and rubs, I desire to be left alone. Don't touch my fevered brow.  Just let me wallow in self-pity, and then heal. Unfortunately, I didn't heal last night.  I woke up this morning just as congested as I was when I lay my head on my pillow last night.  I'm alternately sweating and freezing.  I can't fall asleep, but the words I'm reading in the library book are swimming in my brain, not really making connections.  I keep forgetting who the characters are. I've picked up the pre-ord...

That's what I am.  Blank. Empty. Scraped raw. The tears have stopped but the ache inside is pulsing. I could take another Ativan. I could wallow in the misery. No.  I will not allow him to win. I will stop trying to let my fingers figure it out on the keyboard, because I am tired of dwelling in this space.  I am going to the garden store and I am going to buy pretty things and then I am going to play in the dirt. I'll be back on Monday with a lighter heart. For now, hug those you love and hold them tight.  Tomorrow is not promised; make the most of today.

It was a bright, sunny morning as the stranger and I left the gym.  I was feeling strong.  I was walking well.  I listened as she retold my story through her eyes - watching me over the years in the gym, seeing me on tv, thinking of and praying for that sweet little girl - and then I drove home. Something was nagging at me, so I called Little Cuter for a pick me up quickie, bur she was debating taking a long, healing nap beneath her desk, battling a-flu-that's-going-around, and I fell quickly into Mommy mode.   Take yourself home. It's a public safety issue; you are infecting the others.  I never sent you to school when you were sick.... and YES you can have a note from your mommy.   TBG joined in at the tail end, just in time to hear about triumphs in the potty. We hung up smiling, and though I pouted when I saw that the jump into the pool with my sweaty, worked out, self was thwarted by the pool guys, lovely gentlemen who had just started their weekly...

Phrynne flew off to America in her bi-plane, and TBG and I had to accept the sad fact that we had watched, albeit unknowingly, the last episode of the last season of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries. We were bereft. We felt this way when Aaron Sorkin's  Sports Night and then Studio 60 vanished after their short visits, too.  We kept the characters around, whether the television was on, or not.  We watched live sports and wondered what Dan might have to say on the subject, as if the fictional talking head might appear at any moment on our screen. Well drawn characters do this to us, and they always have.  Just ask TBG about his burial plan; you can read the description he recites from memory in Edgar Rice Burroughs's John Carter:The Martian Series .  In the actual event of his death, wiser minds will surely prevail.  Still, I have no doubt that someone will mention the marble slab and the door, bolted only from the inside. Jo March's adventures in writi...

If you are still freezing, caught in the grip of a polar vortex, I apologize for this post. We, the gardeners of Tucson, are in lust, thanks to the luscious, warm sunshine. With temperatures in the 70's and 80's, it's hard to stay inside. Unfortunately, the garden store's offerings reflect the calendar more than my desire. They had petunias and calibrocha and violas and gazania, but they'd been there all winter, too. I bought some, because I needed something to plant with my new bag of soil , but I left the nursery resigned to the fact that I would have to repot and deadhead and prune rather than plant anything new and exciting. Kneeling on my Happy-Birthday-Mommy-present from many years ago, I swiveled around, in search of a trowel.  The first one (bottom right) had too large a scoop; the second one had a string through the handle.....  and that was the end of gardening for a long while. I sat in the potting shed and looked around.  My parent...

Scarlet and I went to the Grand Opening Celebration of Tucson's Jewish History Museum on Sunday.  The building started life as the first Jewish synagogue in the city. It went through several other uses, including a squatters' hovel,  before being refurbished with beauty, outside  and in. We skipped the speechifying,  opting to stroll the neighborhood of small, older, refurbished stuccoed homes.  We did wait in line as small groups were admitted to the small sanctuary,  once the home to Tucson's only congregation. As anyone who has ever belonged to a modern synagogue will not be surprised to hear,  it was soon joined by another congregation, made up of those disaffected with the first. Time passes, but nothing changes. The open room contains the bare trappings of its religious heritage, pews and a small bimah (podium) which seemed inappropriate to photograph,  and artifacts from the time of its creation...

This is how she looked when she met my father. This is how she looked when she lived in Tucson. I never knew the first woman. I enjoyed meeting the second woman,  the one whose memory was failing but who always knew that I loved her.   Some things never changed. There was always a straw in her Diet Sprite. Her purse was always over her shoulder (see blue strap, above). She was cold, but never wore a hat -  "I don't look good in hats!" There were some things she never forgot. Good grammar was imperative and bad grammar demanded correction Yellow was her favorite color and  chocolate was her favorite food. Wrinkles and sagging hems were unacceptable; she made her opinions known even when she was no longer in charge of choosing the outfits herself. . Today would have been her 93rd birthday. I'd have brought her a prune danish for breakfast, accompanied by a gardenia corsage on the tray. I'd have taken her out for a tuna-...

I'm actually interested in the outcome. I watched in horror as the clown car careened on a path to self-destruction, finding that the RNC was not as terrified as I was, listening to them vowing to support the candidate, whoever he might be, even when it looked like the candidate would be Donald J Trump. I watched and listened and I really didn't care. I tried to justify supporting Hillary, even when I didn't trust her. As the long, oh so very very very long run up to Iowa and New Hampshire and when did it become a surprise that Bernie would do well in a neighboring state....  I still really didn't care. I wasn't worried, after all.  Hillary was the only Democrat anyone could find and she handily trounced any and all of the clowns in nationwide polling.  I could vote without doing anything more than my usual exhortations to Get Out and Vote and be satisfied with the outcome. Now, Ted Cruz is polling better than Donald J Trump and Bernie is a r...

Waiting for the pool to warm up.  Cleaning the kitchen after an evening and morning of cooking and baking.  Folding towels while Perfect Patty folds the bike shorts (a talent which escapes me).  One's mind tends to wander while performing mindless tasks.  Supreme Court nominees, nail polish colors, flowers for the containers outside...... there was nothing of great import running through my brain until TBG changed the channel and there it was:  The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Little Cuter loved watching this.  We'd record it and spend hours reviewing the coats and the tails and the gaits.  Her green, hard cover Ultimate Dog Book  was by her side; confirming the announcer's descriptions.  We had allergy restrictions so dander was always an issue, but that didn't stop us from admiring the collies and the St. Bernards and the other fluffy four footed creatures prancing on the green carpet. Murphy, the world's stupidest dog, usually cur...

TBG has had enough and he's not gonna take it any more.  He's offended by what passes for representative democracy in the USofA today.  Riding the crest of the positive response to his rant on Hats , he's moving on to form his own political party.  Here is his rant. Guns and Bagels This is The "I don't want to get shot today" Party .   Why doesn't anybody else say that? And as to bagels, I want one. I want a bagel and I don't want to get shot. That's my position and I'm sticking to it. ***** Honestly, it makes as much sense as arguing about Henry Kissinger or contemplating a Trump presidency.  Guns and Bagels..... I'll bring the cream cheese, please leave the weaponry at home.

 This was first published in 2011.  It's one of my favorite rants. *****  Mary Ball Washington gave birth to a boy child on February 22, 1732. Unlike many of the stories surrounding this man (think cherry trees and coins across the Potomac and standing up in an open boat as it crossed the Delaware) this is an indisputable fact. Mary was not in labor on the third Monday of February.  She produced her child on a specific day - the 22nd day of February.  His birthday didn't move around with the vagaries of the federal holiday calendar. Nancy Hanks Lincoln met her second son, Abraham, 207 years ago today.  Like Mrs. Washington before her, she was not in labor on an indeterminate day sometime in the middle of the month.  It occurred on a certain day, a day formerly commemorated by school children and mail carriers alike. Alas and alack, these fine gentlemen have been conflated into  Presidents  and their birthdays combined into a generic celebra...

GRIN went to the cafeteria on Friday. We set out the supplies on the wrapping paper. We had four table tops instead of our usual two, we had students on both sides of the tables,  and still they were shoulder to shoulder.  They were cooperative  and eager to share.  Many of the boys were as willing as the girls although some preferred to supervise.  There was much admiration (see left, below)  and much kibbitzing (see right, below)  and there were tutus. Many,  many tutus. The GRIN volunteers were fascinated by this homemade creation.  and with the elephant. With some help figuring out the heart shaped punches  and some time spent pondering the state of the world they went to work stamping  and stickering and peeling the backs off those delicious foam hearts. Did I mention that they were delicious?  There were crowns worn proudly and happil...