The Burrow

Did you have a nice weekend?  I had a very nice weekend, thank you for asking.  While friends and family took off for the summer and welcomed new babies and battled raindrops falling on their heads, I spent three days surrounded by good books and even better people. Literature took me to Africa and London and Surrey, seeing war, now and then, up close and personal, through characters who are creeping around the back of my brain, even as I've moved on to artists and their modern day misery.  I updated the sidebar, if you want the titles and authors; these are all recommended reads. I wish you could join me on the patio in the morning.  There's plenty of shade and plenty of sunshine and the pool is warm and crystal clear.  My flower pots are coming into their own, framing the scene with pink and white, gomphreda blowing in the breeze.  The birds are all the music I need, the words on the page the only company. Did I mention it's been a very nice weekend...

Once again, my traditional Memorial Day post, first published in 2009, and updated just a little each year.  I used to march in the Memorial Day parade. I was dressed in my Brownie uniform, and then in my Girl Scout uniform - replete with those hated anklets. I wore them because the troop leader said we couldn't march without them and marching was too cool to pass up. All the school bands marched too, and the moms on Benjamin Road provided the materials and the labor to make the capes the high school kids wore. There must have been a military presence there, but I didn't pay enough attention to notice. I was marching and I knew that, all over America, other kids were being Americans and marching, too. I belonged. In Marin, the Memorial Day parade was always good for a  controversy  or two. Or three. Should the anti-war protesters walk alphabetically in the main march, or have their own march, or walk 50 yards behind the official march? I especially liked this discuss...

My sister was cleaning out her basement; I received this in yesterday's mail. I have a vague memory of sitting for this silhouette, but the location keeps shifting between Mrs. Fleming's first grade classroom and my parents' basement. The long pony tail is most certainly mine, though, and I'll frame my underbite, give thanks to my parents for orthodontia, and add it to the wall of fame in our garage. The USPS believed her when she wrote DO NOT BEND everywhere.  It was her handwriting on the oversized, flat, Priority Mail envelope leaning on my front door, in the same way as this was my face. She was saying hello before I saw the printed return address.  It was a good day to get the mail.  And today it was even better. Instead of retirement planning seminars and Medicare Supplement plans filling my mailbox, there was this and this and this. A thank you note for a baby gift, a wish-you-were-here vacation postcard, and a bumper sticker sent with lov...

On balance, I'm not sure if sports makes me happy... That was Big Cuter's status update on Facebook yesterday.  He'd just finished suffering through the Golden State Warriors' humiliating pummeling by the Oklahoma City Thunder, and was left with his hometown boys down 3-1 in a series he and his father thought would be a Warriors' clean sweep. No one understands what happened to Steph Curry and the boys; this is not the same team which delighted us throughout the regular season.  Did they peak too early?  Did they set a single season winning record and then lose focus?  Was the rest of the league getting better as the post-season frenzy took hold?  Were the referees biased?   In the end, it doesn't really matter at all.  My boy is devastated, heart broken, torn up inside.  He didn't want to talk on the phone last night; why should he make his blues ours?  But the sorrow was unmistakable, and impossible not to share.  He'...

In Part 1 , I described the reasoning and the process behind my attempt to secure spousal benefits without touching either of our primary Social Security accounts.  Apparently, the confusion I described last month exists in the Denver Claims Office right now. I received a charming email from a Claims Specialist.  She told me that I couldn't do what I wanted to do.  She told me to do something I don't want to do.  She told me to withdraw my application immediately if I didn't want to do what she told me to do. Did I mention that I'm not altogether sure what it was that she wanted me to do?  Her grammar left the intent open to interpretation. I thought about it for three days.  On the fourth I wrote an email, quoting from the article which started the whole business , and adopting a cheery, non-confrontational tone.  I read it and read it and read it a third time before I hit send. I never heard another word from her.  Instead, I received a ...

Brother forwarded the article from the New York Post , titling his email Your (formerly) favorite show. I read about ephedrine and Adderall and diuretics and 800 calorie days and I squirmed in my chair. I put the article aside for a day.... or tried to, at any rate.  Some of the statements wouldn't leave me alone.  They were heartbreaking in their naivete. “It ruins lives. Mentally, emotionally, financially — you come back a different person. Half the people from my season have gotten divorced. The ripple effect isn’t just weeks or months. It’s years.” What did she expect? Morbid obesity must come with its own psychological baggage, and choices made must reflect that baggage. Maybe the people she chose don't like her new, quite sudden, incarnation. A wife who suddenly bares her emotions after decades of stoicism is bound to notice disturbances in the world around her.  The vigilance which comes with the dieting and exercise required to live a healthier lifestyle m...

Mid 80's on the thermometer, not even a wispy cloud in the sky, and a stack of library books awaiting me.  Sunday, a day off from the gym and the Pilates Studio and any guilt at all about maintaining my physical fitness.  It was a day filled with possibilities and no responsibilities - it was perfect. I finished Elnathan John's Born on a Tuesday  by 10:30 and sat, paralyzed, on Douglas-the-Couch.  The Sunni/Shia/Mujahadin divide among Nigerian Muslims was filling my living room with torture and death and powerlessness.  I tried checking Facebook, but the horror wouldn't let go.... and it didn't, until Amster texted and invited herself over for lunch and the pool and dinner. Turning that frown upside down in a nano-second, we agreed to meet for salad and pizza first, then go our separate ways for errands, meeting up by my pool in the later afternoon.  She had yet to comb her hair.  I was wearing the t-shirt I'd slept in last night.  Tucson didn...

I've been going non-stop since 6:45 this morning.  Everything I did and thought deserves more consideration than my feeble brain can conjure up right now. You deserve my very best, so I'm taking a vacation day. Happy weekend and Happy Birthday to Little Cuter, my fearless daughter.   Feisty then and feisty now.

I attended an upscale school's 5th Grade Recognition  ceremony this morning. Mr 10 was handsome, as ever, with his bow-tie askew and his tuxedo vest buttoned smartly across his chest.  He wore his formal sneakers, as did nearly half the other boys.  All the girls wore party shoes. I'm sure there's a moral there, but I'm having trouble finding it. I'm still stuck on the carefully applied red lipstick sported by one of his classmates.  I was teetering on the edge of outrage until her classmate's eyeliner pushed me clear over. Prepare for a rant. What in the world did these kids do to merit a celebration?  Their parents made sure that they got to school every day; let's put the Moms and Dads up on the stage for a certificate and a round of applause.  These students did what they were supposed to do - they went to school.  In August, they will still go to school, albeit in a new building. What's the big deal? In Marin, we had a K-2, 3-5, 6-8 set ...

I repotted. I planted. I moved things from one pot to another. I added seedlings. I revived those on the brink.... leaving behind holes-turned-homes-for-ground-dwelling-beasties. Now, it's time to sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labors.  Desert gardening is the most challenging growing endeavor I've attempted; I'm still not certain I have a coherent plan.  I have figured some things out, though. I stick with what works and try not to be too fancy. I am rarely judgmental of my failed efforts; blame rests solely on the dirt which passes for soil, and the oven which passes for sunshine, here in my little patch of heaven. While all the rest of you are buying flats of petunias and impatiens and calibrocha, we here in the desert Southwest are retreating to our air conditioned sanctuaries, grateful that we've planted containers to be admired through triple pane windows. .

I'm going to vote Yes on Prop.  123. I am going against all my principles.  I don't give in to bullies.  I do not accept the basic premise of the Proposition.  They are not making any more land; once it's gone, it's gone.  The voters spoke and the Governor and his lackey Legislature refused to act on the electorate's mandate and instead gave us this awful Sophie's Choice.  This is not a long term solution; there is no promise for the future. But, then there are these real life people. The teacher who will get a bonus this summer.... and summer starts on Friday in our District. The principal who watches her teachers dig into their own pockets, pay more for their health insurance, look worn down by the lack of respect shown their profession by those who think that privatizing education is the perfect solution. The translator who knows that his relationship with the Somali and Sudanese 5 and 6 and 7 year old students can continue in the fall. And s...

Men have been smiling at me all day. In the parking lot after breakfast with Brenda Starr.  Amid the fruits and vegetables at the market.  In front of the large print books in the library. It's nearing triple digit temperatures, so I wasn't wearing a parka and boots, but my flouncy skirt brushes the top of my knees and my white linen tank top is more boxy than form fitting.  I had no flashy jewelry and my only make up was sunscreen. Why was this surprising? Those of you who have reached the stage of invisibility know the answer - one of the perks of cronehood is the ability to pass unnoticed through a crowd.  My presence is acknowledged in that I occupy space.  Beyond that, admiring glances are few and far between. That's not altogether a bad thing.  Ogling is unpleasant at best, terrifying at worst, and the line between them is anyone's to draw.  Being noticed that way is akin to being judged, and often my book is much more interesting than my...

I gardened.  I bent over, I sat on the ground, I kneeled.  I lugged bags of soil and wheeled heavy newly planted pots. I climbed the stair machine.  The first time I tried, 30 seconds felt like a major triumph.  Everything hurt.  On Mothers Day, I climbed for 10 minutes and stopped only because I couldn't breathe.  My lungs, not my hip, decided my fate. My knee is facing forward.  Your knees probably face forward of their own accord, but my right knee has always been a bit askew.  My new massage genius is loosening up and moving around and generally disrupting the patterns of a lifetime and, much to the amazement of family and therapists alike, my hips are now aligned and my ten toes come easily to parallel. I think about Christina-Taylor every day, but the constant tug has been replaced by a vaguely unpleasant ache.  Mostly, I watch the 5th graders I met as kindergarten kids move on to a new, middle school adventure, just as the 3rd gr...

Written half-way between then and now, this Archive post benefited from some serious editing.  Tomorrow I'll write about how I'm doing now. Today, I'm looking backward. ***** Where Are Your Sticks? I, the Official Adopted Grandmother of Prince Elementary School, returned to the playground, ready to greet a new school year. Dressed in my coat of many colors, I had stickers in my pocket and a smile on my face. After an hour, there were fewer stickers, but many more smiles. "Do you remember me?" they asked, and "Of course!" I did even if I didn't. I have very few of their names in my permanent memory bank, though I recognize the usual suspects by sight. They are all a little taller... "nearly as tall as you are, Granny." "Can we sing the Jingle Bells song?" a big boy wondered, and I shrugged and started crooning. This is the only audience on the planet which appreciates my vocalizations.  We're working on learning the se...

I ranted and I raved and I was right.  Voting for this Proposition will be giving in to bullies.  The voters demanded funds for education; the governor denied those funds and presented this in its place. There are triggers and there are caveats and there's the whole thing about the State Land Trust and mortgaging the future for today. But..... I spent the morning at Prince Elementary School.  I watched the teacher struggle to maintain order with 27 wily 5 and 6 year olds doing their best to thwart her.  I saw her name on the books in her Library.... her name, not the classroom number or the school's identifier.  She paid for The Little White Duck  and The Sense of Smell  and several other well loved paperbacks in the bucket on our table.  The District didn't pay for those books.  She did, and she will take them with her when she moves out of Kindergarten and up to a 4th grade class next Fall.  They'll stay stored away, in case she de...

Math is a tactile experience in Ms Levine's room. The scholars build with all manner of connectable materials. Sometimes, it's a matter of seeing how high they can stack, before collapsing in a laughable heap. Sometimes, it's a family, out for a walk in the sunshine. Sometimes, it's a train... which turns into a Match The Colors game. Sometimes, you just need Grandma Suzi to take your picture.   You stand straight and tall, smiling when she counts to THREE! and then you return to your station. Grandma Suzi loves to make kids happy, especially when all it takes is a tap of her finger on her phone. Sometimes, there are instructions, and your leadership skills come into play. All her "No, not that one" and "Put a green one here" pleas were for naught. Creativity trumped the directions every time.  Collaboration is serious stuff; interruptions are not welcome. We did Tangram shapes (di...

Some consideration was given to creating a Mothers Day post. Then, this happened: The amaryllis which had languished in the potting shed was springing to life before my very eyes. After several months of sporadic attention in the Pot Before You Are Finished For Good, the Christmas-time flower is going to be just a little late for Mothers Day. I could not ignore its valiant efforts to please, so I moved the PBYAFFG to the courtyard,  where, I saw these: Overnight, these big, fleshy leaves had produced the perfect shade of lavender on straight and sturdy stalks.  Again, I couldn't ignore the magnificence; off to the garden center I went. I transplanted unhappy osteospermum and added some gonfreda and deadheaded and amended and left some fun for tomorrow.  This gladiola began peeking out on Saturday; this was as far as she got by Sunday evening.  I'm going to entice the rest of her friends out tomorrow,  as I end my planting for the seas...

I planned to post pictures of Ms Levine's class and their Math Centers.  I edited the photos on my phone, and clicked through the prompts to select them and share them, first to Blogger, then to Dropbox, then to Google Photos..... failing each time. This is normally a simple process.  I understand it. It works.  Not so much today. I tried to Skype with FlapJilly and Little Cuter over the weekend.  SIR and Big Bob were at Talladega; the girls were rocking out at home and I wanted to join in the fun.  Unfortunately, Skype and my internet connection were arguing; I reloaded the conversation a dozen times before we hung up.  It was no better when Grandpa came home for his turn; frustration and a 2 year old are not a winning combination. I bought a refurbished Apple iPad Mini for Facetime purposes only.  I tried to set it up by syncing it to my Android phone; neither device was grateful for my intervention.  I tried to set it up by linking it to ...

Though this archive edition was first posted in April, 2011, it spoke to me today. John Kasich and Ted Cruz have suspended their campaigns, and Trump is now the presumptive Republican nominee for President of the United States.  I can't believe I just typed that sentence. The donor base is reluctant to give to the RNC's Presidential campaign fund, according to the talking heads.  The down ticket candidates are squirming.  And five years ago, newly perforated , returning to the world after 14 weeks of bed rest, my outrage was as potent as it is now.  I asked it then and I ask it now: How did this happen? ***** A Charming Rascal (first published April 15, 2011) First things first : What is it with the hair? Second : Is this really happening? The man has been married three times and is looking to be embraced by the family values crowd. He's lost more money in more real estate deals than we'll all make in our collective lifetimes and he wants us to ...

Big Cuter says that my post on the subject is incomprehensible to anyone who is unfamiliar with Arizona politics.  There's a post coming on "the curse of knowledge,"  which Steven Pinker defines as writing while being unable to appreciate the fact that everyone else doesn't know all that you know on a subject. Bottom line, I thought, and still think, that Prop 123 is one step in the war on public education being waged in Arizona.  Doubt me?  The supporters of Prop 123 talk about "government schools" instead of "public schools" .... that's the problem in a nutshell. So, I thought we should all vote against it, because we don't give in to bullies. Then, I talked to the real stakeholders: the teachers in the classroom. I heard about no raises for years.  I heard about health care premiums soaring next year.  I heard the desperation in their voices as " It may not be perfect, but the District says I'll get a 3% raise next year ...

Watching Donald Trump march toward the Presidency scares me beyond description.  His vituperative nature cannot be the face of America, at least not my America.  But every time I hear him call Hillary a crook, I remember why I've never been one of Mrs. Clinton's biggest fans . Those in the know report a disturbing lack of enthusiasm for her, without citing specifics about the why's.   There's none of the energy surrounding Sen. Sanders, whose resume is certainly less impressive than the former First Lady, Senator, and Secretary of State. I've been relying on those qualifications to secure her a seat in the Oval Office.  Watching Trump advance despite predictions to the contrary, I'm beginning to wonder if enthusiasm resulting in a less qualified Democrat might be preferable to voters staying home and a narcissist winning by default. Can I be feeling the Bern, just a little? Can I toss aside the fact that he is flat out wrong on guns, that Hillary is a woma...

Big Cuter lived with the same three guys, in a variety of configurations, for a decade or so.  Meeting on their freshman dorm floor, they lived on and off campus and then found grown-up apartments as they began their lives.  Girlfriends have come and gone, jobs have changed, more education and military service separated them geographically, yet through it all, their bond remains strong. Their political views range from Ted Cruz to Elizabeth Warren.  They cheer for the Wizards and Golden State, the Steelers and the 49'ers.  Fortunately, they all agree that the two wives who've joined them are excellent additions to the crew. And TBG and I love them all. They celebrated birthdays and Easter and graduation together.  They cosseted my boy as I lay perforated in front of the Safeway.  They are in one another's lives in a way that most of us only imagine; they truly know one another. And today, the now pregnant bride and groom of two years ago , on their baby...