The Burrow

Our typical Wednesday evening call covered  lots of deaths this week  and Turkey is showing a lot of gumption, opening the airport so quickly  and a snatch of politics before my son raised an interesting question: Is there a button somewhere we can push and just reboot 2016?

duckloe.com Daddooooo sat in this iteration of a Windsor writing desk every morning.  We called it the  Jefferson Chair, because Thomas Jefferson is said to have composed pieces of the Declaration of Independence in a similar chair and that must be true because we saw the same kind of chair at Monticello and it was something on which my parents agreed.  There was no reason to examine something that didn't cause an argument. But, I digress. After his breakfast of oatmeal and hot tea, he'd take the New York Times to the Jefferson Chair, open to the death notices, and begin to read.  Why?   "Just checking to be sure that most of them are older than I am," was his standard reply. " Lately, I've begun to understand his reasoning.  He used those obituaries as a measuring stick; he was still young if the newly deceased were older than he was.  As he aged, he began "checking to see if I know anybody."   It must have been reassuring to fin...

http://tinyurl.com/hfjlw92 There they were, in matching blue outfits, with matching blonde coiffures, sporting the same big grins.  Two women commanding the stage in the race for the Presidency of the United States.  Why was I so fixated on the visuals?

She left us 12 days before her 102nd birthday.  She was cosseted and loved until the very end, surrounded by family, in familiar environs.  She was cogent and very much herself, reminding her daughter-in-law that reaching her next birthday "was never a goal!" She was ready to go and she went. It was her time, and, like G'ma, it's sad rather than tragic. But there's a hole where she existed that won't be easily filled. There are lots of holes, in fact. She played bridge with the children of the women with whom she formed the group, decades ago. They drove her to the games and helped her fan out her cards, but she beat them all on her own. She was Gram to two girls who doted on her... and she returned the favors, in spades.  Her pride, her joy, her love and concern were written in Sharpie boldness on her face.  Her voice took on a different cadence when she was bragging on her grandkids; had I heard about nursing school and teaching English in the Far Ea...

The conversation is changing.  There is stridency and there is resilience and there is moral outrage and then there is a sit in on the floor of the House of Representatives.  On the actual floor, denizens. eurweb.com This makes me very happy.  I'm no longer a voice shouting into the wind.  Social media fueled the Arab Spring and it fueled the furor over the lack of action to stem the rising tide of gun violence in America.   #NoBillNoBreak flew over the interwebs, as supporters rallied outside the Capitol for a semi-pre-planned vigil.  Something was coming, and our side was preparing the troops in advance.  Local Survivor Leaders were traveling to Washington, D.C.  My thoughts went to the Million Moms March. I imagined a candlelit row of supporters holding pictures of loved ones gunned down by weaponry which has its place in the hands of a well-regulated militia and no where else.   I never considered that House Democrats would pu...

The well dressed businessman, the one who knew it was Tuesday because he was leaving O'Hare for work, boarded with four others who looked just like him. The rest of us, First Class and Elite and Sapphire and Gold were a motley crew. In full Summer Vacation Mode, we moved at a different pace. We were free.  He was not.   TBG and I found ourselves seated next to him, aisle and middle to his window. He was not displeased.  Then a mom with two pre-schoolers hoisted her roller bag into the bin above us and swiftly, cleanly, with little muss or fuss, settled herself and the kids and their snuggles blanket and backpack-cum-bear and Snow White into the row behind us. In complete sentences, the big sister was narrating the experience with the delighted excitement only a four year old feels while anticipating the Food Cart.  The worker bee by the window sighed a sigh which could have propelled the plane on its own. The mom was smiling and gentle and in cha...

Niece The Youngest is moving to Chicago, so Brother drove out to pick her up at O'Hare.  Drove out from Maryland (see below) and spent a lovely evening with FlapJilly and her parents and Sunday after noon with TBG and me added to the mix.  He's thoughtful and funny and dropped off a 300 pound piece of machinery to people who are moving within the next month or two.  I could not leave 3 glow-in-the-dark headbands because it would be one more thing to move,  but such is the wonderfulness of Uncle Brother that SIR was thrilled. I love these random encounters with him.  He plots his travels to buy a belt at a leather shop in Indianapolis, after visiting a fraternity brother in Southern Illinois.  He found the machinery on Angie's List in a community vaguely along the way.  He's right up there with the most interesting people I know, and his birthday post deserves a re-posting. ********* Pause a moment and wish my younger brother a Happy Birthday, wo...

We are babysitting.  We've been to music class and carried a sleeping baby into the house afterwards. We had mac and cheese and blueberries and salami for lunch, then blew bubbles, then took naps. There's not much to report from this end and my brain is baby mush. I'll be back on Wednesday..... I'm having too much fun to think.

The Cavalier's won and the series returns to Oakland for game 7. FlapJilly shared The Lion King with grandpa. We're off to the shores of Lake Michigan tomorrow. Life is good. Politics and personal safety will be worried about anon. I'm taking this weekend off.

I feel as if I've been filibustering for five years. I've been making arguments and encouraging others to join me and I've answered questions and it's accomplished absolutely nothing. Then, yesterday, Little Cuter called from work to tell me to get on a device and listen. The Democrats were filibustering for the right to vote on two gun safety measures. It was stunning. It attracted attention. It brought the issue of legislative inaction to the forefront. It laid out a compelling case for passage of measures designed to keep me safe. Republican Senators whined. "The Democrats won't let us do anything until we act on this." I swallowed my bile; they haven't done anything for so long I wondered how they noticed the difference. And then it was over. The Republicans agreed to allow a vote. Allow A Vote. Look at that for a while and see if your blood pressure rises. Mine did. They were elected to work for their constituents. Making the hard decisions,...

We had too much fun celebrating Flag Day for me to pause and write to you. Look at that face. Doesn't she deserve a safe America? Unregulated access to assault weapons is not how i imagine her future. End of lecture.

Donald Trump says it's Islamic Militants. A comment on yesterday's post besmirches Matthew Shephard's memory and blames the victims. I think it's guns. Plain. Simple. Easy to understand. With the Founding Father's muskets, the shooter might have killed one unfortunate soul before being pummeled to the ground by irate, mildly inebriated, patrons. Instead, 100 families are now going through what no one should have to face. Inaction is acquiescence. I am a one issue voter, which is why I never felt the Bern. If your legislators don't understand the consequences of unregulated access to high powered weaponry perhaps they should be encouraged to find another line of work.

I refused to turn on the news today. I hugged FlapJilly and Little Cuter and SIR and TBG just a little tighter, so glad to be vacationing with those who bring me joy. I heard from those who love me, near and far. It's a special kind of wonderful when my son calls to offer comfort and check that I am ok. I have no words. I have only heartbreak.

I got goose bumps when she came on stage after the voting ended.  Oh, so did I.   When I read Maryellen Bess's comment on today's post , I realized that no one else had said that to me all day. TBG opined that Barack Obama stole some of Hillary's thunder by getting there first , but the sight of a viable female candidate for the Presidency smiling on the screen had all the little hairs on my arms standing at attention Tuesday night.   I was struck by the moment.  I'm not a big Hillary fan, but that didn't matter.  Watching her smile and send love and receive love and noticing that the reporters were letting the moment speak for itself all combined to fill my heart.  It was history, and I was watching it.  I found myself placing the image in my permanent memory bank. She was so radiant. I took that image with me as I left the house, but no one was talking about it.  Not at the Happy Ladies' Club luncheon, not at my massage, not o...

I don't like the one woman I know who supports Mr. Trump.  She's brash and thoughtless and consumed with her own self-worth.  I'm not worried about changing her mind and I'm not sure she wants me interfering, anyway.  We can easily stay out of one another's way from now until November, and probably long after that, too.  She's not the problem. What about those I know to be both good, kind, solid, wonderful, loving people and supporters of Donald Trump... or those who I imagine are supporting Donald Trump but know enough not to mention it to me?  I get that they hate Hillary; I can't figure out how they could support Trump. I don't know why I care.  They are not annoying me on social media.  They are not wearing buttons or hats proclaiming that they'll Make America Great Again (which I like marginally more than America First, with its not-so-very-hidden Nazi connotations ).  I could ignore the whole thing... unless it comes up in conversation. ...

I've tried to write this five different times.  I've had Madam President and Random Thoughts on a Tuesday  and Living History  and Seriously, Speaker Ryan?  as titles.  I've tried to stay away from the talking heads.  I've tried sitting in front of the talking heads. My head is spinning. I loved Shirley Chisholm's run for the Presidency.  I haven't been thrilled with Hillary Clinton's campaign.  But Ms Chisholm never got past the Convention in 1974 and Mrs. Clinton is about to take to the airwaves and talk about becoming the Democratic Candidate for President of the United States. Somewhere, Susan B. Anthony is smiling. My grandpa thought I would be President; I wonder what Hillary's grandfather thought about her possibilities. Being a realist, I never thought it was a possibility. I've often wondered if Hillary hitched her wagon to Bill's because she didn't think the country would accept her as The Most Powerful Person in the World. ...

There are many dry washes in my little corner of heaven, gullies filled with cacti and wildflowers, with coyote dens and pack rat nests.  Some of them are wide enough to be used as hiking trails; the sandy ones make 100' of elevation feel ten times as high a climb. Trees line the edges of the washes; they rarely grow taller than bushes in the middle.  Why, you may wonder?  Every once in a while the washes fill with rain water or run off from the surrounding mountains.  Some of our roads dip down and up again out of the washes.  These roads have signs warning drivers - DO NOT ENTER WHEN FLOODED - which are regularly ignored.  The local paper delights in front page pictures of those violating the Stupid Motorist Law (yes, that is the real name ). Tucsonans really don't know what to do with water. That is why, when the temperature first breaks 100 o   the local news reports that the ice in the Rillito River has broken . No, it doesn't make any sense...

Because the powdered sugar is the best part. Have a Happy Monday, Denizens!

  Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton I watched my anxiety grow.  I stood on the outside comfortable and secure, and I watched it flourish, all on its own.   There was an awesome power behind it, Mike Mulligan's steam shovel digging the hole, harder and faster and deeper and with a perfectly square edge.   There was no way out of the hole.   I could sit there, at the bottom, with Mike Mulligan and Mary Ann.  Stuck.  A building constructed over my head, comprised of bricks named Christina-Taylor , and Alex Teves , and classes of kindergarteners , pressing on my heart as I imagined myself walking around town in an orange t-shirt. I have orange t-shirts.  One is from a girls' trip to NASA while attending a convention of the National Charity League, an organization I'd have introduced to CTG when she entered 6th grade.  One is from the Jane Goodall lecture  G'ma and I attended, sitting on foldin...

for Christina-Taylor, Dorwin, Judge Roll,  Gabe, Dot, Phyllis who were taken from us that sunny Saturday morning. For Gabby, who continues to inspire. For myself, looking at the world from a different perspective. For Hadiya Pendleton , whose friends started it all. For the schoolchildren in Connecticut and the educators who died with them. I thought that your deaths would change the conversation....... I'm still hopeful. Denizens, if you can, wear something orange today and let the world know that you care.

In Parts 1 and 2  I began the story of my attempt to take my spousal benefits while leaving each of our personal retirement benefits untouched.  Alas, the saga continues. I stewed about it all morning long, worrying about the email I'd write, feeling lazy about getting dressed and up and out, stressed about long lines and incompetence to start my day.  But TBG was at spin class and no one was around for breakfast so, one quick shower later, I was in The Uvula, driving to the no-man's land between the developed outskirts and downtown. The Social Seurity Office is on a through-street; I've never stopped at anything along that corridor before.  But there I was, 10 people back in a line in the sunshine, 15 minutes after the doors had opened.  I had a book so I was fine, unlike the woman behind me who told everyone and anyone who would listen that "there were no such lines in Upstate New York."  I shook my head.  Who goes to a government agency without...