The Burrow

It reminded me of going to a new hair stylist.  I know it will grow back, but I am damn nervous, even before they start. I've struck out three times this year, trying to hire someone to tend to the major tasks while I tackle the minor pruning and planting.  When the Arizona Daily Star ran this quote “My guys work hard for their money,” she said. “I couldn’t in good conscience not pay my employees at least enough to get by on,”  I made a mental note of the business.  When I read further, and saw this: “If it becomes a problem where I have to raise prices, then I’ll raise prices,” McBride said. “If some customers don’t want to pay me more for the great work we do, then I don’t need those customers, frankly.” I knew I had to call her.  She was delighted to hear my story, delighted to send the estimator (her husband) and delighted to have a crew at my house three days later.  Yesterday was the day, and my heart was in my throat.  They unloaded chai...

It was Science on Screen  day, and Tucson was one of the location pins on their map.   Dr. K and Not-Kathy and I were unaware of the date when we agreed to accompany TBG to a big screen showing of his childhood favorite, Forbidden Planet. . A migraine kept him home, but he reassured me that my presence at home, while always welcome, was not necessary for his survival.  One kiss and I was on my way to  The Loft  . (This the only theater I'm comfortable visiting; I've convinced myself that mass murderers are too self-involved to notice an art house.  Please do not try to dissuade me from this position; I'm comfortable with the absurdity.) It was clear and cool and after the carpool rush; I breezed across town, coming in a slightly longer but much less congested way, smiling as I realized that I was figuring out a back way into town, reveling in the feeling that Tucson is home.  I backed into a parking space under a bright lamp on a pole, grabbed a ...

I left TBG home to deal with the painting company.  They've worked for us twice before, the last time 5 years ago, before The Wedding.  He had the file with the old invoices close to hand. Door bell rings, right on time. TBG opens door, smiles in recognition as the painter does the same. "Same deal as last time?" he asked. "That works for me," husband replied. It took longer to write the check than it did to close the deal. Somehow, I never have that kind of experience.

SIR took us to the Studebaker Museum. It was shiny and it was colorful  and there was something for everyone. She carried the tires and brought Daddy the ratchet and they added oil and fluids before they went for a drive. The grown ups not tending the child wandered through American history, following an immigrant family teetering on bankruptcy while making goat carts  and sleighs until one brother returned from the California Gold Rush, ready to invest in the family business the fortune ($8,000) he'd made.... building and selling small wheelbarrows to the miners.       The Studebakers created cars of surpassing elegance often decorated to within an inch of their lives.... like the wheels of this fire engine: The museum was mostly Studebakers, but there was this Hispano-Suiza, Phrynne Fisher's car, sitting smugly beside the mannequin. There was so much to stare at.  There were big fat tires and fantasti...

Last night, the sun set like this but TBG and I were hard pressed to take our eyes off the book Little Cuter created.  The Grandparental Invasion - March 2017 is filled will hugs and love and smiles. Our basketball pools, decorated by the stickers FlapJilly put on her dog and her father and her Gampa, are totally busted, but the hearts and the minions and the Minnie Mouse polka dots allow us to smile as we cross off another team.  The love is there, but the girls are not. Sigh..... I needed an antidote - and Scarlett and the Tucson Botanical Garden's butterfly exhibit came, once more, to the rescue.  The exhibit receives shipments of chrysalis every three weeks; there's always a new specimen to examine, like this one, who flew right past my nose to land on the hibiscus leaf.   From the side, he's perfectly camouflaged. There were blue ones and big-eyes-on-the-wings ones and then this new one, with round wings and straight wings and s...

David Maranis s was interviewed by the lovely young reporter whose  boots appeared here once before.   He's written books on Barack Obama and Roberto Clemente, on Detroit and Bill Clinton and Vince Lombardi.  He's an editor at the Washington Post (in his spare time?) and spoke eloquently about covering tragedies and of  humanity's need to feel it.     I wrote the words in my notebook before I took the microphone; I asked the first question of the afternoon.   How do you balance "humanity's need to feel it" with the intrusion into the lives of those who are the actors in the tragedy? Some in the audience met my eyes and smiled the smile that says  I know who you are,  and I took that loving feeling in as I bathed in the warmth of his answer, words said slowly, after a pause: You cradle them in your hand. The best of the reporters TBG and I encountered did just that; I wish I had met Mr. Maraniss when I was in the drama. ...

Saturday morning, an hour before the first session of the first day of the TFOB, I was comfortably ensconced in the front row, feeling somewhat lonely. Forty five minutes later, I was feeling the crush. I listened to Tim Stellar and Joe Conason  discuss covering the news in the 21st century. "It's much harder to print fake news in a print paper than on-line," Conason said.   "They get most of it right most of the time."   His advice to the media - "You don't need to repeat every nonsense tweet" - seemed like a delusion, television being the ratings driven business that it is.  But the man used the word tendentious , a lovely, rarely used word, and for that I can forgive a multitude of sins.   Before I left for Penelope  at The Rogue Theatre , I shared a moment with Ron Fournier .  During his love story about his relationship with his son, he shared a fact I know is true:  Michelle Obama is the best hugger! Sunday mornin...

John Oliver is right.  We all need some Brazilian Zebras to brighten our days. What, you wonder (if you didn't watch Sunday's edition of Last Week Tonight ), am I talking about? Since 2005, the city of La Paz has employed people to dress up as zebras and bring kindness to the craziness that is traffic in the city.  They beg, they plead, they dance, they fling themselves before on-coming vehicles so that pedestrians can cross safely - all while looking like this: No, there are no real zebras in Brazil. Yes, the program provides entry level jobs for recovering addicts and others on the margins. No, they do not speak nor do they remove their heads while on duty. Yes, they are Brazil's answer to McGruff the Crime Dog and Smokey the Bear; kids love them. The green screen image has been graciously provided to the video-producing public.  The zebra makes Trump's presser with Angela Merkel less awkward: @ andables Sean Spicer's defense of the indefe...

Sprawled on Douglas , drinking bottle after bottle of water to counter the altitude headache returning home sends my way, looking at pictures of SIR and Little Cuter and FlapJillly on my phone, I was, once again, screaming at the television. Where were the replays of the ridiculous Sesame Street parodies of Donald Trump during the campaign?  Why was the outrage over his untruths muddied beneath worries about calling a lie a lie? Why did Katy Tur stand before an empty podium for hours, waiting for the candidate to arrive while Hillary Clinton was giving a fact-filled speech? Why? Why? Why? Where was the press three years ago when this outrage began to be perpetrated on the American people?  I'm quite impressed with their current outrage, but, I fear, it is too little, too late. Listening to the attendees at the President's campaign rally last night, it is clear to me that they don't care about the facts.  They are responding to the emotion.  They don't trust, th...

Bye-Bye Babies.... parental units and offspring. Bye-Bye Trolls and dance parties and giggles and hugs. Bye-Bye cloudy skies and stomping on snow and walking Thomas the Wonder Dog. It never gets easier to say goodbye.......

More serious musings next week. For now, I'm salving my heart with smiles like these. 

(Apologies for the late posting; having grandbaby funis quite distracting!) ***** During nap time yesterday, TBG and I watched the news.  We've been on a diet of Trolls and Jeopardy while visiting; Little Cuter, wisely, shields her daughter from the President of the United States. I've been pondering that fact while watching my brilliant granddaughter tell jokes and wonder What's This ? and Who's That? It's obvious to me that the kid could recognize the President.  It's also obvious to me why my daughter doesn't want her to do so.  The judge in Hawaii knows why, too, and took pains to point out to both the President and the rest of us that words matter, that hatred cannot be hidden behind a cloak of safety, that religious freedom is enshrined in the Constitution and no one man can change that fact.   How could you possibly explain all that to a little one, even one as smart as mine? So, my granddaughter is growing up without knowing tha...

The day just slipped by

The shoes told the story. The Arizona Star reporter wore her work-a-day cowboots as she sat on the high stool, interviewing the author. The author, shiny shoes on the left,came to town from New York City.                               The Tucson based interviewer has dusty sneakers. And then there was Amy Dickinson, of Ask Amy fame. She came to town from upstate New York, and her short heels were perfect with her tan tunic and pants.  They must not have been very comfortable, though.                                            T

We are leaving sunshine and temperatures in the 80's and the blooming wildflowers for snow and temperatures in the 30's and this The love will keep us warm.

I was peeved.  After a lovely morning at home, I'd donned sneakers and a loose t-shirt, organized a water bottle, downloaded a podcast, and drove over to Christina-Taylor's path .  After walking nearly two flat miles with Not-Kathy on Monday, I was ready to tackle the 3.2 mile roundtrip along the Canada Wash. Unfortunately, the construction on the nature preserve piece of CTG's park requires truck parking in the tiny lot; a Parks and Rec employee informed me, with no small amount of attitude, that there were no spaces.  She told me to leave. I made a u-turn, with steam coming out of my ears.  Can't they park on the sidewalk or the open space? Can't they use the Community College lot across the street?  It was 70 degrees and sunny, citizens were out on bikes and trikes and horses and feet and who was she to tell me that I couldn't walk with my little friend's hand in my heart in the morning. Did I mention that I was peeved? I drove, aimlessly, conside...