The Burrow

How's this for manipulation:  I  will take all this blame for your horrible life, if you just please try and realize... that I never meant any harm on you guys. Trust that the facts are not in her favor, that you guys  are teenagers, and that she started it.  Yes, the grown up's feelings were hurt and she went for the jugular. And then she defended it, and herself. You guys saw through it and called her on it, not with any hope that she would listen, but to speak up, with love and admiration, for themselves and the other objects of her scorn.  Watching resilient kids discover their power is both heartbreaking and exhilarating.  That's the only silver lining I can find in the whole sordid mess.     The grown-up is making deals, is demeaning the pain, is seeking forgiveness.  She's the definition of a tricky person." Have you seen the story about the kids who saved themselves from a child abduction? They recognized that the ...

Working hard at open gym.

Another installment of What Ashleigh's Been Reading , aka Playing Catch Up .   I hope there are a few items which pique your interest, too.  Be sure to comment (anytime, on any post) if you've read the same things. What You Break - Reed Farrel Coleman lives on Long Island and writes about Long Island and the characters could have lived next door to me.  There is nuance and there is anguish and there is just plain rage.  It's one of the best police stories I've read in a long time. Eleven Little Piggies - The woman can write.  Strong women and a love of the land are front and center in this surprisingly touching mystery.  Kept Woman - Karin Slaughter really loves her characters, and so do I.  This is a series which should be read from the start; if you've done that, you know just how wonderful their stories are. Heartbreak Hotel - Jonathan is my favorite Kellerman.  The psychiatrist and the detective and the crime are the focus, and the ...

Lady Jane has taken up temporary residence in a brand new place, recuperating from 8 very long and painful days in the hospital.  She doesn't need daily physical therapy, she doesn't need oxygen ,nor does she need help with her medications.  She is too weak to do much walking and talking; cooking and cleaning are out of the question for the immediate future.  A sociable person, she'd wither on the vine if she were home, alone, using all her energy to struggle to the door to welcome visitors. The Case Manager at the hospital wanted her to go to a Skilled Nursing Facility to receive treatment; this would be covered by Medicare.  But Lady Jane knew that her PT needs would resolve once she was mobile.  She didn't need daily treatment, she needed to get up and get moving.  The Case Manager reminded her, rather sternly, that Medicare would not pay for the kind of place we were describing.  Imperiously and appropriately, Lady Jane said she would pay her own...

Apparently, what you see is not always what you get.  That's the mantra I'm repeating to myself as I try to come to terms with these words from the body shop guy: If you'd been rear-ended again, you'd have been in big trouble.  You really shouldn't be driving your car like this. It's been a busy week since the damage was done ;  I finally found time to visit the body shop this afternoon.  They are lovely, snarky, funny folks, so his serious tone required serious attention.  we went out to The Uv, he lifted the carpeting in the trunk, and I gasped. The floor pan is bend.  Smushed.  Crumpled.  Crushed.  There's really nothing left of the car's structural integrity.  A tiny bump would have done me in. A quick call to the other driver's insurance company secured me a bright red Hyundai Elantra from Enterprise, which did, indeed, pick me up and got me on my way with a minimum of fuss and bother.  I drove back to the body shop...

First published on April 21, 2009 , a kinder, gentler time, for sure. I like Earth Day. I was there at its creation, after all. It was founded by U.S. Senator Gaylord Nelson in 1970. Initially, it was a touchy-feely alternative to the harsher realities of the anti-Vietnam War protests. You wanted to do something, but war was such an uncomfortable subject and arguing against it made your parents wonder why they were spending tuition dollars while you were telling the lawfully elected President of the United States of America that you knew more than he did. With your picture in the crowd on the front page of the NY Times. At 18 years of age, no less. But planting trees? Recycling newspaper? Not littering? And all this in service to Mother Earth. Who could be aggravated about supporting Mother Earth? Earth Day had teach-in's. They were more fun than sit-in's, which invariably involved police and disciplinary action. They were less fun than be-in's, which owed more...

"You have to really trust a man who takes power tools to your head,"  is the quote on the front page of today's Arizona Daily Star . TBG and I smiled as he suggested that I tell you about Daddooooo and the brain surgeon. We hoped that whatever was removed would also remove the most noxious pieces of my Dad's personality.  I thought of posing that to the surgeon on the morning of the operation, but I was stopped in my tracks by the piece of tissue paper stuck to the doctor's cheek. He'd cut himself shaving. Re-read that quote. Brother and I could do nothing but try not to laugh.

Macy's is leaving the Tucson Mall.  They're not relocating.  They're just leaving. The Container Store opened a brand new outward facing store a few years back, and Toby Keith dedicated a barbeque and music destination around the same time.  Now Keith's is gone, and so are two other restaurants which followed. Sears is still there, though, and it was near there that I entered this afternoon, bent on replenshing TBG's dwindling (okay, empty) stack of chocolates with a pound of See's. At least, that was the plan.  I was surprised that the store's website told me that it was closed when I Googled it on Easter Sunday; I assumed it was for the holiday.  But, no, that was optimistic.  In fact, after I parked the Uv and dragged my still-aching body across the parking lot and past the Hallmark and the Red Robin, I found that the store was, indeed closed - closed for good. There's white butcher paper covering the windows, there's an open rear entranc...

Not-Kathy and her cousin were my partners in crime this afternoon, and they bore the full brunt of walking as rehab.   We met outside the Pilates studio  after my one-on-one hour; I was warmed up and ready to go.  The sun was low in the sky and a slight breeze was blowing as we strode across the parking lot and onto The Loop , Tucson's 131 mile multi-use path linking our city to its surrounding communities and major waterways. Yes, we do have waterways.  They are dry, horse and hiker friendly washes for most of the year.  During monsoon, though, it's a different story.  All the debris dumped upstream comes roaring on snow-melt-cum-rain fueled waves; people stand on the overpasses to watch as rusted out vehicles follow sofas downstream. Downhill, following the Rillito River (yes, we recognize the redundancy) as it passes beneath Campbell, then uphill, which is much easier.  We chatted and gave advice and kept up a decent pace. I concentrated on using...

The Uv's insurance claim was registered, but no action had been taken.   When the phone rang at 5:30 the next morning I flashed to G'ma ( Nope, she's dead.  Yes, it's raw; it was 5:30 in the morning, people!) Who else?  My adrenaline, already stoked from the fender bender, was aluminum in the back of my throat before I said Hello. "Ma'am, this is Maria from Erie Insurance calling about your claim number......" "Do you know that it is 5:30 in the morning here?" "Oh. No. I am So Sorry. I'll call back." "Will you?" I wondered, and I hung up the phone. We connected later, the company is taking full responsibility, I can go to my preferred repair shop, they'll get me an Enterprise loaner car, the appraiser will meet me and write the check on the spot, and yes, I was sure that I was feeling fine. PTSD, the gift that keeps on giving.  I was fine as far as the claim is concerned.  The rest of me, the part that go...

I wrote this in 2015 and I am resurrecting it here. It's everything I love about The Burrow - family, deep thoughts, and a smile Happy Day Off From Work to those observing Good Friday (by choice or executive fiat). Happy Easter to those who believe, to those who like getting dressed in frilly finery, to those with great hats, and to those thinking deep thoughts. ***** wikiart.org At an early age, Big Cuter wanted to know why  that guy has a towel and nails through his hands  when we were confronted with Marc Chagall's White Crucifixion at the Art Institute of Chicago. His query highlighted the central problem I had with teaching the Cuters about Easter.  I was stuck between bunnies and lambs and a crucifixion.  Nannie was eager to help, but she, too, was flummoxed.The bookstores didn't offer much.  Their descriptions of the Last Supper and The Passion and The Resurrection were either glossed over or overly grotesque for a sensitive, half...

I was up and showered and dressed and on the road to my annual check-up. The light turned green, the cars ahead began moving slowly... then slowing... then beginning to pause as they merged just past the strip mall... and the young man behind me, in Tucson for all of two days, starting a new job, anxious to get there and unaware of the merge (to be charitable) or not paying attention (to make a bad situation worse than it already was) .... crashed into the back of The Uv... which pushed me into the Toyota in front of me. It was a loud, unexpected noise.  Twice.  Once when he hit me and once when I hit her.  I watched it happening in my rear view mirror and out the windshield.  Did I mention the loud, unexpected noise?  I don't do well with loud, unexpected noises.  I sat still and remembered to breathe. The young man was beside my window, hoping with all his heart that I was okay.   What should I do?  he wondered.   You should call 911 ...

Families gathered around a table. The fancy china unwrapped and the silver polished. On the table, someone's hand embroidered (" NO! Don't use  that  to blot up the wine!)  tablecloth and napkins. Well-worn Haggadah in hand, the patriarch stands and recites and sings and calls on others to participate. Hard boiled eggs and salad greens staunch the appetites, then apples-and-nuts-and-Manischewitz-Concord Grape wine ( "More, please!)  tickle the palate. Matzoh ball soup and gefilte fish and then all the main courses anyone could imagine and then more singing and more praying and gradually the kids disappear until Daddy is looking for the Afikomen. What could go wrong?  My all time favorite family photograph says it best: I hope that your seders (should you be lucky enough to participate in one or two) are filled with joy and laughter and the kind of love that sends a favorite grandchild over the edge.

I stayed home yesterday, reading, watching the laundry pile grow as TBG carried the heavy loads from the hamper to the machinery, cooking a delicious dinner, talking to no one but my husband.  He mentioned the anomaly several times - I'm usually out and about on Sundays, to the theater or the movies or dining with friends while he drowns in sports heaven (this time, The Masters).  But, there were worker bees painting the house and resealing the roof and I wanted to be sure the job was done right. They left without saying goodbye.  So much for my best laid plan. The sun is in and out, and the palo verdes are joining the mesquites, both sending tendrils of itchiness out into the air. Someone referred to it as a Super Bloom, and I believe it.  My itchy eyes have rejected my contacts all week; I've been squinting or gazing over the tops of reading glasses since my eyeballs decided to become faucets.  I'm not even going to try to describe the pouches that have de...

I've been remiss, and I apologize.  The sidebar has not been updated since August.  I plan to remedy the situation over the next few weeks, once I get the history out of the way. The problem began when the Pima County Library System improved their on-line catalog.  I was no longer able to log on using Google as my browser; I'm typing this on whatever operating system was installed when I brought Lenore home from Best Buy all those years ago.  For some reason, the system recognizes me through this portal.  But, it got worse.  Once I managed to get on-line, I could no longer find my Reading History.  That was the list I used to update the sidebar; rather than keep a hand-written notepad with authors and titles, I could click on the website and cut and paste the information.  It was handy-dandy, it was efficient, and, suddenly, without warning, it was gone.  I attributed it to a glitch in Lenore's guts, and didn't think much more about it ...

I visited Hell, with Odysseus on his journey home to Ithake.  Everyone there was quite cordial, singing the praises of their former enemies. I watched Hell on television, as aid workers hosed off tiny little FlapJilly-sized Syrian humans, who did nothing ore heinous than wake up in the morning. I heard about Hell on the radio today, as the use of military force was seriously considered.  Did none of the Trumpians ever see Princess Bride? William Shawn's advice was true then and it's true now - Never get involved in a land war in Asia. Traffic in Tucson seemed to fit right in; the two or three accidents/incidents mentioned during usual rush hours blossomed into more than a dozen before I turned the noise off in frustration. On the plus side, I felt a new connection between my leg and my belly and it showed in my performance at this afternoon's Pilates class.  It hurt like Hell when the nerves reconnected, but somehow this part of the journey through the Underworld ...

I've been aggravated, annoyed, frightened, stunned, overwhelmed, indignant and pissed off.  I've been horrified and terrified and sad.  It's been an interesting week in the real world, and though I've tried to soothe my soul with gardening and novels and classes and friends, the facts keep hitting me over the head. Steve Bannon and his one-rung-demotion has the talking heads ecstatic; my head is just shaking. But the sun came up today and I was here to see it - by definition, it's a good day.  I collected Mr. 13 from his martial arts lesson and shared a companionable ride to his house, listening to his tunes, trying to decode the lyrics, and smiling.  He refused my offer of breakfast, and with an hour before my volunteer gig in The Reading Corner at Copper Creek Elementary School, I took my empty belly to the northern outpost of my favorite restaurant. There was a line of people going through the front door, there were patrons waiting on comfy couches outside a...

The roses are budding  and blooming. The container gardens are relishing the cooler temperatures and the bright spring sunshine. Out in the real world, there are many natural wonders.   These are the spikiest thorniest scariest little things, with the most beautiful flowers. The paddle cacti are bursting with color. Up close, the pollen is very sexy. Every time I sneeze or put anti-allergy drops in my eyes, I remember the soft stamen and pistils and smile.   And then, in case I forget that I'm in the desert, there's this: With all that tasty foliage, one wonders what beastie decided to take that bite.

We sent our children to Final Four schools.  We were sure of it. But, instead of Bobby Knight and John Thompson Jr, we had Mike Davis and Kelvin Sampson and Craig Esherick and JT III.  Not exactly the upper echelons of the college coaching fraternity, by anyone's estimation, be they Republican or Democrat, Big 10 or Big East or ACC booster.  Instead of family vacations in Indianapolis or New Orleans or Atlanta, we were sitting on our individual couches in our individual living rooms, texting rather than hugging. The Cuters graduated, the teams got no better, the Parental Units moved to Tucson, and UofA's 5 time Final Four coach Lute Olsen had a stroke and retired.  We were cursed. The Bride graduated from Kansas, which managed to survive the departure of Roy Williams, thus providing us with a rooting interest.  IntrepidCat graduated from UNC, and they are always good for a cheer or two.  Her sister, Niece-the-Youngest, is a South Carolina grad, which,...

That's what TBG said as we looked at the rosebush outside our bedroom window. It's quite odd, we thought, that those flowers exist on the same plant. In fact, those flowers go through all those colors before wilting and leaving the rose hips behind.  It's colorful and unusual and beautiful and prickly all at the same time. It's interesting and surprising and not something we've ever seen before. Or, as my husband went on: They are a melting pot, a polyglot, a bunch of differences inhabiting the same space... and they are getting along just fine.  It's a Tucson thing.