The Burrow

I tipped our rafting guide $50. I think he was shocked. I said, "You made my kids smile!"

There seem to be a lot of them going around, lately, it being June and all. Big Bob and MOTG still look like the high school sweethearts they were.  Crowds connected to Fast Eddie and JannyLou are cruising in Alaska, celebrating the blending of their families 40 years ago.   Today, G'ma and Daddooooo would be celebrating their 67th aniversary, married, as G'ma would ruefully remind me, on a Thursday because of something about Counting the Omer.   As a child, I wondered how she let herself be pushed around; she was The Bride after all.  As an adult, considering her socialist upbringing , her parents the least Jewish Jews I knew, as I wondered why she let religion decide for her.  Today, I wonder who paid for it. They were married at the Waldorf Astoria... when that meant something.  There was a ballroom and there was dancing to a live band.  There are lots and lots of pictures of people none of us remember, all of whom look like they are...

The 90-something woman in a wheelchair talked about her WWII vet husband, living in a VA facility, supported by services provided through Arizona's Medicaid expansion. The nicely dressed 40-something woman wore her Planned Parenthood button proudly on her chest; she held dozens of pink postcards destined for the Senator's desk. The 60-something gentleman carried a sign:  Sen. Flake, Choose One:  ⌧ Leader ⌧ Lackey The 40-something lady on crutches swung her legs through the open door and into the office with a smile on her face and fervor in her heart. I was there, too, 60-something and sweaty, carrying a letter written on my personalized stationary.  They know my story, but I continue to repeat it. For all of us, the facts remain the same.  Our lives would be quite different if the ACA is repealed. Yes, it's falling apart, but that is, in large measure, due to the uncertainty surrounding continued funding.  If I've heard it once I've heard it a thous...

It's where I put my plants, so it's my garden.  I try to ignore the fact that it is prickly and brown and dependent upon enormous amounts of supplemental irrigation just to stay even, let alone put out flowers of any color or substance even though it's summer time and that plus garden should equal earthly delights. Not so much here in Tucson.  I went out early this morning, before the heat brought out the snakes after the bunnies and coyotes had finished their rounds.  There's a sweet spot for the sun then, too.  It puts both my front and back containers in the shade.  Without my gloves, I surveyed the scene. Pieces of the irrigation system are mal-functioning; I left the tools to repair the situation outside overnight.  The Bic lighter was out of fuel so I couldn't heat the tubing; I thought that the sun alone would soften it, but that didn't happen.  I cooked dinner and forgot about the breech I'd created when the lighter failed.  This morni...

It should have been simple. A right click on the 3x3 square in the top right corner of the write-a-new-post page of Blogger, my fairly-seamlessly-integrated-with-Google hosting site for The Burrow, should have done the trick. Instead, I got this , reprinted here for your amusement: Meet your Google Assistant Ask it questions. Tell it to do things. It’s your own personal Google, always ready to help. I thought that's what I had.    Now, instead of connecting me to my calendar, Google was selling me products. Heeding Big Cuter's admonition that there are no unanswered questions, Mom ; that's why we have The Google, I can tell TBG how old Shirley Temple was when she made Fort Apache (19) without missing a scene.  I know if I'm free for lunch next Tuesday without being tethered to one hard copy of my calendar.  I can write to you from many platforms (even my iPad) and Google takes care of the back office pieces.  I am grateful.   I'm willing t...

Our gym has been under-going a refurbishment.  It's been closed for several weeks; we've been Wandering Jews, working out at the chains' other locations, running into familiar faces in strange locations.  Without a routine, a rhythm, a usual pattern of where-to-walk-when, my weight workouts have suffered. Okay, I'll be honest.  I've only gone to one other gym one time during the renovations.  TBG, however, has made the rounds, from 1st Avenue to Marana to Oro Valley, experimenting with different bikes in different rooms, lifting with strangers instead of old friends.  It's not the worst problem in the world, but it made a difference in our lives. So, when My Yogi sent an email announcing the reopening on Monday at noon, my heart soared.  I anticipated balloons and snacks and lots of cheerful worker bees roaming the gym floor, explaining the new equipment and leading me to that which I couldn't find.  Once again, I'd have a cozy workout location exa...

He's younger than I am.... a fact he delights in sharing.  He's still not Medicare eligible, so I worry about his GERD diagnosis and continuing health care and pre-existing conditions as I try to remember that it's only 2 years and 4 months that separate us.  He'll be old soon enough. He stopped shaving a while ago, and now sports a full beard.  Not many men look better with a lot of facial hair; my brother is one who does.  He doesn't scratch it or pull at it or play with it.  It sits there, on his face, making him look distinguished and delightful. He's all about balance - work, family, friends, exercise, religion, sex, learning, adventures all have a place in his life. Eschewing the razor is just another way he's made his life conform to his ideals. He wears sneakers everywhere; they are comfortable and who are we to judge. He drives a Chevy and a pickup truck and a Miata, a recent addition that makes him very very very happy.  He carries a collaps...

My kids have been teasing me about this for years. I pronounce Donkey to rhyme with Monkey; they both have short-U sound. This is an endless source of amusement for my children,  They pronounce it with an ON instead of my short-U.  Of course, this means that they should also be calling that cute furry creature scampering through Queen Elizabeth's castle in Sea Hawk  a mONkey. https://dustedoff.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/pic191.jpg Don't you agree?  Munkey and Dunkey.... no one calls it a mONkey, now, do they? Do you?   There are pronunciation guides which purport to put this problem to rest.   This one  and this one  seem to agree with my offspring.  If only my parental units were still around to explain the realities of growing up on Long Island to my Chicago and California raised kids.  They'd understand it in a heartbeat.... before reminding me how weird Daddooooo and G'ma talk.... that New York accent gets them eve...

We met when I was coming out of hibernation.  My only job was to heal , and so I lay on Douglas, the couch, for 14 weeks, watching the sun move across the horizon as the days and months passed.  Getting up and getting out was a major production, especially once my Suzi-Sitters were gone.  I needed help at every piece of the process - off the couch, over the thresholds, down the path, into the car (somebody do something with my assistive device, please), being driven and then reversing the process to arrive at my event. The event had to be something really worthwhile.   Showing up at Prince Elementary School to judge children's photographs was really worthwhile.   I fell in love... with the school, with the kids, and with the Assistant Principal, Tanya Wall. I don't usually include real names in The Burrow.  Blogonyms are used to protect the innocent and the guilty alike.  But this is different. This is a tribute to a Wonder Woman, a Kindness Crus...

The rent-a-cop took our picture in the courtyard outside Senator Flake's Tucson office.  I'm certain that I would outrun him in a race to shelter, but it was nice of the organizers to consider some small measure of security for our group meeting with the Senator's staff.  Jeff Flake is considered to be wavering on his support for TrumpCare; we were there to tell our stories and ask for his vote. I'd begged off on the previously scheduled sidewalk demonstration; I don't feel comfortable being that exposed.  But following gunfire at a baseball game with chanting and protesting about health care seemed an odd mix to the OFA organizers; the sign waving piece was deferred to another time. I was fine with an inside the office sit-down.  The office feels very safe to me; I visit there at least once a month to share an opinion or two.  I look around, as I always do.  I'm aware of places to hide, of escape routes, of unlocked doors and out-of-the-way niches. ...

My email, my Facebook, my phones (both land line and cell), the cashier at the grocery store and classmates in Romantic Composers ...... every one wanted to know how I was doing. I appreciated the love.  Really, I did.   Thinking of you right now  made me smile.  Heidi's How do you keep your sanity  made me smile.  All the heart emoji's warmed my real one, and the hugs and loving looks reminded me that life is good. I was lucky.  I was in the South Bend airport, ready to board my first plane, when the news broke.  By the time I landed in Tucson it was no longer a breaking story.  TBG told me the facts as we left the lot; MSNBC on XMRadio filled in the personal stories of eye witnesses leaving the YMCA and hiding behind their cars.   I'd been eased into the idea of another shooting; I didn't make the connection to our Congress on Your Corner until I saw Mark Kelly on CNN later in the afternoon. It didn't make me sad or scared. ...

... it all comes down to guns. Big Cuter called from San Francisco as we walked in the door.   "Just wanted you to know that I wasn't at the UPS facility today.... though I was on my way to the grocery store right near there when I noticed the streets were closed." Auntie M sent a thinking of you  email which I read as we were talking. Gabby sent a copy of her official statement, talking about Congressional service and American values. Moms Demand Action and Americans for Responsible Solutions and my Survivors Network all sent take care of yourself today  emails, reminding me to check in with my emotional barometer, warning me about the 2 minute cell phone video airing on all the networks,  replete with the sounds of the baseball field shooting. The sounds.... I was okay until the sounds. Thinking back to six and a half years and one week ago, I remember the eerie silence.  There is no screaming in my memory.  There is quiet, an unearthly quiet,...

I am incapable of coherent thought. I am consumed by love .

Little Cuter and I went to Galveston this weekend to celebrate the commissioning of the Navy's newest warship, the USS Gabrielle Giffords. This is a big, impressive vessel  and the weekend was filled with other big and impressive events. There will be more details tomorrow. For now, I'm sunburned and tired and filled with pride. For two whole days, it felt great to be an American.

The Ballerina's husband is a pianist.  He's many other things, but I always consider his prowess at the piano to be his defining characteristic.  A neighbor complained to management that his practicing was disturbing her afternoons; I'd have traded living spaces with her in a heartbeat. He took lessons and learned all the Chopin etudes and created a CD and celebrated with a party.  The piano teacher's house was filled, upstairs and down, people sprawled on the couches and the stairs and on pillows on the floor.  That's where I was, on the floor, with a perfect view of his fingers on the keyboard.  People kept offering me space on chairs and sofas (there were lots of very well behaved young people at this affair) but I had chosen my space with a purpose.  I wanted to watch his hands. I was reminded of that afternoon as Tannis Gibson  showed our Humanities Seminars the way to play the piano.... at least the way she and Chopin agree the instrument oug...

pinterest.com They've come a long way from the old ear trumpet.   I used to hold my hand behind my ear to capture voices that were faint.  Now, I have two coordinated electronic devices which communicate with one another without wires or any visible means of transmission.  If I raise the volume on one side, the other ear increases at the same time.  It's magic. My old units had a zebra pattern, which blended nicely with my salt-and-pepper hair.  Since my hair has become more salt than pepper over the past four years , my new devices are pure silver.  The audiologist called the manufacturer to be certain that the zebra stickers were unavailable before I decided to become comfortable with this new, more mundane, look. Not that anyone can really see them; they fit behind my ears and are covered by my hair.  Still, as I plug in my ears and my eyes in the morning I long for the days when all my parts worked well. These new devices are programmable...