The Burrow

And so, that's what you get today. Include Thank You and Stickers!!!  and 50 cents a cap  among those words. Include the definition of a cap (yes, it's the top of a water bottle, too), curiosity about the probability of monkeys in trees, and ferocious giggling as feet are stamped and fists are shaken and 5 and 6 year olds take delight in Grandma hollering about that peddler's caps. The world is going to hell in a hand basket. I take and create my joy where I can. I can't make Harvey's waters recede, but I can take care of shoe laces and trips to the nurse, making my corner of the world a better place, one pair of sneakers at a time.

It made sense, after a while, to sit on the ground.  Prince Elementary School is haunted by a demented Shoelace Fairy; it's the only reason that every third child has at least one shoestring dangling. Tying shoes is a skill not mastered by many kindergarten kids.  The one who could create the knot and twist the bunny ears and pull it all tight did so with quiet concentration and a self-satisfied look as I narrated every step.  Her classmates were fascinated by her demonstration, and then they lined up in front of Grandma so that I could tie their shoes. Sitting, we were nearly at eye level.  Their shoes were pink and camouflage and shiny and lit up and those who had velcro closures stood in line anyway, just to show me their shoes.  Admiration finished, we moved on to the speedy and abridged version of Caps For Sale , the book I was toting.  Giggling, they ran away, making way for a bigger boy to ask me to start from the beginning.  I did, reading ...

There are recurring characters on Law'n Order who tickle our fancy.  Larry Miller's Dobson is one of them; we take fiendish delight in watching his sleazy, nightclub owning,serial wife killing snark.  He's so awful, he's wonderful. The other one is Nicole Wallace.  Brilliant, blonde, quick on the uptake and not shy about making her opinion known, this tv character is also a serial killer, with those who love her becoming, more often than not, her targets. The problem is that MSNBC hired Bush 43's one-time Communications Director to host an afternoon talk show, and her name is Nicolle Wallace .  She's brilliant, blonde, quick on the uptake and not shy about making her opinion known. I don't know why, but it bothers me. See what I mean?

I had to ask TBG to check my math.  I'd already subtracted in my head and counted decades on my fingers.  I'm still stunned.  Apparently, Peter O'Toole first smoldered his eyes into mine 55 years ago.  I don't know where the time's gone. I remember being struck then as I was today by how white Omar Sharif's teeth are, by how blue Peter O'Toole's eyes are, by how vast and isolated and insulated it was.  Then and now I loved the costumes and the scenery and the grandeur of it all. Today,  I was struck by how naive they all were.  When I was 10, I missed the nuance of the cultural divide. The Loft has new seats in its new 70mm equipped theater and every one of them held a patron.  It was an old-time movie going experience; I was there and I was here all at the same time.  I laughed at G'ma in my head, whispering about bottles of ketchup spilled as scimitars and knives hacked at body parts on the screen and I winced into her shoulder. ...

I crocheted a blanket for FlapJilly.  Her mommy bought the pattern, which I'd seen but rejected because I'm cheap.  I bought the yarn at Michael's and, with all my coupons and their sale pricing, I spent less on the supplies than I did on lunch that day. I made it five times; the instructions were more than a little unclear.  *I started, examined the results, pulled the work apart and started again* repeating the pattern between the *'s over and over and over again.  The mistakes only became clear as the garment grew. It's worked with two strands of yarn at a time, which made unraveling it unnerving.  Tangles make me nutty, untangling reminds me of Tom Sawyer in drag, yet over and over I toiled, getting it right... or right enough. And right enough it was.  Little Cuter had opened the packaging so extricating my gift was simple.  Folded in half, looking down at the roses, FlapJilly told her mother than It's a Belle one!  as her father helped...

Because you had that red convertible. Because you took me on the best first date ever. Because your mother talked to me about grandchildren when I first visited you at home, while your brother was fascinated by the thin braids I'd woven, framing my face while the rest of my hair hung to my waist.  Because it felt as if I'd been coming to your house forever. Because you explained the games you watched,  rather than excluding me due to my ignorance Because we lived near and then far, apart and then together and then apart again, and I was always glad to see you. Because you take the right things seriously. Because I know you will never, knowingly, put me at risk. Because ordering pizza is fine, even though a home cooked meal warms the cockles of your heart. Because you think that your old polo shirts look adorable when I wear them around the house. Because of that and because of this and because I can't imagine it any other way... Happy Anniversary, TBG. H...

I was 18 when I joined the Mobilization Against the War in the March on Washington, D.C.  Four of us drove from Ithaca to the home of a professor friend of a friend who welcomed a dozen or more of us, strangers in need of a free bed, into his huge home.  We sat in his backyard, under the stars, and tried to articulate our need to be there. Because it was a need.  Our friends were being drafted when their grades fell.  We played cards with a friend who ate next to nothing, avoiding a 1-A classification by being too thin.  Bombs were being dropped on innocents and Communists alike, awful bombs raining napalm and Agent Orange on a country that wasn't threatening us for any reason other than we were there, threatening them. There were some principled legislators, elected officials who made a difference.  I was in the audience when Sen. Frank Church spoke out about the war, making a case I could understand and repeat to Daddooooo, who took the other side. ...

I chased around Tucson on Sunday afternoon, looking for the appropriate eye wear, dogged, once again by procrastination.  You'd think I'd learn.  You'd be wrong. I bought my National Parks Old Person's Lifetime Pass this week, just a few days before the price goes from $10 to $80.  I've known that the price would increase since I qualified at age 62.... three years ago. Really, you'd think I'd learn. ***** After a phone call revealed that the cupboards in the library were bare of the free viewing glasses (again, advertised for weeks), I was directed by Sarah, my local librarian , to  Lunt Solar Systems . 2500 and something Coyote Something, off Grant, west of the I-10 ... her directions were more precise than my memory proved.  It became obvious that I was not the only one searching (for what turned out to be 2520 N Coyote Drive, Suite 111) when I joined the stopping-and-starting parade of vehicles wending our way through the (very empty) light indus...

There was a dead baby bat floating in the pool this morning.   It's not unusual for us to find fallen beasties there; birds capture prey and are often unable to transport them back to their nests.  We find tiny mice and ground squirrels, not often, but more than rarely. That's why I'm filing them under Minor Annoyances. I had my shoes on, so I could walk across the gravel and retrieve the pool skimmer.  There was another Minor Annoyance. I secured the skimmer behind the equipment wall before we went to the Midwest last month.  I usually go barefoot on my fabulous deck surface; it's never too hot or too cold or too slippery or to scratchy.... it's just right. But bare feet do not mix well with natural desert surfaces, and there was a lot of natural desert surface between the deck and the skimmer.  The pool sat, unskimmed, swimmable but somewhat leafy, until this morning, when I removed one Minor Annoyance from the list. ***** I sat at my desk to ty...

This morning, I thanked Little Cuter for sharing her family with us last night  and before I could finish she sighed and said she understood, that she walked into her house and took a deep cleansing breath,, leaving Recent Events outside. It was easier for me to do that when FlapJilly and SIR and my daughter were there to distract me. ***** Valerie Plame Wilson , one of my heroes,  posted this on Facebook, citing @CelesteHeadlee : Want to make sure you all saw this photo. It's the line of people in Durham waiting to turn themselves in for toppling the Confed statue. Only 9 of them were answering warrants, the rest were channeling Bible stories... you know... I am Spartacus! ... I am Spartacus!.... I am Spartacus. ***** Neither Robert E. Lee then nor Robert E. Lee V now, neither the great-great-something grandsons of Stonewall Jackson nor the direct descendants of Jefferson Davis think the statues of their relatives should remain standing in public spaces. ...

The day started with the best business people dropping out of Councils that had been disbanded because who wants to host a party that no one will attend? I watched Nicole Wallace, Communications Director for George Bush and McCain/Palin, wonder who resigns over this ? I found out that there is a uniform for white supremacists: a white polo shirt, tan khaki pants, and a red ball cap, aping Donald Trump's leisure wear.  I found out that the Nazis and the Klan (and the other groups whose names and websites I don't want to know about or promote) are recruiting on college campuses, looking for clean cut youngsters who are willing to climb into the clown car. I began to compose this ad: WANTED Very Nice People who participated in the Unite The Right rally in C'ville.   You know, the one whose poster featured all those white nationalists, Klansmen, Nazis. (Added bonus if you can articulate a nice reason for associating with assholes.) My President tells me that...

I thought there was one thing everyone could agree upon - Nazis have no place in the USofA. It seemed like a gimme, a simple thing, say Nazis are Bad and move on. Instead, our President invented an entire movement and accused them of attacking those peacefully protesting white guys who really really cared about a statute of Robert E. Lee. I'm waiting for the Republican Party to disassociate itself from this man.  I'm wondering what the Kushners' rabbi has to say about all this.  I wonder how my Breitbart reading friend can justify the false moral equivalencies his President draws. But mostly, I was really confused about the whole alt-left thing, never having been asked to join and wondering who amongst us had the secret password to this hitherto unknown cohort.  All became clear when Big Cuter shared this tweet from @Scott_Gilmore Alt-left, violently coming at the alt-right, circa 1944. 'Nuf said.

I've spent two days thinking about Nazis. It's an ugly place to be.  I don't do ugly any more.  I take care of my little piece of the world, and I try not to dwell on the terrifying, the horrifying, the grotesque.  They'll be there whether I obsess about them or not. So, this morning, I snuggled into a comfy chair with my fully charged Kindle, and picked up Killing Grounds, number 8 of the 22  Kate Shugak novels  I downloaded as a present for myself a few Christmases ago.  There's a 23rd one out now, after a long hiatus, and in its honor I'm rereading them all, from the beginning. Alaska is as much a character in the series as are The Handsome State Trooper and the half husky half wolf house-companion and the salmon and the mountains. They are much better company than the talking heads.  They are, by magnitudes unfathomable, better company than Donald Trump.

This has nothing to do with liberals or conservatives, as far as I'm concerned. It has to do with hate. The  Charlottesville driver is to blame, just as the fool who opened fire on the Republican baseball players is to blame, and the mentally ill young man who shot us is to blame. The Nazis, the KKK, and the white supremacists who organized and attended the event in Charlottesville are to blame, and so is everyone who remains silent in the face of this assault on the very basis if what makes America America. It's larger than ideology.  It's about who are as Americans.  It's about how we respond when things get out of hand. Words matter because words lead to action. Our shooter was fueled by alt-right white supremacist talk radio.  Steve Scalise's shooter was very very very angry at  them.  The young man who killed Heather Heyer left a massive gathering of gun-carrying, torch bearing, angry people who looked just like him, his ears filled wi...

It started on Monday, with a Costco run.  Two sheet cakes later, I was driving my propped open cooler across town to Prince Elementary School and Amphi Middle School, the places where I hang my hat.  They were busy getting settled; I left the cakes in the refrigerators, with a love note pinned to the long long tables that are characteristic of faculty lounges nationwide. I've given up on providing knives and plates and napkins; this is an eat and run environment which comes equipped with all the tools necessary to dig in and get out fast.  I spend GRIN's money on the food itself and everyone is happy. Tuesday found me at Albertsons, watching the bakery clerk fill a shopping cart with goodies.  Each and every year a young woman smiles at me from behind that same counter as she fills my basket to the brim with goodies that Vera, my favorite manager, is glad to share.  Vera says it makes her happy to provide the donuts and crullers and layer cakes and...

I was Rolfed this afternoon.  This was my second appointment, and I liked it even more than the first one.  I'd resisted the gift certificate for nearly a year; I went, the first time, to assuage my guilt over an un-used gift from a woman I see every week.  By the middle of the session, I was hooked. Talking about it is confusing; it's been done with me, on me, to me, but never at me.  The practitioner finds my psoas and follows it along its merry path, while I breathe and move my knees to one side and my head to the other.  It's not a process for amateurs.  The sensations are deep and unusual and sometimes require sending the breath to the part that is talking the loudest. And that's the part I like the most of it - talking to my body and having it talk back. A massage therapist in Marin insisted that TBG learn to love his basketball damaged knee.  She encouraged him to speak of it kindly, to rub the soreness with kindness, to think of it as a...

Fire and Fury . That's what our President is threatening.   Fire and Fury ..... 45's version of Shock and Awe?   This is my nightmare scenario.  Two unstable, egomaniacal, powerful leaders tossing the threat of nuclear war around like they are calling out a death metal band. Miniaturized nuclear weapons... and I don't care how well they can be aimed because almost counts in horse-shoes and in atomic blasts. When President Kennedy took to the black and white tv in the living room to warn us of an imminent danger just 90 miles off the coast of Florida, I locked myself in my parents' stall shower.  I stood there, writing my will in the fog on the walls, thinking that I might never take another shower because the world would be blown to bits. I'm having those same worries right now. I'm going to take a bath.  Do you think Epsom Salts can cure what ails me?

The President thinks that the generals are doing a lousy job.  He thinks that policy should be driven from the ground up.  That is, why not ask the people who are actually doing the job what they think should be done?  He saw that the management driven renovation of 21, his favorite NY restaurant, was a failure because the busboys and the waiters were not consulted.  He seems to think that the same might work in Afghanistan. Setting aside the feelings of the generals, is there merit to his idea?  I can't believe I am typing this, but I'm leaning toward a yes. Ask a school teacher if administrative decrees make a positive difference in their classrooms.  It might have made sense to the District Office to place all the non-English speaking kindergarteners in one room, but it left the teacher unable to communicate with a third of her students.  Since few of the children had attended pre-school, they were unprepared to sit on their own colored square, ...

OFA invited me to a public event on a sunny Saturday morning.  I debated taking Amster's boys, but got caught up in the fact that they are now older than CTG will ever be, and so I went on my own.  That took some courage, a prophylactic email to the organizer affirming that there would be security, and the ability to stand for an hour or two.  I had it covered, but I was still anxious. But Topher Spiro , policy wonk hero, was driving a bus across the USofA , and he chose to stop in Tucson.  Civic pride and curiosity about his message to exhausted members of the choir (after a resounding victory on healthcare) combined to propel me across town.  I knew I'd made the right decision when I saw his shirt. Big Cuter wore the same shirt  last week in Indiana.   Explaining it to me , he called it his stealth shirt , the message arcane enough to be safe in any political environment. Veterans for Peace were there to keep us safe, but ther...

Gramma and Grampa like the main library in South Bend, so we took FlapJilly to story time today. Miss Amy read books about bears.  FlapJilly sat, stoically, watching, not jumping or clapping or dancing.  She paid close attention to every word of every story, but said not a word.  Miss Laura, her first pre-school teacher, was there and said Hi!  but the kid was non-plussed. As soon as the program was finished, she was back to her usual jovial self.  She dragged us by the hand to the railroad cars by the windows, insisting that we Sit Dere!  while she sat across from us, reading a book of her own choosing.  She and Grampa had a fine time with the castle and the imaginary princesses and dragons.  Her tiny fingers climbed the inner staircases and jumped off the towers as she created her own story time. We couldn't leave without playing with this, the only toy I never bought for The Cuters. Their pediatrician had one, and playi...

Sometimes a girl just needs something sweet.

As FlapJilly eats flapjacks, sitting between her Daddy and her Gramma at the table, I have time to contemplate Little Cuter's morning rant. My little girl turned on the car radio and was appalled to find MSNBC emanating from her speakers. Her  NO! accompanied a quick flick of the wrist and a turning of the dial to the music of her teenage years.  Yes, she reminded me, Usher was at the Christmas concert with Pink and Boyz 2 Men, the one where my last minute ticket was closer to the stage than the seats she and her girlfriend had purchased months before.  Yes, that was a rude outcome to my offer to drive the kids to the San Jose Arena but that's not the point.  Wouldn't I rather listen to music than be upset by Morning Joe ? Her father and I are obsessed with the news, it seems.  The talking heads repeat the same nonsense, over and over and over again, leading to angst and fury, and we listen to it constantly.  Why would we want to live in that space? ...

In the real world, the White House Communications Director was fired before he was officially on the payroll.  In the real world, the Senate is trying, once again, to fix in a minute what they've had seven years of preparation to present. In the real world, planes are delayed and young adults go to work and air conditioners break down and roads are paved causing circuitous loops to be driven in order to find FlapJilly's house. In my life, there is this My space is much more lovely.