The Burrow

I'm about to clear something up.  You may think that I am splitting hairs.  I don't think so.  I have the weight of centuries behind me.  Read on, and be amused.   Today, Prof. Alfie  reminded us of a distinction Dante made in The Inferno.    Those who know the truth and keep you from it are the liars. Those who don't care about the truth at all are doomed to spend eternity wallowing in their element - bullshit.  There was a moment of silence, then stifled, rueful laughter.

According to my mother, I loved Mr. Kelley above all other things.  I have no memory of him at all. Mr. Kelley resurfaced from my early childhood when the crawl space in the basement flooded.  Many treasures were stored there, including, it seemed, my very favorite toy.  Daddooooo and Brother bent over beneath the very low beams, tossing out moldy this and soaking wet that when G'ma cried Mr. Kelley!  Oh, no, Mr . Kelley Who? You don't remember Mr. Kelley?  You loved Mr. Kelley. I continued to stare at a sodden clown, his red/white/blue ruffled collar drooping, his elongated limbs dangling, my mother's hand strangling his neck, her expression a mystery to 16 year old me. Fast forward to the nightgown Little Cuter loved to shreds, the one she wondered why I'd saved all these years.  Consider Big Cuter gently shaking his head, telling me that although I remembered those books, the ones I'd saved in the box, the ones I'd read over and over every ni...

I'm trying to be good.  Really, I am.  But it's hard, denizens, it's very very hard to put off until tomorrow what I really really really want today.  No, children, I am NOT singing Mick Jagger to myself, because I can get what I want ..... and I have what I need .... but I know I shouldn't. All this angst is over a library book.  I'm in the middle of C.J. Box's Joe Pickett mystery series.  I have two of the next three titles in the series available right now, one in hardback, one as an ebook.  Unfortunately, the first of the next three is still on hold  at the library. It's on hold in two versions - book and ebook - on four total copies.  I'm number 1 on the wait list for each version.  One book is in transit .  I choose to believe that it is coming to my library for me and that it will be there tomorrow morning.  Because I believe that, it seems foolish to pay Amazon for an ebook tonight.  I ought to be able to wait, ...

Among the wonderful things I did with dear friends last week, there was this: The Tucson Museum of Art was free, the final days of their special exhibit complementing the artisans gathered outside,  beneath tents, hawking their wares in a Thank-God-It's-Not-Raining-Today mood. Dress Matters: Clothing as Metaphor  was, at times, heavy-handed. Here's the description of this dress. And yes, it says Fare Well atop the bodice. And those are not pearls, they are tiny lead weights. How very Virginia Woolf, we opined, and moved on. Beatrice Colon's Fashion Statement is cut from the paper traditionally used to wrap tamales. Every stripe had meaning(s).  We walked some more and ate some more and talked a lot more, then I went out into the fair, again, where there were lava stone bracelets just begging to be dosed with essential oils and earrings none of them with any metaphorical or political or any other underpinning I could disce...

A friend, a fellow shootee, finds solace in God.  Praying works for him, he tells me.  It's a powerful force, if only we would harness it to expunge the evil from our world.  Evil exists, has always existed, will always exist, his latest missive explained.  Railing against individuals gets us no where, trying to protect ourselves from them is foolish, no matter what we do, they will be there and they will find a way to do their mischief.  Prayer and belief have something to do with saving ourselves from total despair, it seems, but I had a simpler response, one from my heart, laced with friendship and respect: Okay, evil exists.  Do we have to arm it?

The kids read that book, by  Chinua Achebe, in high school.  Today, sitting at my desk, reflecting on my morning, it popped into my head.  Achebe is talking about society and relationships; I'll be writing about inanimate objects. First, my phone.  My replacement phone for the one that ate my photos.   The phone that refuses to make phone calls unless I am standing outside and facing the sun while standing on one foot and chanting...... well, nearly that bad, anyway.  That was aggravating enough, but then it refused to let me hear the caller unless the phone was set to speaker.   Believe me, no one is that interested in my conversation with the HVAC scheduler.   I called *611 last week and spoke with a lovely young man who answered promptly, didn't read from a script, accepted the fact that I could scroll to Settings without a tutorial, and zipped me through the checklist of possible fixes before agreeing with me that the device ha...

It started with a dream which ended with me rolling over and belting TBG in the belly.... for reasons which remain in the dream.  It got much better from there. I did laundry, in the machine and by hand.  I took a chance and hung clothes outside to dry, but the wind was fierce and they didn't last long.  I saved them before they ended up in the pool; I was not interested in washing them twice. There were intermittent clouds, and they were full of moisture, and the humidity and my hip were interacting in strange and unusual ways.  Sitting at mah jong was a challenge, not only because my first chair had a dent in the seat that put my chin at table height.  I'm short, but not that short, as we all agreed when I switched it out and was able to see above my tiles in the rack.  I won the first game handily and made only one egregious mistake all morning,   That was enough to satisfy my competitive spirit, even if it exacerbated the discussion my new...

This is why I didn't find out about Parkland as it was happening. I was worrying about what I should have been worrying about - would the Valentines Day Create-A-Thon be a success. I set out the stamps and the paper and the markers and the stickers and waited for kids to sit down and play.   It didn't take long.   The 6th graders have been waiting for their chance since I started this little love fest five years ago.  The Prince kids watch me set up,  but they can't participate until they are the big kids.  Delay of Gratification..... there are so many sighs...... because even the teachers can play, and they can't. Faces were decorated. and faces were admired. My volunteers are just as loved as I am. We gave advice about spelling (Valentine isn't on the I've-been-in-America-for-6-months language list, I guess.) We listened as a young man explained why he was pleating paper,  as others t...

It rained all day and even though we needed it everyone in Tucson was miserable.  After all, it rained yesterday, too.  It's a constant presence.  Combined with the clouds and the temperatures in the 50's and 60's, this more-than-a-drizzle-but-less-than-a-downpour mirrors my insides quite accurately. I'm frozen.  Trying not to wail, to wallow, to go right back to that cold sidewalk, I'm only partially successful.  Like the steady rain on the outside, there's unwelcome background noise on the inside, too.  It's the guilt I feel for not feeling. Protecting myself = Ignoring their pain .... that's an equation that eats at me.  I try not to judge myself.  Most of the time, I succeed.  But typing to you forces me to think, and right now thinking is not where I want to be.  So, if you will indulge me, I'll take the night off.  I'll go on creating a Princess Poppy troll hat for FlapJilly. I'll watch the Olympics.  I'll read some...

I just can't. Writing about it is impossible. Thinking about it is impossible.  Holding it in my heart redefines impossible. So, I'm going to watch Johnny Weir and Tara Lipinski, both  resplendent in pink. I'm going to wonder with the Science Channel whether Nikola Tesla invented a death machine. I'm going to watch women skate furiously and ski fearlessly. I'm going to try not to cry. We don't have to live like this. We don't have to die like this.

 Hearts are everywhere, and not only today. There's the heart Yogi Mary found in nature, the one I sometimes use as my Facebook photo.  There's the heart the Mesa Mavens drew for me at the first Stroll and Roll. There's the heart that bereft parents look at and cry. And there's the one I send to you, denizens, filled with everything wonderful and beautiful. https://tinyurl.com/y73dvqqd Happy Happy Valentines Day to the people who make my heart sing and my fingers fly over the keyboard, each and every day.  Thanks.... for being here, for commenting, for reading, for caring. Without your presence, there would be no Burrow.  

She's 7 years old, now, 18 months or more after her best friend, Jacob Hall, the only boy she'd ever kissed, the one she was going to marry someday , was gunned down in front of her, at recess. They had just started first grade.  Ava Rose Olsen is home-schooled now. https://tinyurl.com/ycqweq9w She was on CNN this afternoon, teleconferencing from a large leather chair.  Her mom was there, too, describing in agonizing detail how her happy child was now diagnosed with PTSD.  She has her good days, but she is often angry and sad and frightened for her brother, who is still attending that elementary school. That Elementary School.  The one where she heard and saw what guns can do to someone she loved.  That Elementary School, where, she wonders in pencil to her President: Are you going to keep kids safe? How can you keep us safe?” Good questions, ones that the President, who watches a lot of tv (as the interviewer told the little girl), might be watching....

I first published this in 2011.   It remains one of my favorite rants. I remember when THIS was the most aggravating thing our government did. Sigh. ***** Mary Ball Washington gave birth to a boy child on February 22, 1732. Unlike many of the stories surrounding this man (think cherry trees and coins across the Potomac and standing up in an open boat as it crossed the Delaware) this is an indisputable fact. Mary was not in labor on the third Monday of February.  She produced her child on a specific day - the 22nd day of February.  His birthday didn't move around with the vagaries of the federal holiday calendar. Nancy Hanks Lincoln met her second son, Abraham, 209 years ago today.  Like Mrs. Washington before her, she was not in labor on an indeterminate day sometime in the middle of the month.  It occurred on a certain day, a day formerly commemorated by school children and mail carriers alike. Alas and alack, these fine gentlemen have been...

3am. Mamma, I wanna watch Cinderella videos now, I got all ready  she says sweetly, proudly, while gently rubbing her mother's elbow. Mother rouses herself, looks at the clock, and explains the situation. FlapJilly, you know that the clock has to say 6 or 7 before you can get out of bed .... it's too early for videos... She is interrupted, But I got myself all ready!!!!  the kid wails, disconsolately, piteously, loudly, in the dark, certain of the righteousness of her request. And then Little Cuter notices the damp hair, the neater-than-bed head-curls, the headband.... and as they lie down to snuggle each other to sleep, she rolls over onto to the brush and the spray bottle....  and she realizes that, in fact, FlapJilly had gotten herself all ready... all by herself. And, tired as she was, she smiled. ***** If this is too much of a grandma-alone-is-interested-in-this post, I apologize. Sometimes, she's all that I can think about.  I refuse to ...

A cloud has been following me around, trying to catch up.  I feel it over my shoulder, around a corner, hiding in the rosemary hedge outside my window.  It's somewhat terrifying, somewhat mystifying, and totally sad. I haven't had a bad day in quite some time.  This feels like one trying to get in.  I hid, for a while, in the next C J Box mystery.  But, it's set in Wyoming in December and the description of the snow and the ice and the wind had me shivering in the sunshine.  I put the book down and came to the desk, hoping that I could sort it out through my fingers. I'm not having much luck with that, as you can see. I'm fed.  I have fun plans for the evening.  I got a great haircut.  I played tether ball with first graders and put stickers on 4th graders and complimented third graders on their respectful demeanor.  All of that should be enough to put a smile on my face. Oh.  Wait a minute.  I had a body work sessio...

Intrepid Cat said it best: Some day watching a launch like that will be a regular boring thing. Today I am ugly crying because they actually did it, and it worked, the math held, and the boosters landing in parallel was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I'm obsessed with the video of the take-off and the landing of the 2 booster rockets. The video starts one minute before blast off; if you want more, SpaceX has an hour's worth of static shots right here.   Watch the cameras mounted on the boosters pick up Earth's outline and see if you're not just a little teary.  Just thinking about the calculations that went into the parallel landings right on the FH logo made my head hurt.  The geeky white boys at the end, cheering themselves and their accomplishment, are a 21st century reincarnation of the geeky white boys showcased in Apollo 11 smithsonianmag.org. I love the idea that eternity now contains a mannequin circling the sun in a bright red ...

Is everyone reading the same memo? Do you feel that you are living in an alternate universe? Do you wonder why the President of the United States shrugs and giggles while accusing elected members of Congress of treason? There are some days it doesn't make sense to read the paper or watch the news.  It will only confuse and confound and upset you, no matter what your political preferences.  I'm going to watch the next episode of Counterpart .   There, at least, the duality is acknowledged.

I had half a dog in this game.  Nick Foles is a UofA graduate.  Of course, so is Ron Gronkowski.  On Friday, my 3D mammogram technician, a Philly native, urged me to care about her Eagles.  A friend promised retribution  if any of her Facebook friends were Patriots fans. ***** One sentence at a time, that's how I watched the game. There was a lot of offense and not a lot of penalties, so I could be fairly certain that there would be something worth watching when I cruised past the tv.  I couldn't sit still all afternoon. I spent most of the pre-game and into the first quarter pruning my rose bushes which cannot make up their minds regarding dormancy.  I grilled steaks outside, listening to the coyotes and Justin Timberlake, as they got ready for halftime. I laughed at the thought of Minneapolis, where there are no degrees to be reported. ***** When the Rolling Stones performed at the Super Bowl half time, Little Cuter wondered why and o...

Why?  Why oh why oh why do you need to drive 10 miles below the speed limit on a two lane, no passing zone forever, road? Why? Why oh why oh why do you need to creep up to the red light half a mile away, on a busy four lane through street, with a left turn arrow tantalizing me up ahead?  I could reach it if you would keep up with the traffic passing us on the right. Why? Why oh why oh why do you come to a full and complete stop before making the right turn into the parking lot?  Do you not remember that you were moving, with the traffic, at a fast clip?  Do you not wonder what will happen to the cars behind you?  And why oh why oh why are you allergic to your turn signal? If only this were directed to one car, one drive, one incident.  But, no, it's an epidemic of stupid on Tucson's streets.  As the weather gets colder up north, the snowbirds bring their poor driving habits to us.  There's really no excuse.... it's neither icy nor sn...

Semi-Spoiler Alert  - I don't think it spoils the movie, but if you're worried, wait and read it later. We were on a roll, Scarlett and I.  First Lady Bird , then The Shape of Water .  We were working our way through the Oscars, one great film at a time.  While waiting for The Phantom Thread   to be shown on the big, 70mm screen at The Loft , we took ourselves to see Call Me By Your Name   this morning. Sigh. There were five of us in the theater.  Scarlett and I chose different seats in the front row of the loge, just because we could.  The previews enticed us to make plans to see the nominated short films when they arrive in February.  We turned off our phones and settled in to be taken in by the languorous meanderings of a James Ivory film. It was beautiful; the NY Daily News nominated Crema, the city where the film takes place, for an Oscar.  The countryside is verdant and warm and inviting; I wanted to be on a bicycle behin...