The Burrow

I really did.  A bunch of Random Thoughts (haven't done that for a while, thought it was time to reprise it) or, perhaps, a silly FlapJilly story, or a description of GRIN's Grandma's Garden project at Prince.... they were all rattling around in my head until I came home and watched the news. Five people went to work in the morning.  Just a regular morning.  The sun came up and they got dressed and followed their regular, boring routines and ended up at their desks in the Capital Gazette.  They never went home.  They died on a regular day, doing regular things, with regular people. How do we go on when shit like that keeps happening?  There must have been pissed off readers before 2018, readers who sued the paper for some reason or other.  Why does the world not come to a stop when a man begins executing other humans because he's angry?  When did this become okay? I'm lucky.  I've already been shot.  I often tell people that the sa...

First, the Supremes believed that The Trump Travel Ban was based, not on the President's stated objective of keeping all Muslims out of the USofA, but on specific security threats.  As Rachel Maddow pointed out, that was the same reasoning used in upholding Korematsu, the Japanese internment case brought during WWII.  Recent documents have shown that there was no real security threat (if one had existed it might be assumed that the other descendants of the Axis Powers - the Germans and the Italians - would have been rounded up, too).  Somehow, I think the same spurious reasoning will be found by future generations probing the archives behind the Muslim Ban. Yes, there were restrictions on immigration from those countries when Mr Obama was President. Somehow we managed to stay safe for all those years without disgusting the rest of the world. Then, the Supremes weren't impressed with racial gerrymandering at all - and decided it wasn't a big deal, that districts could ...

My friend, Marilyn Heins, is a pediatrician, parent, grandparent, great-step-grandparent, and the founder of ParentKidsRight.com.  She writes a twice-monthly column for the Arizona Daily Star, giving practical, meaningful, comfortable advice about parenting at all stages.  Her June 24th column was about the importance of having The Conversation - what do you want at the end of your life.  She began with the story of euthanizing her Cavalier King Charles spaniel. When I think of my mother's death, I start with a pet, too. I sat in JannyLou's kitchen, holding her as we wept.  She'd held her pooch in her lap as the vet helped him die.  We were sad, but it was a good end.   And then, we laughed through my tears as we talked about my mother.  She was slowly fading away, aches and pains and memory loss making her alive but not really living.  How she would have welcomed such a comforting and comfortable end. "We are kinder to our pet...

She's about to welcome a sibling. Her parents are realizing that the odds will soon be even - two on each side of the power divide. And so, recent emphasis has focused on rewarding Excellent Big Sister Behavior. The rewards are financial, deposited into a piggy bank. Said bank was full on Sunday; FlapJilly was free to spend her earnings anywhere she wanted. The Yogurt Shop. Claire's for baubles and bangles.  The cupcake bakery.  Target. Nope. She took her parents and her kitty purse and her cash to the library store , Barnes and Oble. There she is, leaving with her book bag and her Dad, explaining the situation to him. They've raised a not-yet-4-year-old who makes wise choices. A+ 

Driving to our new favorite Mexican restaurant Friday evening,  the conversation turned to 23&Me's donation of genetic testing kits as a means of reuniting separated children and their parents.  Of course, issuing matching hospital bracelets would have accomplished the same thing, but that would have implied planning and forethought as opposed to a hissy fit to placate the base. Too brown to be in town , TBG muttered, shaking his head, scowling, squinting his eyes in that way that signals Danger, Will Robinson.  The cruelty to children is driving him to distraction.  He's angrier than I can remember seeing him, and I've been seeing him for a long, long time. We try to leave politics far from the dinner table, but we couldn't contain ourselves.  We were casting aspersion left and right, denying the humanity of those who were party to the awfulness. Those children are already damaged - we kept coming back to that.  No matter what we do, they are dif...

thefootballexaminer.com I spent all afternoon and all evening and a good part of the night thinking about this image. Ben's Bells  is one of my favorite places in Tucson.  It's all about kindness.  Most of the cars driven by Tucsonans have one of these stickers on a rear window: : Kindness.  The notion has been rattling around this country as our President rips children from their parents and blames everyone but himself.  It's just not kind.  You know, that whole Do Unto Others business that the Bible, Mike Pence's bedtime reading material, talks about.  The What You Do To The Least of Us You Do To ME. That ME..... am I incorrect to assume that refers to the Son of God?  Even Herod's minions didn't pull  him out of the manger and relocate him while his parents checked in with the government. I know. I know.  They weren't checking in.  They were trying to move in.  They ran from chaos and instability to El Nort...

My Bubba wasn't the person chosen to come to America.  Her older sister, Dora, was the one who was supposed to make the trip, to meet family in New York, to become an American.  But Dora was too scared to leave home, so Ida went in her stead. Everyone who knows the details is long dead.  Piecing things together from randomly remembered bits of family history, it seems that my maternal grandmother, an accomplished seamstress, looked quite elegant when the steamship arrived at Ellis Island.  They lifted her eyelids with a button hook, checking for she knew not what.  They asked her name, and wrote a semblance of what she said in a big book, then sent her across the harbor on a ferry to meet her distant cousin, the one who sponsored Dora-now-Ida. That was chain migration at the turn of the 20th century.  There wasn't a lot of vetting for terror suspects, unless you were an Asian immigrant held on Angel Island off the coast of San Francisco.  There had...

I finally found a spin bike that fits my frame, doesn't hurt my butt, and lets me feel safe.  I rode one morning, Fox News on the personal tv to get my blood going.  There are no toe clips on this bike; I have to concentrate on the upstroke in order to keep the ball of my foot on the pedal. On the downstroke, I have to remind my right knee that it has no business traveling off the mid-line. Up and down, around and around, I was focused on feeling the bone moving in the socket.  The synovial fluid loosens up and starts to flow, blood nourishes the muscle, and real work begins to happen.  I was happily considering the delicious warmth in my hip when a friend stopped by. Normally, I wouldn't take out my earphones.  I'd smile and wave and go back to my routine.  Serious gym rats understand and appreciate that; it's not rudeness, it's dedication to the workout.  But for her, I made an exception. She's a world class athlete, an age group champion (more...

I've known Rep. McSally's District Director since he was Gabby's Communications Director, back in 2011, when we were shot.  I smiled when I heard that he'd "gone over to the dark side," the phrase I used when I called to ask for a meeting.  Since McSally's election, we've met half a dozen times, alone and in the company of others sharing my political bent.   He's always been open and honest and forthright.  He calls me on my over-reactions and I don't allow him to avoid the hard questions.  We agree to disagree.   He knows that I don't feel represented.  He knows that I don't admire his boss.  He's a staffer, enjoying the workings of government without attaching a personal bias to his day job.  I'm fine with that.  He spouts the party line, the Congresswoman's inability to take a coherent stand on the issues tormenting and torturing his answers at times, but he's always tried to hear what I'm saying.  He promises...

Among the benefits of getting shot (and yes, there have been benefits) are the connections I've made with people I would never have encountered otherwise - news people. It started with Amanda, your friend at the Associated Press.  She started every conversation that way.  It made me smile.  She was writing the first draft of American history, and she wanted to get the facts straight.  Then there was Brian Williams, now semi-disgraced for embellishing a story but then very much in high esteem.  He was genuinely interested in us, in how we came to be the people we are, how the shooting dented that construction.  His questions opened new ways to think about The Event. And then there was Sarah Garrecht Gassen.  She waylaid me in the hallway outside one of the first court hearings, identifying herself as a stringer for the New York Times.  Since the NYT had just printed an error filled article  (starting with misstating my age) ...

Thomas Mullen wrote a one-off story, the first of his books that I read.  The Last Town on Earth  has cut all ties with the outside world, hoping to quarantine itself against the flu epidemic raging through World War I America.  It doesn't really go as planned. Several small towns actually tried this, with about as much success as Mullen's fictional burg.  What happens when someone approaches?  What happens if that person needs help, or poses a threat?  Worse, what happens when the town runs out of liquor?  Amid musings on relationships and permanence and family and good and evil, I found something that stopped me in my tracks.  It gave me something to think about.  I give it to you. And even if so much was stripped away that you no longer recognized yourself, the thing left was the part of you that you never understood, that you always underestimated, that you were always afraid to look at.  You were afraid you'd need it one day...

First published in 2015, upgraded in 2018.  Today, Flag Day, June 14th, is Linda's mother's birthday; why I know that fact remains a mystery.  I've known Linda since first grade.  I know none of the birthdays of my other friends, from then or now, let alone their mother's birthdays.   Flag Day, though, has always been Linda's Mother's Birthday.  Just ask TBG. He doesn't know Linda, but he, too, celebrates her mother's birthday. ***** timesofsandiego.com This is the weekend, in 2015, when Gabby Giffords helped to christen the US Navy's newest littoral combat ship (designed to patrol in shallow waters), the  USS Gabrielle Giffords.  Two years later, Little Cuter and I helped her celebrate the Commissioning. At both events, she was gorgeous and happily wind-blown, leaning against her handsome husband.  I know the effort behind each one of the steps she took, from the bow to the stern. It's not only the doing which inspires m...

I read a new-to-me series on an e-book loan from the library.  Thomas Mullen's David Loogan struggled with identity and loss and truth and justice, while I spent three days complaining about reading on a screen. I never knew how much further I had to read before I found out who dunnit.  There was no shifting of weight in my hands as I made progress.  I had to make a conscious effort, stop concentrating. click twice, then readjust my eyes and   oh, wait, where was I? Worse than that, opening the download brought me directly to Chapter 1.  The device didn't need to ease me into the book, to let me feel the pages (Dick Francis's bright white, Joan Didion's vellum like ecru), have me get used to the font.  Furthermore, it decided that I didn't need to see the cover, didn't have to read the copyright material and the dedication and the chapter headings.  It decided I wanted to start reading. If There Are Words, I Will Read Them could be embroider...

"Mama, don't you want to come with me?" I'd offered to cover all the expenses if SIR, then merely her best friend, would drive with her from IU to Marin.  Her new-used-car had to get back to California, and he was a better mechanic than I was.  Plus, he was there, in Bloomington. "But, Mama, don't YOU want to come with me?"  And so I flew to Indianapolis, landed near midnight, checked into the airport Marriott and tried to sleep.  Little Cuter packed herself up and met me the next morning at the hotel..... and once we managed to get out of the parking lot (lost before we started!) we were off.   My job was simple - take a photo of every Welcome to (Insert State Name Here)! sign.  I managed to get Illinois and Iowa and Wyoming, but we stopped for those.  The rest I missed, fumbling uselessly with her Canon.  This was 2005; cell phones were telephones not cameras and computers back then.  Her little SLR was more than I coul...

I had great plans.  A new header.  Updated sidebar.  Revamped labels. They never came to fruition.  Instead, I swam and visited with friends and read two novels.  I went out to dinner with friends, had lunch with friends, dined at a gala with friends.  My fingers and toes are freshly painted.  The cupboards are stocked with fresh and healthy foodstuffs.  There is soft and gushy bread from the bakery on my counter.  I have everything I need for dinner preparations.  I printed out our tickets for RBG at The Loft today at 2:45.  Perhaps we'll stop at Smashburger for milkshakes on the way home.  I have time for another swim before dressing for the movie. It's summer in Tucson and that usually means laziness.  There is less to do.  Being outside is impossible unless you are in a pool or up the mountains.  Indoor activities take precedence, and that's what I had in mind when I promised you a new look.  I d...

I had a plan. I forgot about it. I had some ideas. I lost them. Then, I forgot to write the post at all.  Yesterday was an odd day, indeed.  I want to update the sidebars.  I want to make the labels more relevant.  I want to figure out how to make a word salad picture of the topics I cover and I want to find a lovely spot on the page to place it. I want to have more fully developed skills.  I'm singing my song to myself..... I can't always get what I want, and I'm peeved. Rather than drone on about nonsense, I'll reprise an oldie but a goodie for you right here and then get on about the business of cleaning up The Burrow.  Prepare for a new look on Monday! ***** Friday, June 15, 2012 When Did I Get Old? When did my legs start to look like my grandmother's legs? There I was, catching a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror in our suite at Canyon Ranch, asking that question out loud.  " Did you ask me something?"  TBG ...

TBG sits beside me on Douglas, willing his Cavaliers to victory.  They are up by ten right now, and he's filled with hope.  Can one extraordinary man defeat a talented team led by The Splash Brothers ?  He's filled with hope, but he is a realist. I have been trying to find hope in the larger sphere.  I can't worry about Melania sightings; lots of moms are busy with their kids at this time of year and she did just have surgery.  I'm infuriated by the NFL owners' tone deaf response to players kneeling for social justice, I'm inspired by the mutual respect shown in the NBA, but mostly I'm annoyed that the flag, which is supposed to fly free and never be held flat, is venerated while being insulted. People are still driving with a full load of stupid, but there are fewer of all of us so it's mildly less annoying.... although it's really too hot to be annoyed at anything.  But I'm not fighting annoyance, I'm struggling with despair.  My coun...

It's a scorching of the skin, a burning in the eyeballs, a thick stillness of the air. It's waves of heat rising from the pavement and mirages appearing half a block down the road. It's tank tops and sandals and sweat.  It's light skirts and flimsy dresses and sweat. It's clouds teasing me, hovering over the mountains, white and wispy and useless if for rain or shade. It's the irrigation running three times a day, and still the roses wilt. It's waking up early to walk on Christina-Taylor's path and realizing that 7 is not early enough. It's 105 degrees and it's hot.

Apparently, Rudy and Don have decided that being President puts one above the law. Trump's more reprehensible than Nixon.  Nixon knew he was a crook; the newly transcribed Haldeman conversations have him acknowledging his culpability and eventual resignation 18 months before it all crumbled around him.  He'd already paid hush money, tried to involve the CIA in quashing the investigation, and committed several other crimes and misdemeanors. Trump's done all that and more, yet he wonders why he would have to pardon himself since he's done nothing wrong.  It's a partisan witch hunt determined to find what is not there.  He's an innocent, persecuted because he's not politically correct. The saddest part is that the man believes it's true. There's a lot of pressure on our process right now.  Obvious breaches of protocol - Nunes sharing information with the White House and the DOJ providing information about an on-going investigation to the person ...

We rented out our first condo when we bought our first house.  Then we sold the condo.  The closing was March 1st.  The heavy duty cleaners were coming on February 28th.  Between the paperwork and the decision making and the scheduling, the 27th was the only day available for dealing with the mess the renter had left behind.  The 27th was also my birthday. My girlfriend called TBG and ripped into him, big time.  How could he allow this to happen?  How could I possibly spend my birthday this way?  Her outrage filled his head, an outrage that doubled and tripled and quadrupled in size as her rant went on and on.  She was calling him out, demanding that he take better care of his wife, implying that she was more concerned with my well-being than he was.  He told her to mind her own business, hung up the phone, and called me.   "Are you okay doing this?" I'd considered it, of course.  I love my birthday.  I ...

The snowbirds are gone.  School is out.  The temperatures brush up against triple digits.  Tucson in the summer is slow. There is very little traffic on the roads, but that doesn't stop people from driving poorly.  When did it become acceptable to slow down blocks before the red light, tooling along in the left lane at 25 miles an hour?  Today's major offender wasn't even driving a Prius.  I was late, she was slow.  I kept my outrage in check, although with some difficulty.  After all, it's summertime and I have very few Must Do's on the calendar. #RedForEd has morphed into #InvestInEd and the meetings keep happening.  I took on a few assignments, and spent the early afternoon driving up and down Oracle Road to accomplish them.  I added in REI for a high school graduation gift, the bank to fund further adventures, the library, and a few random don't forget the....  items.  The afternoon stretched out in front of me....