The Burrow

I rolled out of bed and onto Douglas (the couch) at 7am.  I made us breakfast during one of the breaks, opened a yogurt for lunch, but mostly I sat, mesmerized, in front of the television until I realized that it was over, it was after 4 o'clock, and I was still in my PJ's. ***** While I watched, I wondered, I squirmed, I reached out, I sighed. I wondered if the Republicans were unhappy that their Female Assistant finished her questioning and then walked to the table to shake hands with Dr. Ford.  I wondered how Kamala Harris's fingers managed to be as expressive as her words, those fingers opening and closing and pointing and have I mentioned that I was mesmerized? ***** I texted with my sister just after she had donated to Dr. Ford's GoFundMe.  I heard from JannyLou, who was in D.C., meeting John Lewis. Big Cuter checked in, wondering how he could use his privilege to ameliorate the problem.  ***** I watched an angry man call out Senators, interrupt S...

I've had a lot of false charges brought against me. I've been a famous person for a long time. I've had a lot of false charges brought against me. People want money, fame, whatever.    That's what our President had to say about the allegations against his Supreme Court nominee.   I'm wondering if Dr. Ford's whatever  is what he had in mind.   It's a very dangerous period in our country That's what our President had to say about #MeToo.   I don't think he's talking about the women who are being harassed.   Y'know what we're looking for?  Role Models. That's what someone said on MSNBC.    Do we have to spell it out?   Shouldn't that be the basic pre-requisite for government service? ......shoved a woman up against a wall aggressively and sexually ......there were at least four witnesses, including my daughter ....the victim called my daughter last night; they decided to rem...

We've read all of Bob Woodward's books, finding them compelling and accurate and intimate pictures of the people and events in the headlines.  We lived in D.C. during Watergate; the Washington Post was our hometown paper.  Reading about it in Woodward's series of books brought us deeper into the minutia.  Then, as now, we reveled in the details. So, when TBG asked me to reserve a copy of Fear  at our neighborhood Barnes and Opal, I didn't give it a second thought.  I picked it up the day it was revealed.  This is what I was given I had to ask for a bag. I couldn't have that man, that face, staring at me, sharing my space, in my car.    I certainly couldn't have him in my home.   We took off the dust cover, but the binding was rough and TBG uses the inside flap as a bookmark.  I could have made one out of a paper bag, or wrapping paper, but my bookshelves offered many better options. Has it come to this?  Too ...

In response to yesterday's post, wherein Rain grrr'ed thusly: ..... aren't they supposed to be the best of the best??? And some surely are but in our nearby university town, when they have the fraternity days, with the dads coming, it's drunk partying all the way. What the heck has gone wrong? I don't know about Kavanaugh but it sure paints a picture of a culture that was not very admirable and they end up running our nation or in high courts!   *****  Even as a freshman, I knew the fraternity houses with that reputation in my university town.  My sorority was across the street from one of them; as pledges and then living in the house we were cautioned to avoid partying there.  I helped a sophomore classmate with Sociology 101 and he invited me, and any and all of my girlfriends, to his frat parties.  We always had a great time, and he or someone we knew always made sure we got back to our dorm, if we wanted to go.  I heard stories about wild parti...

I spent the weekend trying to forget it was happening.  I exercised and saw Berthold Brecht's Gallileo  and read a novel and thought about Billy Collins poetry and then, as a go-to-channel when his football game was at commercial, we saw that there's another one. Deep breath.  He flipped back to football as I scrolled through Twitter (how 21st century of me, right?) for the details.  College boys delighting in a naked penis thrust in a young girl's face.  Ugh , on behalf of decent men everywhere. Sigh.  I spent a moment hoping that the women are telling the truth, though I have no reason to disbelieve them.  Dr. Ford's career as a psychometrician focuses on resilience after trauma.  She surfs, pitting herself against the ocean, surviving where others might drown.  I'm unable to believe that's all coincidence. At the next commercial, we read that there's a third one.  And that Michael Avenatti is representing  her. We remem...

The Cleveland Browns are charging down the field, impressing my boys.  This display of prowess is a rare and delightful occurrence. ***** I drove to an even that didn't happen, went to Costco and found the organizer in the pharmacy line.  We wondered whether I'd been notified of the change in plans; we agreed that it really didn't matter.  It was a pretty drive and life's too short to sweat the small stuff. ***** I came home with a trunk filled with basic supplies, having stared down the last roll of toilet paper in the house, willing it to procreate and failing miserably.  TBG and I carried and put away and in the middle of it all I realized that the heat was on.  It was 75 degrees this morning, which by Tucson standards is cool, but by the afternoon we were nudging triple digits. Sensing my confusion, TBG pointed out the HVAC kid traipsing across the patio, reminding me that we were having our bi-annual check up and that it required turning on all the sy...

https://tinyurl.com/y9avcq5e Do you remember these?   The Sport Walkman was self-contained, had 5 radio pre-set buttons, and stayed in place as I jogged and power walked along the Chicago lakefront.   It was on my head on that October afternoon, as Anita Hill testified. I was watching Big Cuter play flag football, wearing a parka, gloves, and a scarf because, y'know, it was October in Chicago and they were, of course, playing on the field closest to the lake, the coldest, windiest place in town.   I don't remember if it was a practice or a game. I don't remember much beyond the grey skies and my outrage. What is she saying?  the other moms asked. And so, watching little boys running somewhat aimlessly toward a distant goal, I said words like Long Dong Silver  and pubic hair . I feel as dirty now as I did then.

Am I responsible for my actions when I was 17? Whatever your stand on the validity of  Dr. Ford's assertions, the larger question remains.  Can you be called to task today for things you did in high school? Some would say YES , boldly and in italics.  Some would argue that change is inevitable and that an unruly teenager could mature into a responsible adult.   And that is where the real apology comes in.   I don't remember it, but I was an abuser of alcohol in my high school days and, I am embarrassed to say, I am missing many weekends of my youth.  I don't like to think that I would have done such a heinous thing, but if her memory is better than mine then I apologize with all my heart.  It was unconscionable, inexcusable, and reprehensible.  Tell me what to do to make amends, and I'm on it. I'd have an easier time with him were he man enough to man up. It's not easy, but it's been done.  I know.  I was on the receiving ...

The President of the United States is declassifying documents which will put at risk those engaged in keeping us safe. Drunken teenage partying is delaying the confirmation of that President's nominee to the Supreme Court, a nominee called a fine person  by that President, who also thought that there were some fine people  on the alt-right side in Charlottesville, too.  Wilmington, North Carolina is completely cut off, and those who stayed have run out their cell phone batteries and have no way to recharge them.  Terrifyingly, they have resorted to board games for amusement. Dr. K and Not-Kathy arrived yesterday.  Thirty hours later, they've stripped their living room wall to the studs, with only one broken thumb nail on the casualty list.  We sent them home after dinner with beer and brownies, reassuring her that 9 o'clock was not too early to go to sleep. And so, I leave you with this question from TBG last weekend: One can hunker down. Can on...

Sitting beside TBG this afternoon, reading a book I realized I had read before, I was distracted by his quickened breath.  I looked up at the screen and witnessed his hapless Cleveland Browns running successfully across the goal line. He whooped.  He hollered.  He shot his fist in to the air. Then, we laughed together as the phone rang; we knew it was Big Cuter calling to congratulate his paternal unit. And, as I listened to two of my favorite men reviewing and recounting and retelling and smiling and sharing I had to admit that football is good for something. If it creates opportunities like these, maybe it's not all bad.  I was able to reassure my son that I no longer found him to be of questionable moral character for watching America's blood sport.  Instead, I lauded him for bending his principles enough to allow him to share the love with his father.  This parenting stuff is complicated, no matter how old the kids get.

I'd say we were oversubscribed, but I was thrilled with the turnout. I went in with a flexible lesson plan in mind; forty some kindergarteners sent that flying. There was no way they were going to make name tags; they wanted to garden.  So, I regrouped. I went over the rules : Be Kind  (Obviously.) No Shoes on the Raised Beds. (Do you want people walking on your bed with their shoes?)  No climbing on or over the fence.  (Grandma will get in trouble if you do that, and I don't want trouble). Then I set them to weeding the entire garden area.  Their enthusiasm was delicious, but there were so many of them that taking pictures was impossible.  I was the only grown up, and I had to admire the collections of tiny leaves and small stones and sticks presented to me by many many many proud, little hands.   The bigger kids came in the next wave.  There were just as many of them, and they were bigger. They took up more space, a...

Today was the first meeting of Garden Club at Prince Elementary School. These kids were a small part of the third group to work on getting the space ready for planting. I took many pictures, so many that my phone died. It was as tired as I was.   Apparently, someone took my picture. I share it with you as a teaser for tomorrow's post; I promise photos and giggles galore. For now, I'll leave you with my candidate for Best Job Title, found on a Science Channel explication of the space time continuum: Planetary Defense Engineer.

I ordered a print of this.  I framed it and placed it in the center of my house. Giblet's eyes follow me everywhere. This is especially true since it's 16x20. That turns out to be a lot bigger than I expected. And yet, I am not at all tempted to move it. Gramma.   It's an uber-status.  I am nothing else. I am so happy.

I'm back on a regular routine in the gym.  I'm noticing changes and so are others.  I look forward to it. These are all good things. The fact that I cannot get up off the weight bench is not a good thing.  Bench presses are easier than fly's; I can use the bar to hoist myself up.  But lying flat on my back, my knees bent and feet on the bench because they don't reach the floor, I have trouble getting to sitting. The best I can do is to roll to the side, press my palm to the end of the dumbbell, and swing my legs around.  It looks like I'm falling off.... which I am.  But I'm in control of the fall. The 20-something spotting his friend on the bench beside me noticed my maneuver.  I recognized the look:  a good deed needs to be done and I'm the guy to do it.   Big Cuter wears that look; it warms the cockles of my heart.  I finished my graceless ascent, smiled at my would-be rescuer, replaced my weight and walked on.  He smil...

I was watching when Cory Booker realized that he was being threatened.  His body reacted before his face did; he was upright and focused as he stared Senator Cornyn down.  Bring it.  Bring it on. Then Mazie Hirono said she was in, too.  And she had some reasons that Alaska's Lisa Murkowski ought to look twice at Judge Kavanaugh, based on documents the Committee started out withholding and belatedly de-classified. Kamala Harris just makes me smile.  She's so used to being a prosecutor, to staring down the defendant, to hinting at information, it was fun to watch her leave the nominee squirming and worming his way around not answering.  John Kyl is my new Senator.  He was a friend of John McCain.  I'll send him an email reminding him that he's holding a maverick's seat and that, perhaps, he might want to have a maverick moment himself. Yesterday, I visited Jeff Flake's office and called out the crassness of turning your back on a grieving fa...

You don't get to choose your judge. You especially don't get to appoint the guy to a lifetime position, the law's most prestigious honor, before you, un-indicted co-conspirator that you are, appear before him, at the center of issues likely to unseat you. I just looked it up: it takes 51 Senators to make a quorum.  Without a quorum, business cannot be conducted. There are 49 Democrats.   If they and two other Senators who care about our country flee the scene, the Senate cannot advise and consent.  The flawed logic that led to Merrick Garland never receiving a hearing can be invoked once again:  let the voters have their say first. Like I said.  It seems pretty simple.

I just can't do it.  Being an informed citizen requires that I listen, but I cannot force myself to pay attention. Judge Kavanaugh is naming the girls he coached on his daughter's 6th Grade CYO Championship team, and I wonder how he'd feel if he lost a few to a school shooter. I hear him praise his mother and his wife, calling them strong and courageous.  Have they ever faced a back-alley abortion?  I'm sure he's a fun-loving guy who adores his family and gives back to his community.  It's not his fault that Sen. Grassley is a pompous ass.  But the Republicans dropped 40,000 pages of documents on a holiday weekend night and began deliberations the next day.  Weeks ago, he ought to have stood up and said I have nothing to be ashamed of.  Release it all.  I'm proud of every word. Condi Rice's smiling face over his shoulder sent me to the NFL and the flag and the Boycott Nike campaign because an ad featured Colin Kaepernick and we all know th...

Little Cuter wonders how I've changed since my adolescence.  Totally and Not At All is the most honest answer. I'm still among the shortest people in the room.  My long, dark hair is now short and mostly grey.  Others see me as fit and trim today; I used to be just skinny.  I was the fastest girl in my grade school classes; now I gimp along, struggling to keep up with the adults, giving up on catching FlapJilly.  That's the change that I notice the most.  Nannie used to laugh as she heard my footsteps; "Doesn't that girl ever do anything but scurry?"  Those days of quick movements were perforated, but the impetus behind them remains.  I'm moving fast in my soul, even if my body is lagging behind. I was a voracious reader then, and I am one today.  Picking up a novel after the end of classes Freshman year remains one of the most satisfying events of my Summer of 1970.  I had time to read for pleasure.  Life was good.  Toda...

Here's my Labor Day post, recycled and improved every year since 2012 ***** My  Zaydeh  was a paperhanger. So was his son, my uncle. They belonged to the Paperhanger's Union. When he retired, my Zaydeh got a lapel pin and a photograph of himself and the also-retiring Union Rep. The Union Rep got a pension and health insurance. No one knows if he got a copy of the photograph, too. It was that kind of complicated relationship to Labor, with a capital L, that dominated my growing up years. Daddooooo's father owned a business. G'ma's father was a worker. In the same way that her parents' accented speech and his parents' religious devotion were there, so was management/labor, bruising the edges of their relationship. On the one hand, I sat on my Zaydeh's shoulders as he bounced me around the living room, singing  Zum Gali Gali , a Zionist/Socialist work song.  When I needed a biography for a book report in second grade, his daughter, my mother, suggested ...