The Burrow

I decided it was past the last frost.  I'm sorry if you are living in the polar vortex ravaged rest of the USofA, but here in Tucson it was in the low 70's, with high clouds cutting the sunshine every once in a while.  It was planting weather, for sure. There were red onions and yellow onion sets  available to be settled into the beds. There was a sprouted head of garlic from Grandma's kitchen that nestled in the middle of the parsley. And then there were the strawberries. Oh, the strawberries brought such joy to their faces. They were gentle with the budding plants as I shook them free from their containers. We looked at the roots curling around the pot-molded soil, then untangled them slowly and carefully. Grandma was busy holding the plant so there are no pictures of the the root dislocation or the trowel sharing as the hole was dug. There was the proper addition of the displaced soil, and then the seating of the plant with firm tamping. ...

We were playing Family Basketball the last time I fell down.  I was going for the lay-up and Big Cuter was having none of it and the next thing we knew I was bouncing off the driveway, bleeding and surprised.  Falling is unexpected once you leave elementary school. So, you know you've reached a certain age  when the first question the doctor asks is When was the last time you fell?   It's not something anyone wondered about when I was a teenager, or when I was a young mother, or when I ran for the school board.  But now, as I enter the realm of senior care, it seems to be an issue of some importance. I don't fall!  is my usual retort, packed with some attitude and delivered with emphasis.  And it was a true answer, one that I was proud to deliver.  Mrs. Dr. N complained that she was starting to hold onto the railing when she walked down the stairs, frightened that she'd send her 70-something self hurtling down the incline.  She said it ...

Today was our first class, and it was a full class, 95% of whom raised their hands and admitted to having read The Sound and the Fury  in their past lives and nearly the same number who admitted ot having finished the book recently, for this class. Scarlet and I may be in over our heads. The professor looks like someone I could be friends with, someone more concerned with words than appearance.  Once she got into the swing of the audio-visual set up and stopped reading her notes, she gave a concise history of literary criticism from the early 20th century to the present day, clearly establishing which camp she favored.  She also told us that sometime during his sojourn with the Canadian armed forces (he was too skinny for the USofA) he added a u  to his last name.  It was moments like those that kept me engaged during the paragraphs of dense critical theory; I had to pay attention in case she dropped another nugget. That's what I like about the Humanitie...

There was something I wanted to say about Nancy Pelosi being described as an Italian Grandmother. There was a cave/Plato/Trump/P.T.Barnum post rolling around in my head. We watched The Princess and the Bell Hop,  a movie that struck exactly the right note in what could have been awful in so many ways, and I tinkered with writing about respect and not rushing to judgment. But Little Cuter took FlapJilly's pink tutu'ed self to her first dance class on Saturday and there are videos.  So many videos.  She's crawling like a bear, and like a crab, and prancing all the way across the room with pointy toes.  Her hair is in a bun and face is radiant. I'm sorry.  I'm stuck.  I can't seem to do anything else.  I will try to think tomorrow.  Today, I'm going to revel in the wonder of a little girl who turned on the heater in the play room so she could practice her steps and watch her reflection in the glass.  And of her mommy who knew how much I'...

I saw a picture of Bozo on Facebook last week, and I realized I'd forgotten the ruffle around the bottom of his pants.  He wasn't on my regular watching schedule in my childhood; I was more into Captain Kangaroo and Miss Nancy on Romper Room.  But TBG and I spent a week in 1983 on St. Maarten with WGN as the only television option.  Bozo woke us up every morning. TBG's been taping Leave It To Beaver and My Three Sons; it's lovely background noise as we're getting ready to leave the house.  The teachers are female and young and kind and white.  The families are intact and middle class and white. Mom makes sandwiches on white bread. The Beaver is still adorable, making the mistakes a sweet elementary school boy makes, then and now.  There's a lot of wisdom in his interactions with Wally, his big brother, that we find lacking in those with his father.  Ward just seems to exacerbate the situation, while June wrings her hands and hopes everything will t...

It was cold by Tucson standards, at 46 just twelve degrees warmer than Little Cuter's South Bend.  I decided to wait before planting more seeds; the packets recommend that the ground temperature be ..... and I spent an inordinate amount of time wondering how to measure the temperature of the ground.  Would a candy thermometer be better than an instant read thermometer?  Would a rectal probe feel most at home in the soil?  Could I stick my finger in the raised bed and guesstimate?   Luckily, the bell rang and the Garden Kids demanded my attention. There were carrots to be watered,  and scarecrows to be righted.  There was deadheading  and raking and the clearing of small sticks. There was an aloe vera to be planted with cactus soil,  and another with amended potting soil. They, of course, required watering  being careful not to drench the soil. There was a bug to be examined, and a book ...

Scarlet, whose locks are no longer eponymous, and I will be Humanities Seminarians again this semester.  For two hours every Monday afternoon for the next five weeks, we'll do close readings of William Faulkner's first three novels - The Sound and the Fury, Light in August, and Absalom, Absalom!  (the only book I know of with an exclamation point in its title). It seemed like a worthwhile plan at the time.  An author we'd be unlikely to pick up on our own, one we might have read long ago but have long since forgotten, and one that Little Cuter, the English major, had well represented on her bookshelves. I remembered her saying that she loved that course.  After spending an hour with the first 15 pages of The Sound and the Fury , I wondered why. "Mom, I said I loved the course .  I hated the books.  Hated them.  But the teacher was interesting and young and cool and invited us to his house.  I loved that course." Well, that leaves Sc...

The mail wasn't delivered but the trash and recycling went out as usual.  The bank was closed and so were the schools, but even I forgot to put out the flag. I never forget to put out the flag on National Holidays Is it living in Arizona?  Is it holiday fatigue?  How is it possible that the day snuck up on me?  I left the house with a trunk filled with wonders for the Prince Scholars, and it was only when I recognized that I was making all the lights, that traffic was lighter, that I wondered what I was missing.  It was only when I switched over from KXCI to  NPR and heard Dr. King that I made the connection.  There's something terribly wrong with this picture, and I think Rep. Ocasio-Cortez has the answer.  She wants to cancel Columbus Day as a Federal Holiday and make Election Day one, instead.  People can argue over Columbus as a hero forever and a day, but no one can argue that Election Day is unimportant. And if you can make tha...

While TBG was comfortably ensconced in front of America's blood sport, I took advantage of the warming temperatures to work on the overflowing disaster area formerly known as my side of the garage, and then moved inside to work on the library closet and the desk drawers. I didn't pay much attention to the game or the digital world in general.  I was a woman on a mission.  Focused. Medicated so that my hip-and-its-surrounding-tissues wouldn't interfere with the tasks at hand.  It was late afternoon before I took a seat on the couch and opened my email. Two friends from long ago were checking in to say hello.  In the combined 70 some years of friendship we have shared, I can't recall two emails from either of them.  Ever.  Yet, there they were, FAMBB and One Of The Nancy's, saying  Hi! They don't know one another.  The have absolutely nothing in common.  Really, the more I think about that the more true it seems.  Yet, there they w...

Ask a Prince Scholar about my role as their Official Adopted Grandmother and you'll hear about stickers.  Smiley faces and baseballs and puppies, hearts and dinosaurs and clouds, I place them on t-shirts and cheeks.  They are a shared smile between us, an intimate moment on the playground, in the classroom, in the garden, surrounded by others but alone, for an instant. In general, I try not to interrupt the orderly flow of the student body, reminding the Scholars to wave-but-don't-shout, to keep-up-with-the-group, to be well-behaved so that I don't get into trouble for distracting them.  So it was noteworthy when the kindergartener with the small set of stickers in her hand left the line I was following to place one on my chest. The teacher and I got a little misty as I croaked out a Thank You!  Who says kindness can't be taught?

The sun was out, everyone's shoelaces were tied, and it was time to get to work.  There was pruning and planting to be done... and some balancing on a rock which scared Grandma, even though the acrobat assured me that she was being very very very careful.  Holding the pot steady was as much fun as filling it with fancy soil. The Garden Club Kids were careful not to waste.  The potting mixture held firm in their hands. There was very little on the ground.  Carrot seeds are teeny tiny little things, placed an inch apart, one per hole, separated by two fingers held tightly together.  It was math and planning and fine motor control and it was so much fun. Using Grandma's pruning shears is a privilege reserved for the bigger kids.   Deciding what was alive and what needed to be removed was a challenge. We were encouraged to see that new buds were forming; cutting off the detritus allows more of the nutrients to go where they are useful...

Jimmy's Sister came to town this week, looking for her forever home.  Tucson is the next stop on her where do I want to live  tour, following on the heels of Albuquerque, which was so damn cold! It's not that toasty here in the desert Southwest these days, either.  Clouds overtook the sunshine as I tied shoelaces on the playground at lunchtime.  Our rousing game of Duck Duck Goose grew progressively colder to my aging self, perched on the ground, silently pleading not to be chosen. I'm going out tonight; I've spent the afternoon planning what to layer under my wool sweater. Under my jacket.  I may even bring gloves. I know, I know, it's not as bad as where you are.  But for us, two days without sunshine is a recipe for grumpiness.  Just ask the kindergarten teachers trying to herd their usually well-behaved minions into some semblance of a forward facing line at the end of recess.  There are always more tears to wipe on cloudy days, it seems...

Well.... see what happens when I write about politics?!  Long-time denizens take to their keyboards and create thoughtful responses to my dilemma.  I thought I'd be writing about hosting a friend who's considering relocating Tucson; instead, I'm back in the political saddle again. I'm no fan of James Comey - I think he cost Hillary the election.  Had I not been a Never-Trump person, I don't know that I would have voted for her.  I never trusted her, (you know that, Stacy) but at least she had the knowledge base to do the job.  Was/Is she moral? Not by my standards, but who am I to judge?  Any woman who tried to make her mark in the political arena in the late 20th and early 21st centuries deserves kudos.  They were all braver than I was.  I cannot imagine the abuses, the discomfort, the disrespect they must have endured, with no recourse, with few allies, walking an unpaved path.  Still, while I wish both parties had given us better cho...

The sun can't make up its mind, and neither can I. Ten years ago next weekend, my pixilated Obama T-shirt arrived just in time for his inauguration. Today, I wonder if we've elected an agent of a foreign government to the Presidency. Follow the money  has never been more relevant than with this Presidency. Trump's inability to get American financing and the Russian Oligarchs need to launder their ill-gotten gains created a perfect storm, with Vladimir Putin holding the wind machine.  He's Russian, he's not impatient.  He's always understood Trump's bottomless ego, and of the opportunities it presented. We're on tenterhooks, if the talking heads are to be believed.  We're W aiting for Mueller , and the conversation is like listening to Vladimir and Estragon.  We keep getting beaten, and we keep going back.   So, I'm stuck.  Do I remember and revel in the sunshine and that once we did elect a good man to represent us well or do I...

The kindergarten scholars did the best they could with the supplies I provided. Even then, the scarecrows had structural issues. Now, after suffering the depredations of an Arizona winter, they were muddy, barely upright, and seriously deflated.  For the first Garden Club of 2019, I tasked the bigger kids with their repair. Do not take Tom's head to fill Jerry's chest cavity! is certainly one of the strangest sentences I've ever uttered.  And yes, the two scarecrows are apparently named Tom and Jerry. I didn't even know that cartoon was still on tv and I can't keep track of which one is which and the kindergarteners were supposed to name them.  I've decided not to argue.   Anyway, no harm no foul.  And,  the thief gifted him a bulging bicep  .... as penance?  We created a skeleton for his standing- by-the-mandarin-orange-tree-comrade out of found scraps and re-purposed trellis pieces, and I re-pinned and un-tucked at ...

It was cold and gloomy and looked like it was going to rain. The marigolds reflected my mood - frozen on the tops, solid below. I was trying to come out of yesterday's annual heartache, and those poor marigolds gave me the opportunity to do w hat I love most - wreak havoc in the garden, surrounded by kids who want to be there, too.  There is no amount of sorrow which cannot be assuaged by the presence of dozens of small and dirt covered fingers.  We tried to deadhead the brown blossoms, leaving their stems behind. Some of the stems were still green, filled with fluid, resilient, and resistant to the pinching action of tiny digits.  The blossoms themselves yielded with dignity and aplomb.  They were properly odiferous, which was noted with varying degrees of disgust.  They fell apart into nothing, absolutely nothing!!!!  upon any kind of examination at all.  The occasional healthier bloom got caught up in the general destruction. Lu...

Today, I went to a formal bell ringing and an informal hug fest. I had food with friends. The sun came up and I was here to see it. Christina-Taylor was not. I'll be back tomorrow with more and deeper thoughts.  Right now, I'm trying not to examine any of the raw spots too carefully.

It doesn't have any other name.  It doesn't make the list of mass shootings on the chyrons.  It was a big deal and then not so much of one and every now and then it comes around again. I wish it wouldn't.  I wish people wouldn't have to worry about me, about how I'm doing, about where I'll spend the day, about how they can help. I wish it were just another Tuesday. But it's not.  It's a very special Tuesday this year, one that makes me smile.  Today, on the anniversary of the assassination of a Federal Judge and the attempted assassination of a sitting Congresswoman, that Congresswoman will join the Speaker of the House as a bill is introduced to make meaningful changes in our nation's gun laws. It won't solve everything. It won't fix the problem.  It's not enough and much too late.  True, all true. But today, my Before-and-After Day, my government is working to make me safer.  Background checks as outlined in this bill would ha...

Little Cuter wonders if anyone has ever rescued me. There were four handsome Australians who rescued me from predatory Italian teens in 1969.  There was the job offer that kept us off food stamps in 1977.  But I went straight to Nurse Nancy and Dr. Dave, who triaged and compressed and calmed me that morning on the sidewalk outside the grocery store 8 years ago tomorrow.  They literally saved my life.  That counts as a rescue. They win all the marbles. But I went deeper, because that kind of question deserves contemplation.  Even if I'd wanted to ignore it, the damn thing kept popping up in my brain, day after day.  Here are my thoughts. Tanya (the only blog person without a blogonym because she's just that special) rescued me from feeling that I had nothing left to offer.  She opened the doors to her classrooms and the loving hearts they contained.  I left one child bleeding on the sidewalk only to walk through the door of a school with more...

Much of TBG's bike class at LA Fitness was up in arms yesterday; their memberships were no longer valid under the old rules.  Money was to be exchanged, accounts were to be updated, and spleen was vented. As of January 1, 2019, the  AARP recommended, Humana Medicare Supplement plan,  the one that everyone gets , no longer covers Silver Sneakers in Arizona. Somehow, Humana managed to alienate a cadre of voluble, venerable, athletic subscribers with the stroke of a pen.  According to my very busy Medicare Consultant (who, once I manage to attract her attention, is delightful, competent, thoughtful, and snarky), Humana's actuaries didn't think that customers used the benefit, although she was at a loss as to how they came to that conclusion. My clients certainly use it. Use it or lose it - Daddooooo said it to Nannie, I said it to G'ma, and AARP says it to me. I've typed about the absurdity of eliminating a provision designed to cut costs by keeping us hea...

FaceBook smacked me in the mouth with it this morning.  Okay, vacation's over! Get out of your pajamas and start adulting! I was snuggled up with an iPad and a good book, gloomy coldness outside making the comforting blankets feel just a little bit warmer.  And then that  piece of advice doused me with cold water.  I really ought to get up and get going. The Prince Scholars are on vacation until Monday; I had vague hopes of joining them.  Apparently, it is not to be. Little Cuter took today off as a mental health day.  Personal care, space from those who love her and need her, hours spent on her own terms.... she hosted and parented while the rest of us vacationed; she, among all others, deserves at least one day off.  I have no such excuse. I secured a spot in a Level II Pilates Coretet  in the 9 o'clock hour, and dashed through the brisk morning air, clambered up the stairs, and stretched until I had no more kinks at all.  We wen...

I'm going to try to stay awake to welcome in the new year.  This afternoon I thought about welcoming 2019 along with Little Cuter, who lives on East Coast time.  That made me smile, and I will certainly text her when her clock strikes 12, but I really want to usher this year out the door on my own terms, and that will require that I am awake. I want to watch the stars and smell the cold desert night and breathe deeply of possibilities and the future. My New Year's Resolution, like most of my good ones, came to me fully formed and out of the blue.  Someone was complaining and I wa.  s annoyed that she was complaining and then I wondered why I was listening at all, since she was declaiming to the lobby in general.  Why did I allow her into my personal space? I didn't have to hear it.  I could concentrate on the studio's background music or concentrate on tying the perfect shoelace knot.  I could hum to myself.  That which was unpleasant did no...

Happy New Year, Denizens!! May it be filled with laughter and love and light.