The Burrow

Black girls don't want me touching their Afros, even if the bouncing curls are screaming for a gentle pat from an old lady who is open to new experiences.   Are the curls as resilient as they seem? How do they look so soft yet stay so tight?  Are the curls twisty all the way from the scalp to the ends, or is there a straight stem jutting out of the follicle? Inquiring grandmothers want to know.  A former Pilates teacher laughed heartily when I wondered if her formerly-curly-now-long-braided-tresses had stretched themselves out on their own.  They are extensions, silly woman!   Automatic long hair!  Where was that in my hippie days?  I spent years growing my own until I could just about sit on it; cutting it off was a permanent step. Extensions would have annoyed my friends and family much less than my years long should-I-get-a-haircut conversations did. Joy Reid, MSNBC host, showed up with fabulous braids adorning her skull this morning....

The yellow flowers are turning brown underneath. They are on the way out. From a distance, the leaves look happy and healthy. It's an illusion, though.  Once the flowers die, the stalk will wither, and so will the greenery below. But, abhorring a vacuum, Mother Nature steps in. As the leaves curl in on themselves and droop to the ground, a baby century plant is being sheltered from the sun's full strength.  Gardening gives me hope for the future.

Amidst the deluge of information dribbling out of Washington today, Vice President Mike Pence's conversation with the Ukrainian President received a brief mention. Should Trump fall, and take Pence with him (a girl can dream, can't she?), the first female POTUS will be Nancy Pelosi.  (Go with me here.)  She's the perfect person to step into that situation.  She understands the system and that's just the kind of knowledge we'd need to recover after these attacks on our system. (And yes, I do think that our system is weakened by the actions of this administration.)  She has an Italian grandmother's tolerance for nonsense - which is none - and a wealth of institutional memory which will serve her well. She should serve out Trump's term and leave public service with her legacy complete. In the meantime, Democracy has a chance to score a big win. The Democrats are already having a grand debate, considering the future of the party and the country.  We ar...

It rained all night and half the day.  That hasn't happened in a long, long time.  I turned off the irrigation system, which made me smile, and drove to the Pilates Diva with my windshield wipers on slow, intermittent, wiping six or seven droplets at a time, doing their very best with what the world provided.   At Bookmans , my favorite used book emporium, I found 4 pristine copies of  Horton Hatches the Egg , lost then found my car keys, and dodged the raindrops with my face upturned to catch them. My woven sneakers got sloppy wet as I tromped through the Costco parking lot.  Yes, I tromped.  There was no avoiding the puddles, so I decided to enjoy myself.  It was even more fun walking back to my car.  The puddles were deeper and there were more of them.   Lifting the flats of sparkling water and the I'm So Glad You're Back in Town bourbon for Not-Kathy was surprisingly easy.  I attribute my strength and ...

Our temperatures no longer reach the triple digits.  The clouds are high and puffy and, sometimes, they drip on us...... not as often as we'd like, but they do drip, and we are thankful. ***** The soil is no longer overheated.  Planting is possible.  It's still hot enough to need the hose to cool us off after working in the garden, but we're not depleted by the heat.  While the rest of the world is contemplating deadheading and mulching and retiring the garden for the winter, we are looking at our 6 weeks of perfect planting weather. ***** That rule about not wearing white after Labor Day puts a kink in my routine.  It is too hot for jeans or leggings, and most of the rest of what covers my lower half is white or tan or wheat.  I've made a personal style decision that white linen tank tops are excluded from the prohibition. I look at the ads for sweaters, and I sigh. I see photos of friends wearing long pants and I regret that I still have t...

I went. I learned. I ate . I laughed. I'd never seen Lucha Libre before.  Masked Mexican wrestling is an art form best appreciated if you are a 13 year old boy, I think, or, perhaps, if you love the Three Stooges. According to the program, , Chris Hack, aka The Prophet, has been  a living legend in the world of Lucha Libre for 20 years.  He and his opponent invited boos and ooohs and gasps as they flung one another around the ring.  They didn't stay within its confines, either.  This was a interactive experience, with high fives and snarky attitude on all sides.  It's not something I need to see again, but I'm glad I got to experience it once. And that's what TEDX is all about, really.  Snippets of life in another person's universe.  Here are some of them: Kevin Justus, PHD, an independent scholar of Louis XV (how's that for an occupation?) challenged the audience to  make your favorite room a portrait of yourself. ...

As I struggle with the absurdity in the abstract, Brother, living at the end of the Metro's Red Line, walks past it all the time.  He sent me this email today: Greetings from the Capitol Took Intrepid Cat out to lunch. Listening to Tea Party tourist protesters ( America will never be a Socialist State . Stand for the 2nd Amendment. Storm Congress .) as they plan a restroom break. I love this country! Free bathrooms for everyone!! Your brother,

There's no reason for Grandma to do any of the heavy lifting when the first grade is around. They are willing to help, certain that we can do it! Even when they got stuck in the mud, they were undaunted. Coordinated pushing to a three count, and we were on our way. I found a half price gomphrena at  Rillito Nursery  this morning.  This member of the alium family reminds me of Dr. Seuss's truffula trees in The Lorax , one of books I read to the kindergartens, so I snapped up the bargain and asked the bigger kids to dig a bigger hole so that it could live in Grandma's Garden until its permanent home is ready to receive it.    The lantana needed to be separated and one planted in its own, personal pot. The gardeners have paid attention; they were gentle around the roots, taking care with the trowels and the small shovels.    The giant shovel was a late addition to the party. It was tapped ever so gently far away from the plant its...

It even looks ugly, just typed there in the header. Shingrix is the recombinant shingles vaccine that was approved for use in 2017.  After two doses, two to six months apart, the recipient is 90% protected from contracting shingles.  Zoztavax, the formerly recommended vaccine,  has a much lower prevention rate. TBG had shingles.  Twice.  It was awful.  Karina Bland, my favorite Arizona Republic columnist, put off getting the vaccine and is now suffering with shingles on her face .  Both of my parents and TBG's dad had it, too.  None of them spoke of it with fondness. The problem was finding the vaccine.  My gerontologist told me that it would be less expensive to get the shot at a pharmacy.  She didn't know why that was so.  Neither did the pharmacist at CVS yesterday.  She did have the vaccine, though, and that was progress.  I'd been looking for it for months.  The billboard outside my grocery store welcomed...

There's nothing half-assed about the Sonoran Desert. We laughed at the Pac12 announcers during the UofA football game as they talked about the scorching heat of Tucson in the Fall.  Sure, 90 isn't sweater weather, but come back in June if you want scorching.  When we do hot, we do 110.   And when we do rain, we do small ponds. The ground can't absorb the water fast enough. The rain will stop before it can do much good . Until then, though, it's fun to stand outside and watch . I'm going to get an ice pack and nurse my shingles vaccinated arm as I listen to the clouds collide.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I heard the principal's assistant over the loud speaker. "The lock down is over.  All is well.  Please return to your regular activities.  And yes, we know that there will be more students in the cafeteria than usual." They buzzed the door for me, and I went into the lobby.  It was deserted.  Only Miss Mercy, the official greeter behind the front desk, was there to wonder along with me what exactly had happened.  An hour later, it turned out to be a note in the middle school bathroom claiming a bomb was in the building. We shook our heads, ruefully.  "Someone had a test he didn't want to take," was our best case scenario.  The police had checked the building, but thought it prudent to lock down the adjacent elementary school as well.  Better safe than sorry, we all agreed, feeling the strain of living in today's world pressing on our hearts. And then I went out to the playground, where the kindergarte...

I had business on-line and on the phone this morning.  I followed up on emails to Cornellians.  I spoke to an HOA official and can now rest easy that the giant garage next door will have replacement landscaping that mimics what we loved before construction began.  I tidied the house then drove to Prince to read Marvin K Mooney Will You Please Go NOW!  to Ms B's kindergarteners.   Did you know that when Dr. Seuss was asked to write a book about Richard Nixon, he took a sharpie and changed Marvin K Mooney to Richard M Nixon and declared that he was done.  I shared that story with Ms B over the heads of her students and watched her delighted face as the kids watched Marvin K  set his lips in an immediately recognizable I will NOT! smirk. Then, I had to plant Ms H's lantana, which somehow was overlooked during yesterday's Garden Club.  The Garden was officially closed, but I allowed some of the usual suspects to join me in the task....

Dr. Louis W. Uccellini , the head of the National Weather Service, defended his employees and the science they shared, even as the Cabinet member at the top of his food chain was looking to chop off a few heads. ***** Eric Swalwell told his Republican colleagues that you'd better fear the moms more than you fear the NRA. ***** When a boy was bullied  for creating his own University of Tennessee shirt for College Colors Day i the University not only sent him a box of goodies, but printed his design on a shirt whose sales crashed their website.  Need more?  The University is donating the profits to  Stomp Out Bullying . ***** Kyler Murray figured out football in the 4th quarter and led the Arizona Cardinals to a tie in their opener.  Even though I'm basically boycotting football, I love it when a little guy (they say he's 5'10") triumphs. ***** Is it any wonder I'm in such a good mood?  Look how I spent the middle of today: and look at wha...

Sometimes, when I catch a reflection or a mirror's evidence of my uneven gait, it stops me in my tracks. Why is my right hip up at an angle.  There's no way that helps propel me forward. Why is my entire torso angled to the left?  My hips are going forward, and my head is aimed that way too.  But my thoracic spine decided a while ago to turn away from my injured acetablulum, trying to escape the inescapable. In response to a talking head on tv,  TBG wondered if I would ever get over  being shot.    No , and I don't want to. Certainly the physical pieces are constant reminders, so hoping that I'll be able to relegate it to the Oh, yeah, what about that?  bin in my brain would be a fool's errand.  And why would I want to get over something which at its core is evil but whose effects have been quite special? I'll never get over the murder of my little friend, or the hole she's left in the lives of those who loved her.  But I look ...

Little Cuter and FlapJilly caught up with pre-school friends this weekend.  They're at different schools for kindergarten, but the moms don't want to lose touch.  The kids held hands all day; the moms enjoyed easy conversation. Hearing her describe it sent my brain to afternoons in the park three decades ago, when no one judged if there was jelly on your sweatshirt.   The kids were going to be friends because the moms were going to be friends.  And so the kids had many good times because when mama is happy then everybody is happy. I had a wonderful afternoon thinking about that time in my life, thinking about the women in my life at that time, thinking about how time was more elastic then, thinking about how long ago it was and how fresh it is in my mind, thinking about how much I love those people. It's so kind of my daughter to bring that back to me.  Just another reason I love her.

I opened the Sunday paper and saw his face on the front page.  Granted, it was below the fold, but in the Sunday paper that's where the juicy, human interest stories appear.  It's also where I go first.  I try to avoid the news on Sundays; a day without Trump is a day with bright sunshine and clear thoughts.  Reading about my Garden Guru was much more edifying than Ancient watering hole at risk from border wall construction or Landlords saying no to Section 8, uprooting hundreds. The Garden Guru lives in Tucson's historic Dunbar Neighborhood.  Turns out the neighborhood was developed on top of the Court Street Cemetery, a fact which my friend discovered while investigating a sinkhole that appeared in his front yard.  The paper describes it the way he told it to Lady Jane and me when we first met.  (He) got a shovel and started to dig.  He soon struck wood and something underneath.  'I reached in and pulled out a handful of bones.'  "...

The 5th grade brought their plants to Garden Club on Wednesday. They've sprouted, even the one she drowned. We had a good laugh about that. The scholars were able to plant the tomatoes without any physical assistance. We had a real life lesson in the effects of heat on roots as the gardener who held the root ball noticed that it was "really kinda hot" in her hands. Our giant plastic Fiskars trowels were the perfect tool to create the perfect hole The girls were looking for a project; moving the extra buckets from the bench to the covered seat was a lesson in geometry and patience. After many iterations, there were only a few which didn't fit. Finding a large piece of bark in the second raised bed was a surprise - did it fall, did a bird drop it, did the wind blow it? The irrigation to the Dwarf Mandarin Orange tree was still nurturing volunteer interlopers. After the weeding came the watering, which was much more fun. And then there was...

I din't have much to do. The newest gardeners raced across the playground to push the heavy, supply laden, tippy over the bumps cart all the way around on the walkway.  Leaving the pavement for the grass, a wheel fell off. They looked at me.  I looked at them.  "Figure it out," I said and went back to my conversation with our new STEM teacher.... both of us watching and smiling and then they fixed it. We spent a moment being proud of ourselves, and then we got to work.  I asked for help getting the 20 lb bag of garden soil from the corner to the nearest raised bed.  They couldn't get there fast enough.  When's the last time you raced to carry a filthy bag of soil.... in the middle of your work day.... when you could be swinging or climbing or playing soccer? It was very heavy.  It took planning and sharing and cooperating and, in the end, brute strength, for the gardeners to balance the bag on the edge of the raised bed.  ...

If I could pay one lump sum and then get all the tests my doctors think I need, I would be a happy girl. Unfortunately, that is not the case.  TBG and I have Medicare, because we are old, and an AARP supplement plan because we understand that Medicare doesn't cover everything.  But, really - calling a PSA Screening Not a Medically Necessary Service  seems somewhat ridiculous.  Just ask Fast Eddie, whose life was saved by a biopsy when his PSA raced to 9 between checks.  And how about my final Pelvic/Breast Exam?  Apparently this is also Not a Medically Necessary Service.  Neither the scheduler nor the billing officer at the practice told me that Medicare didn't think I needed to see my retiring gynecologist once I turned 65.  The amounts are not huge; after the Adjust Medicare  reduction the two total just under $60.  But that's not the point.  Screenings save lives, or so I've been led to believe over the course of 67 years...

They've become so frequent that even those who most reliably reached out to check on my welfare have given up the ghost.  I don't blame them.  I'm in overload myself.  At a certain point I put up a shield around my hurt. I held on to the anger and the action; I could talk about who I had called and what I had written while avoiding how it touched me in my hurting place..... the place where I visit with Christina-Taylor.  I like to choose my moments, like this afternoon when, in the parking lot where she left her Juicy sweater on the front seat of my car, I realized that I'd shopped in our Safeway without thinking about her at all.  I marveled, as I always do, at how healthy I am in that particular place, then I laughed as I remembered that denial is my favorite defense mechanism.  Christina-Taylor laughed with me.  I saluted her in the clouds above, and went on about my day.  I was feeling pretty good about the world in general, and glad tha...

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 ...