The Burrow

I'm taking the weekend off. I'm in no mood to review, project, or analyze. The sun is out and so is the moon and it's 8:21am. There's probably some pithy comment about beginnings and endings and everything all at once and Mother Earth bringing her children, moon and sun, together to cosset the beings who inhabit her surface, but I'm not in the mood to theorize or speculate or cogitate. I'm going to revel in the fact that, despite the odds and inconveniences and foolishness of others, my immediate family is safe and happy and ready to take on 2021 with renewed vigor and enthusiasm.  We have goals and expectations.   We'll consider them on Monday.  

It's really hard to avoid commenting on the (can't come up with a family friendly word so) clusterfuck that is vaccine distribution in the USofA.  Do the Trumps have financial ties to Moderna? Heather Cox Richardson thinks so, and she's  my go-to person for current events.  Were the states prepared for shouldering the entire burden of distribution? Will there ever be a place for honest COVID information that is readily available to the public (asking for a friend)? But I'm not going there.  I have one more week of self-imposed exile from the political fray, and I'm trying to indulge without worrying that I'm missing the big picture.  Luckily, Big Cuter and TBG are addicted and affixed to their devices (tv and phone and computer) so nothing really gets lost.  If I need to know, they tell me.  I allow myself HCR's morning posts  and then I move on. Yesterday, I was pruning the gonphreda, which had long ago gone to seed.  The tall wavy stalks we...

There are health scares all around me.  A Play Group kid is a COVID long hauler.  Fast Eddie is aching from head to fingers.  Dr. K and three other spouses are dealing with medical issues that just won't go away.  I can't even look at the number of Americans who have died under this President's inability to manage the most  basic duty - to preserve and protect. But I'm bound and determined to stay focused on the sunny side of life until 2021 arrives, so I'm not waxing eloquent on sickness and loss today.  I'm pulling my brain away from DJT's temper tantrum and focusing on the good, like this view from my kitchen table,  with happy fans yelping from the couch, and this memory of cocktails on the patio.... with a Navajo healing blanket keeping them warm... and this giant kiss from our hearts to yours. It's a challenge, keeping a smile on my face when there is so much suffering.  It's worth the effort.   And, when all else fails, take a mom...

There was a dybbuk in the house last week. Things were going missing, and there was no other explanation. We sat at the table discussing it over a rousing game of Uno. Queen T:  I lost my glasses.... where have they gone? Mom:  I lost my book.....where has it gone? Dad:  I lost my youth.....  (group devolves into hysterical laughter)

                                              I first published this in 2009.  33 people read it.  Thank you to everyone who was here then and is here now, to those of you who found me through Time Goes By , or after 2011, or from real life.... real real life from 7th grade or the neighborhood or blood ties, and to those of you who stumbled in and never left.  The Burrow is my gift to myself.  I love that you share it with me.... that is the best gift of all. So, here, as always, courtesy of Daddooooo and Newsday 's comics section and my own lusty if off-key memories, is.....                      ...... my all-time favorite Xmas carol, courtesy of Walt Kelly and Pogo. Sing loudly and lustily to the tune of  Deck the Halls..... Deck us all with Boston Charlie, Walla Walla, Wash., an' Kalamaz...

Just lots of love, from my manger to yours.  

In the Life Is Good column, we have this:  Prepared by my son, presented on a beautiful, sturdy, seasonally appropriate paper plate, clean up and dishes done by Queen T and TBG while I sat outside with my beautiful, sturdy, seasonally appropriate paper plate and talked for an hour to The Ballerina in Arkansas, catching up and dishing dirt and remembering Colin Powell and soccer and sisterhood. Two takeaways: 1. This was a reason to have children. 2. You share a very special bond with the women you raise your children with. 

I turn the blinds and get a glimpse; I slide them to one side and there it is, smiling, right outside my bedroom window.  When the window's been open all night,  I can smell it before I see it.  Outside the shower is a giant, square window.  Outside the window is this: Yes, it is December 21st. Yes,  Jupiter and Saturn were visible as The Christmas Star just over the horizon.  And yes,  roses bloom in Tucson.

My holiday decor is old. It has not always been stored in optimal conditions. Pieces have deteriorated. The airman's goggles have lost their elastic strap, and now sit perched upon his head. My panda needed an arm glued back so that he could hug the branch. But the most prevalent problem is feet. One foot, two feet reindeer feet, they are at the bottom of every box I unwrap. Why?   Who knows. It makes me smile so I'm sharing it with you.

Dinner tonight,  the last night of Hanukkah, because I have 5 pounds of potatoes and really,  why not?

I hope your home is filled with light and love.  

Queen T asked, with dewy eyes and a winsome smile, if we could have a live Christmas tree this year.  She is, as you will soon see, impossible to resist.  After agreeing on one no more than 6' tall, and their putting on the lights and being responsible for filling the base with water every night and checking it a few times every day, I had run out of excuses. So, this afternoon, we 3 took The Queen's Audi (TQA from now on) two miles south to the place I first bought a tree in Arizona, and which, despite news stories to the contrary, was filled with beautiful, premium trees, priced at their cost plus $5 and any contribution you want to include. where we bought . Well, only one Noble Fir, a stately, locally grown (or as local as firs can get to the Sonoran Desert), bit of Christmas cheer which the youth group was happy to tie onto QTA (although more unraveling the knotted string than actual tying occurred)  You want to open the car doors to allow him to tie the tree to the ...

She's classy and sassy,  just like Queen T. Her hoof-icure is impeccable,  as befits a Nob Hill resident.  Always happy to meet a stranger,  she's glad to shake Hello. Is that not a great face? She's never had a potty accident. Her idea of a long walk is once around the block. Mostly, she sleeps in the sun.  She is the perfect apartment pet. She's quite affectionate once she learns who's in charge; apparently,  Spoiled Pig Syndrome is a real thing. But she will sit and turn and wait for a bit of brownie or a hunk of lettuce. Her name is LiLou.  You can follow her @lilou_sfpig, along with 26,000 others on i Instagram.

I'm in full on elf mode; 21 more boxes of brownies to mail, many more to deliver locally.  But I had a novel I wanted to finish and the sun was out and Queen T bought us matching Pajamagram pajamas that were just perfect for hunkering down on a lounge chair in the sun with ice tea and a paperback.  I got behind. Big Cuter is painting his Warhammer miniatures.  Queen T is doing the 1014 piece puzzle she received for Hanukkah.  TBG is enjoying the company and Red Zone in equal measures. And Santa on the spin bike is silently observing it all. Happy last few weeks of 2020, denizens.  I'm going to try to stay upbeat and joyful.   We'll see how far I get!

Queen T announced the news with appropriate affect - concern, alarm, but no panic - the small table lamp was smoking. She'd unplugged it before seeking assistance, reaffirming my son's wisdom in choosing a life partner.   The smell was awful.  The bulb was melted and so was part of the glass shade.  Big Cuter carried the thing to the backyard, placing it as far from the house as he could.   We opened windows and turned on ceiling fans and took the HVAC off automatic and pressed its fan ON.   Although the extension cord was a Daddooooo heirloom, wiser minds convinced me to throw it away.  Apparently, these things may not last forever. We are ever grateful that Queen T was in the library when the table began to smolder.  We are thankful that our house did not ignite.  I feel foolish about some things (apparently everyone in the world except me knew that you shouldn't plug a surge protector into a surge protector to get that little bit...

It's much easier to talk about gardening when you are in the garden.  This is a fact which smacks me in the face every Wednesday morning at 9am, as I look at little boxes filled with faces on my computer screen. I wanted them to feel the sturdiness of the rose blossom as it's nestled in its pre-bloom cocoon Mrs. E was an excellent helper with her cursor, since we couldn't get mine to work.  She pointed out the spiky leaves that covered the impending bloom, first when they were in protection mode (above) and then as they opened up to allow the flower to reveal its beauty. Moving on to another rose bush, we watched the petals unfold. We talked about stamens and pistils and the pollen that sticks to the birds' beaks and goes on to pollnate the next tasty treat. We talked about rosehips, and the energy that's stored within.   We discussed making tea from the spent blossom's remains.  We talked about the energy stored in the rosehips being conserved for the following...

There's a new memorial in downtown Tucson.  It commemorates the events of January 8. 2011 and those who helped and other important dates and people and peoples going all the way back to pre-history.  It includes an archive of mementos left in the various spontaneous memorials which popped up at the Safeway and in front of the Medical Center and at Gabby's office.  It includes a timeline of life in Tucson. It has improved the Pima County Courthouse plaza and the building itself.   The project began as The January 8th Memorial and funds were raised for that purpose.  I understood the need that spawned it.  Those lost souls should never be forgotten.  The first responders and hospital personnel and the community that embraced us in the aftermath (and to this day) should be celebrated. I don't judge those who want to honor them. The architectural renderings were gorgeous.  There's a broad, slanted walkway with names and engravings on the living w...

After quarantining and testing, Big Cuter and his entourage drove straight through from San Francisco to Tucson, stopping only for gas, drive through In-And-Out burgers, and bathroom breaks wearing N-95 masks and sanitizing themselves before, during and after every intersection with other humans.  Once they arrived, there was no hugging until showers were taken and clothes changed. This is what over the river and through the woods  means in 2020. Big Cuter lives in a studio apartment, separated by a one mile uphill trek from Queen T's studio apartment.  They've been in their own quarantine bubble since March, observing San Francisco's strict guidelines, as are most of their neighbors.  After months of living in boxes, they wondered if we would mind if they spent the holidays with us.   That's all the holidays.  They arrived the weekend before Thanksgiving and are leaving the weekend after New Year's.  Seven weeks of company in a house that has hel...

The Brownie List grows and shrinks as children move out on their own and older relatives move on to .... wherever you want to imagine them.  At this time of year, and especially this year, all wishes and fantasies should be indulged. It was in that spirit that I turned from curmudgeonly declaring that I wasn't going to bake this year to recognizing that this year, of all years, was not the time to deprive the recipients of something that brings joy. I know it brings joy because people tell me so.   It's not just that the brownies (with or without nuts, depending on allergies and preferences) are delicious; TBG's been telling me that for half a century..  No, it's that they arrive every year, year after year after year.  They are a tradition, over decades and generations now, just enough to remind us that we're connected. The packaging varies, depending on what's on sale after December 25th.  That's part of the fun.  Once it was tiny melamine bowls with...

My junior Senator was sworn in yesterday.  Standing by his side was his wife, my former Representative.  It was a happy moment, a deeply personal moment, a step in the right direction at a time when the whole thing seems to be going off the rails. Plus there was my senior Senator's purple wig, worn in solidarity with those women who are staying home, away from salons, and are reluctant to show their un-dyed selves in public.  She's been wearing various colored wigs on the Senate floor since Pandemica began.   Two Democratic Senators from Arizona.  One's a friend and one is delightfully weird.  Both have the best interests of our state at heart..  They may be a bit too conservative for my wish list, but I'm not letting perfect get in the way of what I have right here and now.  That's being an adult.  That's democracy.  It's not exactly what I want it to be, but it's what we've got and what we have to work with.  I'll still be wr...

The states are the final arbiters of who gets what, when, as they ramp up to start delivering some of the COVID vaccines.  The Federal panel on such things issued guidelines, but the decisions are going to be made by the individual states.   All the panel members but one agreed that nursing home residents and front line medical workers ought to be innoculated first.  The dissenting scientist didn't think the data showed that it would be useful and not harmful in that population; the idea that facts informed a decision made me smile. It was encouraging to note that front line medical personnel includes housekeeping and food service and admissions as well as doctors and nurses and respiratory therapists.   And then there's Tier 2 - those over 65.  I was heartened that he didn't say the elderly , although that's exactly what he meant.  Those with co-morbidities will go first, the healthier of us will follow.  Our age cohort is most vulnerable to...

And now, it seems, that June will bring more than summertime.  According to an important person speaking on NPR (I missed her introduction), by June, every American who wants one will have a vaccination. I wasn't prepared for June. When I took the plane home from San Francisco on March 12th the airports were empty.  I watched the screenshots of the airports last weekend and I was horrified, then quietly calm.  This is why I have to wait until June to visit my grandchildren.  People just don't listen.   I can't imagine that every single one of those people will quarantine for 14 days to be certain that they are not contaminating those they've traveled to visit.  Certainly, each and every one of them has come into close sustained contact with an infectious person among all those crowds. Did they refrain from hugging while waiting, shoulder to shoulder, at baggage claim? Did each and every one of them wear a mask at all times, staying socially distant fro...

I missed it when I stopped, then I forgot to notice its absence.  But COVID was getting me down last month, so I started up again. Deepak Chopra's collaboration with Oprah passed me by the first time it was aired, but the interwebs are a wonderful place to find that which has passed.  And so, on YouTube, I bookmarked the 21 Days of Abundance , and started my practise again. The sessions are about 15 minutes long, and begin with a vaguely woo-woo talk touching on the philosophy of Abundance.  He tells me that I create my personal abundance from an infinite source , and my snarky New York self battles with my open-to-new-experiences self as I try to still my mind and absorb the peace. It's a challenge. There's a summary statement at the end of each presentation; some of them made me open my eyes and write them down. There is a way I can fulfill my true purpose in life. Today, and every day, I give that which I want to receive. Today, I focus on what I want to attract to my ...

On some level, I suppose it's not his fault.  On some level, this is a tragic opera playing out in 3 acts - running, Presidenting, the aftermath. He can't help himself.  His father ruined him and his mother didn't intervene.  Read Mary Trump's analysis of his psychology if you want to see it play out.  He watched his older brother crumble under the strain.  He would survive. If there is a positive piece of his character it is that will to survive. But underneath, he has no substance.  Winning is the only thing.  There's no love, unless it's salacious (cf how he can't keep his hands off Ivanka).  There is no empathy, because there is no one who matters except himself. There is no honesty, because reality cannot compete with the horror of loss. And so, the current incumbent is making plans to break America.   It's because his brain is breaking, unable to conceive of losing, of disappointing his father, of not living up to his gold-plated s...

I made an apple pie with FlapJilly this morning.  She made hers in Indiana, and mine was created here in Tucson,  but we made them together,  on Zoom.  ***** My turkey came out of the oven just as the veggies were ready.  The masked potatoes had no lumps.  The rolls were perfect.  No one cared that the jello mold wasn't gelled; we'll eat it tomorrow.  ***** Leftovers. My favorite part of Thanksgiving.  I suppose there's no reason I can't have pie for breakfast.  Ice cream can be my milk substitute.  ***** I spent the day with memories. CTG and G'ma, Nannie and Grandpaw, old neighbors and Auntie M, they all made an appearance.   There were some tears involved.  ***** A long walk after dinner, the sun sitting low in the sky,  the golden hour. 

Some new, some repeated, all part of what used to be. D inner in Cleveland Heights at Nannie's house: Sitting in the dining room, using it, for once, as more than an inconvenient space between the kitchen and the tv room, sideboards groaning, waiting for Nannie's yearly screech,   just as the first fork was lifted:  "Oh, shit... I burned the rolls!" Most Embarrassing Thanksgiving Day Moment:  "What time are you getting your mom?" "Oh, shit, I forgot about G'ma!" Warming the cockles of my heart (and making me glad I recorded it in The Burrow) I, math challenged, asked G'ma how many ounces were in a cup.  And my mother, my dear, demented, forgetful mother, without missing a beat, told me that there were 8 ounces in a cup.   And she was surprised that I didn't remember that fact... and that she did.  Bittersweet Memory Daddooooo died the Saturday before Thanksgiving; the entire family gathered around his dining room table every night, for ...

The week started out grimly.  Then I complained.  That's no way to feel thankful for the many wonderful things in my life.   Our President-Elect is a kind and competent man, with a moral compass.  He was a gentleman when Trump was being obstreperous and now that things are moving along he's calling out his predecessor in the subtlest and most delightful way.  I do not cringe when I see him take the podium. FlapJilly wins at Monopoly, legitimately, and reads well enough for Does that bumper sticker say shit?  to come out of her mouth.  Giblet sings the ABC's when he feels like it, and is quick to SHHHHH  anyone who laughs or tries to help.  My grown up children and those they love are as happy and as productive and as sane as one can be in these times.   And then there is the beauty of the roses, which I'm sharing with you, because I feel for the ones who must take a walk when it's 38 degrees and raining, because a sweet six yea...

The UV and I took a drive to Whole Foods this afternoon, picking up groceries 45 minutes after ordering them on-line.  I can get used to this calling ahead and bringing it out to me routine (except for fruits and veggies, said she as she starred glumly at the over-ripe and soggy cubed watermelon she bought for a special treat).   The groceries were a non-event.  The driving is driving this post.  The snowbirds have returned, in all their I can't remember how to drive in the sunshine  glory.   They are changing lanes without signaling, to the detriment of all concerned.  Two things cannot occupy the same space at the same time (that's been upgraded from Newton's Law to Pauli's exclusion principle but that's a rabbit hole we'll avoid for now).  This does not seem to apply to vehicles with out of state plates.  Two of them tried to be in the left turn lane at the same time; collisions were avoided and no one was injured but I, driving ...

November 22nd..... November 23rd.... November 24th and 25th and the rest of what would have been Thanksgiving but instead was filled with mourning. President and Mrs. Kennedy deplaned in the morning and were covered in blood by the afternoon.  Little kids were happy that school was cancelled; the rest of the world was stunned.  It was dreary and cold and nobody's parents wanted to drive anywhere fun.   The black and white images on the television felt oddly appropriate; bright colors would have interefered with the sadness.   And there was so much sadness. I knew little of The Bay of Pigs or our initial forays into Vietnam.  I knew that the President was elegant and handsome and smart because he went to Harvard.  I knew he was brave because I read PT-109 and I believed every single word of it.  I knew he saved us from nuclear destruction by Russia, via Cuba.  I knew he loved America and would work to keep me safe. This is the book; I rem...

The only new people I talk to these days are the ones who bring me food.  Tonight, I perched on the edge of the pedestal of the column in the courtyard, smiling at my uncomfortable front porch perch, while I waited for dinner to arrive. A couple appeared, walking purposefully south on my street.  They are among the regulars who pass my window as I type to you, or play mah jongg with Scarlet, or Zoom with the 5th grade.   I waved, not expecting to be noticed, and was pleasantly surprised when he waved back.   I see you from my desk,  pointing to the window.  You are part of my entertainment every day. We laughed and then they were past the house and the moment was over. Human connections are what I miss most.

I have a clear vision of sitting here, at the desk, finishing the post and scheduling it to publish at midnight on the 19th. Really, I do. I asked myself several times during the afternoon whether I had finished my post.  That same vision came clearly to mind.   There were no sports on tv last night (hallelujah!!) and we watched Josh Gates explore Turkey and Mongolia and I crocheted some on my newest creation and I felt secure, knowing that I'd completed the only task I have left these days - writing to you. Apparently, I was wrong. It's weird, sitting here in the early morning, watching the sunlight on the south side of the nandina, brightening one side of the red rose that's going to be open when I write to you (again) this afternoon.  The first wave of migrating birds has gone on their merry way, and the hummingbirds are taking advantage of their absence by dining, gluttonously, on the crepe myrtle berries.   250,000 cases of COVID.... nope, I'm not goin...

 Scott's strong and soft at the same time.  He lifted the king mattress and carried it into the house all by himself this morning, right after his eyes belied the strength of his voice as he talked about the heart monitor the VA prescribed. It's diagnostic after he felt faint and had pain in his left scapula.  He'll wear it for a month and then go back to the VA for further evaluation. Somewhere in the middle of that conversation, he began talking about how the current administration had restored some of the benefits he'd lost during the previous 4 years.  His disability benefits resumed, and he got a raise.  He's thrilled that he can now go to any care provider he chooses in an emergency, rather than having to rely on getting to a VA hospital in time.   For a guy who hoped to make the military his life's work, being mustered out left a big hole.  His dad encouraged him to do what he loved, and what he loved was figuring out why things are broken....

A neighbor offered space in his trailer.  I jumped on the offer to move the wine-fridge-now-box-on-top-of-which-things-are-stored out of the garage where it's been since Amster gave it to us. She didn't want it, and she was drinking a lot more wine than I was, at the time.  That was a clue.  I should've noticed it. It hasn't worked since the first summer.  Having no place inside to reside, it spent the hottest months of the year in the garage, which fried everything worth frying.  Since then, it's been a convenient shelf for me, and a constant irritant to TBG.   If Waste Management held a big items pickup this year, I missed it.  We're walking past that relic a lot more than we have in the past, on our way to the real fridge on its right it or the paper goods stored on its left.  I've heard about its existence every. single. day.   Okay.  Maybe every other day.   A part of me wanted to recycle it, but it didn't fit in...

I'm exhausted. I worked a full day,  with two breaks plus lunch. My hip was challenged, my hands were achy,  but the second guest room is now cleared of that which made it uninhabitable. I'm very proud.  It's nice when my mood matches my energy; it's been a rare confluence lately. But this morning I woke up early and started in on what I'd organized yesterday: all the yarn my mom and I have accumulated over the past 70 some years.  I moved clothes worn by visitors up high, and put pretty boxes filled with yarn on the rest of the now empty shelves.  Much of Little Cuter's teen age years was appearing. Posters from her past lined the back of the closet.  She told me to send her a picture of this one and toss the rest. I was ruthless.  The Donate and Yard Sale and Recycle and Garbage piles spilled into the hallway.  I turned my attention to the bookshelf. Many of G'ma's knickknacks had found a home there and there they will stay.  My...