The Burrow

(For the 10 people who read this yesterday before I pulled it at 10am Arizona time, I apologize!  This was supposed to be Tuesday's post, but it got ahead of itself and appeared, briefly on Monday.  I'm not having enough adventures to fill The Burrow with pictures, and I cannot watch the talking heads for inspiration, and I'm running out of thoughts.  So, here it is, where it's supposed to be.) ***** Special time with FlapJilly was supposed to have taken place in person in her home last week.  We had plans for crafts and baking and picking up Mama in her office at Notre Dame.  This flu that's going around  put the kibosh on that plan, so we've had to improvise. After a particularly tough afternoon, wherein the absence of a television in her bedroom and the unlikelihood of that situation being remedied in the near future was more than she could bear, FlapJilly retreated to her bedroom with a smoothie, her markers, and her mother.   H...

We all know them - the people who don't have seasonal allergies, the people who smile smugly at those of us whose bodies are rejecting that which we are inhaling, wondering what all the fuss is about. TBG was one of them.  Food sensitivities are his specialty, and he has his favorites.  Little Cuter poisoned him with milk seasoned with Omega-3's, brain food for her lactating self but a gut churning disaster for her father's allergy to iodine.  We figured it out, but only after we'd checked into a hotel to spare her newborn from what we thought was a stomach bug. But breathing the air?  It never bothered him.  I'd be a sneezy and teary and scratchy throated mess while he handed me tissues and sympathized.  It went on like this in Ithaca, and Washington, D.C, and Chicago, and San Francisco and Marin. Then, we moved to Tucson. Our first spring did nothing to me.  The dust blown summer and my contacts had had an interesting introduction, but the di...

I read book 5 of 23 in the series. I did one and a half Pilates classes via Zoom from my usual studio. I spent an hour or so Facetiming with FlapJilly, who was quite surprised that this flu that's going around is all the way where you live, too.     It was a gloomy day inside and outside the house .... and inside myself, too.  And then the sun came out and I was smiling and the grilled cheese on multigrain was mmm mmmm good and I rolled double sixes and double fours in our Quarantine Backgammon Marathon and trounced TBG so thoroughly that he refused to play a final game. It's the little things that take on importance during lock down.

FlapJilly and I spent a lovely hour or so on Facetime.  It was dinner time and relaxing time and everybody wanted a piece of Little Cuter and Mama only has two eyes and one brain .  Gramma, however, had all the time in the world to listen to the stories of the day, and admire dance moves, and sing Itsy Bitsy Spider when Giblet needed some screen time. When FlapJilly suggested we draw hearts together, I gathered the supplies (paper, black marker, red marker) and moved them and the iPad mini to the coffee table.  I propped the screen against a couple of pillows, plopped myself on the floor, and took instruction. Take the black marker and at the bottom, but in the middle, draw a heart. Put the cover on and take the red one and fill it in.   Then at the top, write I Love You. Who should I write it for? Well, you only have Grampa... so Grampa.   She wrote For Giblet, needing help only with encouragement to sound out that pesky last le...

We're watching Perry Mason, circa 1960, when TBG and I look at each other in horror. The jurors - they're sitting so close to one another! ***** My niece  did a 45 minute Instagram Live tutorial on making face masks at home.  She showed me how to put a pattern piece on fabric, how to pin it in place, and how to cut it.  She told me that sewing machines really don't like to go over pins.  I learned more about sewing from her this afternoon than I have learned in the past 68 years. ***** Did you know how to determine if a piece of fabric is cotton or polyester? Crumple a corner up into a torch and light the very end.  If it burns orange, it's cotton. (You don't have to set fire to the entire piece of fabric; a small whoosh is enough.) Yes.  I did watch all 45 minutes of her video.  It was a novel activity, and those have been in short supply recently. ***** I'm beating TBG in our Quarantine Backgammon Game.  I never beat him in on-going ...

Last Monday, March 16th, I managed to place an on-line grocery order.  Our cupboards were bare; I was paring down in preparation for our trip to the grandkids, planning to replenish the pantry upon our return.  But seclusion was called for and I wasn't sharing my San Francisco cooties with any more Tucsonans than those I passed in the airport.  I wasn't going to the store.  The store was coming to me. I failed at several sites before finding success at Safeway.  I sat back and clapped my hands in joy when I received the confirmation email.  We waited all night for the food to be delivered; after all, the email promised it on Monday between 7 and 8 pm. It never arrived. Over the past eight days, we've been referring to it as the Phantom Grocery Order, with TBG requiring daily reassurance that the charge had not been posted.  And then, today, at 3 o'clock, we received an email.  Our groceries would be delivered today, Monday, March 23, betwe...

I'm taking these virus protection precautions seriously.  I travel with sanitizing wipes when I have to interact with the outside world (my Ativan prescription was not something I wanted to be without) and I'm wiping down pens and credit cards and door handles and garage door remote control devices.   Some of the wipes are lemon scented, some are lavender (these have creepy purple blotches), all of them leave a lingering, antiseptic odor.  I tell myself the smell is strong because the wipes are powerful. It had better be true. At home, we are washing our hands as frequently as we pass a sink, or pick up a book, or open a newspaper (the procedure for reading the daily paper - the physical, hard copy, Arizona Daily Star - is worthy of its own post) It's a good thing that I've always liked pretty soaps, like this box of 4. The sushi plate Little Cuter made serves as the soap dish at my vanity sink.  The two rocks are treasures from hikes, the soap ...

I'm surprised at how difficult I'm finding it to shelter in place.   Getting out of my pajamas was a good first step.  Having our young friend in to help us clean brought some socially distant cheer.  I was dressed, the clouds weren't too threatening, and the street was empty.  I needed to exercise, it was too cold to swim, and so I ventured out into the world for the first time in days.  I found this  outside my front door to my left,  and this to my right. It was nice to be reminded that Spring is really on its way. After a lovely conversation with The Neighbor on the Other Side, who told me to stay home and let her go to the store if we needed anything, who sat in her car as I stood a socially distant distance away, who wishes she could take her kids to museums to culture them up  but without that option and with no sports to play or watch, she would, indeed be happy to go out to the store for us. And then it beg...

Working from home has a whole new meaning. The kids were using the space between his legs as a tunnel through which to race from one end of the hall to the other. There were protective measures taken, until the work phone rang and he needed his hands. He tried to move, but she was having none of it. She was happy and amused.  He's a good dad;  he stood there for quite a while. ***** Giblet's vocabulary is expanding, and everyone is delighted. It's much easier to parent a person who can tell you what he wants.  Often, what he wants is to move.  Thus, their home has become an indoor gymnasium, replete with slide and obstacle course.  Created by a kindergarten kid who finished her e-learning for the day, it was age and canine appropriate for the whole family. And then there was this, which proves once and for all that SIR is an outstanding father.   He held them and she held him and he squealed as they rolled down and up and down a...

I took the trouble to register as a Democrat so that I could help Mayor Pete on his road to the White House.  Our trip to Indiana would not interfere with going to the polls, so we didn't need absentee ballots.  It would be a giant loop - to the post office, to the church to vote, to the library - before we left to see the grandkids in person. Then we opted to shelter in place.  I wore my pajamas.  I made comfort food for breakfasts.  I ventured out to the pool in the back and opened the door for the mail carrier in the front, but that was it. I found myself without motivation; I think it's the edge of depression trying to creep out from behind the Sertraline wall. The medication can do only so much.  The rest is on me.  So, I've been swimming until my heart is racing and I can't do another lap.  I start my day with Pilates mat exercises (10 pieces for 20 minutes total and in 30 days I'll have a new body!) and today I'm adding a brisk walk in ...

I spent Monday on hold. Not being held.  On Hold. For the 6th day in a row, I tried to get through to Allegiant Airlines since I booked my ticket to Indiana using vouchers and for that I need to speak to a customer service representative. Ha. Ha. Ha. I tried to order groceries on line.  Walmart Grocery couldn't process the order; the swirling circle just kept going round and round and round, but it never connected to Your Order is Completed. I managed to get the Safeway website to work.  I scheduled delivery for between 7-8pm last night.  At 9:30 I called the emergency number (they closed at 9; who knew?).  At 10:30, we put a note on the front door with a tip for the driver and a plea that she ring the bell to alert us to the arrival of our groceries (TBG is going through serious vanilla ice cream withdrawal) and went to sleep.  There are no groceries in front of my door this morning, and the phone call I made went from Muzak to we cannot accommod...

The plague was raging. Seven young men and three young women, along with their entourages (entourages were big in the 14th century), retreated to a villa outside Florence to wait it out.  Over the course of 100 days, they told 100 stories, one by one, every afternoon, as a way to pass the time. When I read it several years ago (part of a class of books I really should read) , Boccacio's Decameron  seemed like a lovely fantasy, albeit perhaps not the most sanitary.  What if one of them brought the disease along to the villa?  They brought their belongings, covered with plague. There was no testing.  What were they thinking? But the notion of whiling away the afternoon with friends, telling tales, forgetting, for a while, the reason they were there in the first place now holds new relevance.  I get it. After all, there are all these unknowns.  How long am I going to keep smiling when I can't play with my friends?  We can use video on our dev...

I had a happy in life post all set for today.  I was supposed to be in San Francisco all week; I was so proud that I had written a week ahead. But I flew home two days early, foregoing a trip to Marin to hike and hear some music with dear friends, leaving my boy a day sooner than I planned, refusing to be a vector any more than necessary.  The airport was empty at both ends.  The grocery store had all the foods we needed.  The 20-something cashier was surprised that we thought it would get worse. And now we're home, hunkered down for the duration.  We've heard from every family member on both sides, nice long phone conversations filled with love and stories and reassurances.  There will be a lot of FaceTime and letter writing and closet cleaning going on.  All in all, we shouldn't be any more worried than any other American who doesn't live paycheck to paycheck or depend on the gig economy to pay the rent.  I can't imagine adding that an...

It was warm enough to turn on the hose last week.  If (okay, when) the gardeners got wet, they could take themselves out into the sun to dry off.  At least, that was the plan.  While the new hose works well for the trees at the garden's far end, the watering cans are always in high demand.  Filling them is a sloppy, complicated affair. Using the wheelbarrow to catch the water which overflowed was a creative way to fill the watering cans while staying (relatively) dry. And then, there was The Hole. Dug by the littlest gardeners for no reason other than they could,  and filled with water for the same reason  it softened the surrounding soil enough so that a moat could be created with our rakes. Of course, the shovel was a big help, too. Now we have an experiment to watch: One tree has drip irrigation. One tree has a moat. Which will do better? They aren't the same kind of trees (an apple and an orange). They did...

I figure that if I survived Las Vegas, I can survive anything. That's the attitude I'm taking along as I travel to San Francisco and Indiana over the next few weeks.  My kids are there.  I miss them.  That's enough for me. Taos Rainbow and I lived together when we were sophomores in a sorority at Cornell.  When she wondered if I might be interested in joining her on the west coast, I said yes in a hurry.  She's traveling with some family; I'm visiting mine.  There has been nothing but joy and wonder as we planned our week - Sting's The Last Ship, Terrapin Station in San Rafael, Frida Khalo at the deYoung - and friends and meals fit into empty spaces. Giblet has more words every day, and FlapJilly has so much that she wants to show me, and my daughter needs someone to cook and do light housekeeping, and SIR has a new car and TBG and I can't stand being away from them any longer.  We've been dreaming about Iggy's Pizza  and story time at the l...

I'm traveling tomorrow  The whole world is moving toward homebound self sufficiency for a week or two and I'm getting on a plane to go to museums and shows and restaurants land music in venues filled with other human beings. Some of those humans are sure to be vectors for Covid19. I'll bring my sanitizing wipes and wash my hands and try as hard as I can to keep my hands away from my face, because that's what the experts tell me to do.  As George Stephanopoulos asked Ben Carson today, where is the plan?  I don't think my son plans on my being quarantined in his apartment; giving it up for a few days vacation is quite enough for him to offer and for me to accept. Are there plans to cancel air travel?  Being sequestered with the world's best grandchildren and their parents is our idea of heaven; being stuck, alone, in Big Cuter's studio, is somewhat less attractive.   Of course,  he does have an exceptionally well curated library, double s...

Elizabeth Warren wasn't my first choice.  She was shaping up to be my second choice after Pete left me high and dry.  Not that I thought she had the delegates to get to the end.  I was resigned to Joe Biden sweeping the field and offering a placid, safe, calm alternative to Bernie and Trump's hectoring. But I thought that watching a woman ride a wave of pinkie swears and selfies and unbuttoned cardigans would assuage my soul.  I thought that having a woman in the mix might influence the debate.  I had hopes that our nation was capable of moving past old white men telling them what's best. Apparently, I was wrong. I heard the news on the radio.  On television, it was somehow less sad.  When all I had was her voice, the sorrow was palpable. She's right.  The hardest part is the message it sends to little girls, who now have to wait 4 more years before they might see a woman in the White House.  That's a long time when you are 8 or 9 and...

We have Sweet Peas ready to pop. That was the only plant I recognized. These pretty pink ones  and this daisy-like white one  were more useful as ornaments than as a botany lesson. The big green borage leaves are spiky and thick. and grow blue flowers, both of which overshadow the orange something-or-other hiding in their shadow. The alyssum grows low and white and seems unperturbed by the overgrowth. Unperturbed is exactly the way to describe this young gardener's reaction to the scratchy bark in the nook of our mesquite tree, a space normally occupied by Tom-or-Jerry. Delighted to be here , though,   is my favorite feeling.    I love that the garden is a quiet place to re-string a broken bracelet or to think deep thoughts. or to carry all the colors of watering cans in the land. I'm exhausted and exhilarated every week. And my heart is full.

I cried.  I listened and I cried.  Mayor Pete was going home to South Bend and I was bereft. I wondered about the two separate donations I'd made to his campaign in the last week, until I heard that he was paying his staff a month's severance and continuing their health care while they looked for other work.  That's a good use of my money.  Vote with my heart in the primary, they tell me.  My heart is empty. My second and third choices (Harris and Booker, in no particular order) are gone.  It took 24 hours for me to lose Amy Klobuchar, who's supported by some people I admire, and who might have grabbed me. Mike Bloomberg is looking like a spoiler right now, though I still think he'd be a fine POTUS.  Bernie's hectoring hasn't gotten any less annoying, and I can't see much of Arizona putting up with him.  I wish, I really, really, wish, that I could fall in love with Elizabeth Warren.  I think she'd be a fine POTUS.  I admire he...

Friends since our oldests were still in utero,  Mary Catherine and I pick up right where we left off,  no matter how many years have passed.  She said that out loud on Saturday night, and we hugged as our yes-we're-still-married-to-the-same-husbands nodded and smiled.  Our babies were babies who lived down the street from one another, and their mothers were, for the first time in their lives, neither working nor going to school.  We tried to figure out this new role while pushing our strollers, while marveling that our husbands seemed to enjoy one another, while being surprised at how unusual that was, then, in the early 1980's.  I like to think that she needed me as much as I needed her.  I do know that she's as happy for me about this as I am for her about that.  We revel in the successes of the kids we've watched grow up, albeit from afar.  We suffer when they suffer, and offer advice, solicited or not, which is accepted in the spirit ...

In California, we were issued a notebook filled with What To Do If We're Stranded information.  Our town was on a peninsula which might have been cut off from the mainland in an earthquake; we had to be prepared to shelter in place.  Some had generators.  I had candles, flashlights and batteries, and a bag of charcoal for the hibachi if we really needed to heat something up.  Blankets a plenty, bathtubs always ready to be filled with water for all sorts of necessities, radios powered by a variety of sources (solar, battery, a wind up crank), medications and safety supplies ..... we were always prepared. Then, we moved to Arizona.  No one worries about earthquakes in Arizona.  I stopped thinking about emergency preparedness. Then, my go-to-friend-for-science referred me to this Scientific American article  which reminded me that it is my civic duty to be prepared in case there is community disruption.   I went right to the grocery stor...