The Burrow

I was bored on Saturday afternoon. I'd finished my book, my hands were achy from too much crocheting, and dinner wasn't going to take much work.  The clouds were gathering, so swimming was not an option.  I'd already done one Pilates video.  I had no interest in cleaning. So, I baked brownies.  Lots of brownies. TBG did some damage to the first pan, but I woke up on Sunday morning to more brownies than one man should eat.  Sorrowfully, he agreed with my assessment.  I bagged them up and took to the streets. I left some in Amster's mailbox for her boys.  I left some with Scarlett for her neighbor whose dog died this week.  I hung out with Dr. K and Not-Kathy on their front porch, admiring their succulents and bemoaning the fate of the fig tree, before leaving them with some treats and driving on. I was going to make another stop, but there was a line of people out the door so I called ahead for fried chicken from Lucky Wishbone and meandered over t...

The headline in the WaPo made me smile:  Cornell students petition to have freshman TikTok star expelled for flouting coronavirus rules . I've been leary about Cornell's plan to reopen, worrying about the 4 Tucson kids who planned to start as freshmen this month.  But the University stuck to its guns; they'd done modeling and determined that the risk was smaller if they opened.   Why? Most students and faculty and staff would be in Ithaca anyway.  Leases are signed a year in advance and cannot easily  be  broken; students would return to their apartments however the teaching experience was received.  By formally opening, Cornell could require students to sign a behavioral contract in order to participate in the semester ahead.   Masks, social distancing, participation in surveillance testing (free and twice a week at a convenient location near you), small gatherings allowed with masks and spacing - nothing unusual, just our new normal if...

Words are not enough.   Joe Biden is right - we are in a fight for the soul of our country.  And that soul looks better from one side of the racial divide than the other, as has been patently obvious over the course of the pandemic. I want to know how to fix it, because that's what I do when there's a problem in my space.   The NBA players refused to come out on the court, at least for tonight.  I wish I could refuse to come out of my house until there is change..... but would anyone notice.... and isn't that what I've been doing for the last 24 weeks, anyway? There's nothing I can think about that doesn't bleed into knowing that this has been going on for 400 years, that only because there are cell phones can we see in stark detail what families of color have known for centuries. This is just not right.   It is the America in which we live. It is not the America I want it to be. I'm not coming out until I have some kind of plan. What will he tell...

There it is.  I watched it and stood up straighter.  I watched it and felt empowered.  I watched it and realized how far we've come and how far we have to go.   Look at her walk across the set.  Look at her blow that horn.  I sat in her kitchen years ago, applauding with others as a few notes and then a few more emerged.  America really is beautiful; just listen to her and try to disagree. All of Tucson was united for those weeks and months and now, if you ask someone if they were in town when Gabby was shot, they'll tell you why they were on their way to that corner but something came up.  It's our town's  where were you when moment.   Martha McSally is running ads caling Mark Kelly a millionaire who scammed the taxpayers.  I call him a man who loves and admires his wife.  She's well worth the adoration and the respect.  She inspires me, each and every day.

I tried to watch it, knowing full well I'd last only minutes at a time. We'd find ourselves screaming at the screen after 30 or 40 seconds before TBG hit last  on the remote and took us to large men throwing a small ball through a hoop.  At commercials, we'd click back over to see how the Republicans were doing.  Nikki Haley being a brown girl in a black and white world  confused us.  Tim Scott trying to be rational amused us.  There were freed hostages looking like they hadn't changed clothes since they got off the plane, there were indicted gun toting rich people, and there was Don, Jr with his perfectly coiffed beard, showing just enough grey to add gravitas to his screeching.   He looked at the camera as if it were dinner.  He scared theshit out of me. I put off writing this post, because I wanted to celebrate two birthdays.  But every time I tried to put thoughts together, I got swept up into the trampling of norms, once again....

That's the number of years TBG and I have been married. I'm typing this on Sunday night, and it was a Sunday night when we drove away from G'ma and Daddooooo's house, with cans tied to the back bumper and Just Married written on the windows.   We were starving.  There was lots of food at the wedding, but we were too busy dancing and talking and hugging to eat.  Sister, my attendant, had been charged with keeping me fed.  Unfortunately for both of us, the whiskey sours caught up with her before dinner was served; neither of us ate at all.  By the time we untied the noisemakers we hit upon a plan - dinner before anything else. We drove to Motel on the Mountain, a lovely-from-afar resort up on a mountain which I passed and lusted for every summer as Daddooooo drove us to Lake George for vacation.  We should have done our research.  Two weeks after we checked out the place closed for a total renovation.  The arachnid in the shower added to the am...

I heard Michelle .  I heard Kristen .  I heard Khizr Khan. I watched the best roll call ever, crying with Matthew Shepard's parents, enjoying the flowered shirts and the little kids standing stock still with signs (except the girl in the pink, who ran away as soon as she could).  I want some Rhode Island calamari . As Big Cuter put it, every time I hear Barack Obama speak it's like a present.  On Wednesday night, he warned America of what is to come if we don't get off the couch and vote.  Nicolle and Joy and Rachel were giggling like sorority sisters as they manned (womanned?) MSNBC's analysis desk; I loved it when they cut away from the Convention for a moment to share the laughs. I sat mesmerized as Nicolle Wallace laid out the background behind a former POTUS stepping up and slamming a current POTUS.   She was in the room.  She knows whereof she speaks; her remarks are terrifying and should be required listening for everyone who still thinks that...

That's my plaintive description of myself every morning, as I stumble out of bed and into the living room, unable to see in front of my face. I haven't had a haircut since February 11th, exactly one month before TBG and I began to shelter in place. I had an appointment the week afterwards; I opted to cancel it, and rescheduled to June.  After all, once this was over, everyone would be rushing to get in.  It was the smart thing to do. You can guess how prescient we were.  That June appointment came and went.  I can't remember if it fell during one of the It's-okay-we -can-party-now reopenings they've declared here - TBG and I don't go anywhere we can avoid, and the salon is one of those places. He could cut my hair if I wanted it shorter, having been my coiffeur for several decades.  But once I ordered clips and elastics along with the groceries I was able to keep it out of my eyes and off my neck. I have hair that annoys me, and I haven't said that in decade...

She's wearing her black and grey dress, the one she's worn to her last 3 birthday parties, the one that twirls fabulously, the one that still fits her and makes her smile after all these years.  The choice was a no-brainer. She knows that her best friend from kindergarten will be in her class this year, too, as will another one of the girls in their crowd.  Her teacher's name is Miss Happy. On Tuesday, she went to her school and to pick up her packet.  She'll got her own Chromebook, because today she'll meet her classmates at an 8am meeting on a screen at her own workstation in her own home, as her parents work on their own computers at their own workstations.   There's a full day's worth of activities planned, according to one of the many emails from the District.  There will be synchronous and non-synchronous learning.  There will be a parent available when the technology gets in the way of the learning. It's not taking the bus with the boys down the...

You can play anything with strings.  Your brother says it with certainty and I have no reason to doubt him. You are the only person I ever knew who had a harp in her living room. You taught the most challenging students, and they learned.  American history is living and breathing through your photographs.  Lighthouses and formal gardens and more give us glimpses into the past you've discovered and shared.   You saw a need and created a Gifted and Talented program for the state of Maryland, even though your own gifted and talented child had graduated before you saw your work come to fruition.   You are the keeper of the family history, the one who chases down documents and photographs and hands down bracelets and stories from generations past.   You are a mom and a wife and a friend and an aunt and the best sister-in-law a girl could imagine.  You listen.  When you speak, you have something to say.  You are kind and generous and...

FlapJilly and her family have agreed to share their emotions and to ask for what they need during this Weird Time.  So, when the soon-to-be-1st-grader stated that she wasn't ready to end our daily call, it was Gramma to the rescue.  TBG went off to make a pizza, SIR was attending to Giblet, and Little Cuter had a brief moment to tend only to herself... and the house... and .. .. and..... These young parents working from home are my heroes.   So, after several abortive attempts to connect, we were finally on together, with our Effects keeping us amused.   My face mask includes cucumber slices; I just missed capturing it the picture. My little marsupial hops across the screen, with FlapJilly's sweet voice singing a hopping song. I'm not thrilled with the ones that cover her face entirely; I decided to retreat to space with E.T. while she flapped her owl wings. Giblet got into the act when his big sister offered him the phone.  He's big for his age, but n...

I'm out of Quebec Beef Spice.  The Fox Point vanished months ago.  People seem to need brownies and cookies in these troublous times; I just opened the last bottle of Madagascar Vanilla, bought on sale before the prices tripled.  It is time to order from Penzeys. Do you know about Bill Penzey?  A Wisconsin boy, he gre up in the spice trade and followed his family's footsteps.  He writes lengthy posts on Facebook, decrying the state of our country, urging us to come together, reminding us that cooking is love. I never really got that cooking=love thing.  G'ma was many things, but a good cook was not one of them.. Food was sustenance; I rarely took delight in putting what she made into my mouth.  There were, of course, certain things that I loved; the crust stuck to the bottom of the pan when she made fried chicken comes quickly to mind.  But sitting here, looking at my freshly wiped keyboard (donate one of your precious disinfectant wipes and be am...

I was signed up for an online Pilates class with one of my favorite teachers, so when TBG wondered when I'd be exercising I replied, with confidence, 11 o'clock. So, when 11 o'clock rolled around and the email with the class link still had not arrived, I called to inquire. Oh, we changed that class to 10 o'clock. Really?  I signed up last night, after dinner, and didn't look back, expecting to be sweating and grunting instead of talking to you on the phone.    Don't worry, I thought it but didn't say it.   Instead, what came out was this: But I organized my whole day around this! And then I laughed.  And so did she.  As if I have anywhere else to be at any particular time these days.   True, I've been involved in some on-going negotiations, but I'm a volunteer so they can wait until I'm re-engaged. I have groceries to pick up (anytime before 8pm) and spices to pick up (anytime before 7pm) and a letter to mail (walk to the street or drive to t...

I should be writing about Kamala Harris.  100 years after white women were able to vote, a woman of color has just become the presumptive nominee in 2024.   But, like most sane humans, I'd be voting for Biden no matter which of the women (or men, before that became untenable) he chose from his list.  As several talking heads have noted, the deep pool of qualified women of all shapes and sizes and colors speaks very well of the Democrats in general.  Now, I can revel in imagining Sen. Harris skewering VP Pence in whatever debate format he consents to be bbq'ed upon, while contemplating a Biden/Harris ticket, if I felt like thinking about anything serious at all.. But my aches are still aching and I'm leaning on the herbal heating pillow (the smell of which nauseates TBG so I have to hide away as I soothe) and I'm thinking about Little Cuter's friend and her brand new baby. We started out living within biking distance; carpooling to soccer practise was a no braine...

It started with Greta and climate change, moved through the Parkland kids and gun safety, and ended with  college football players taking on the NCAA.  I'm feeling very hopeful about the youngest generation, the ones who are the same age that I was when we shut down colleges, stopped a war, and challenged a president or two.   After a day tangling with bureaucracy and feeling blue, I turned my attention to the sports talking heads and saw, once again, the power of that cohort when it is marshalled for social change.  Football players in the Pac 12 started with Keep Us Safe  and moved into reclaiming rights to their own likenesses, adding a bit of share the wealth along the way.   Flexing your muscles feels good these days.  Watching others do it feels good too.  

It's my favorite day of the year.  I put on my newly washed coat of many colors, stuff my pockets full of stickers, and leave my house before 7am.  The parking lot in front of the school is filled with families dressed in their back to school finery, colorful hijabs and dashikis of all lengths bumping up against glittery unicorns and sneakers that blink when you run. I miss cries of  Watch My Shoes! as last year's kindergarteners shusss across the lobby, on their way to the stairs up to first grade.  I miss hugs from big kids who were once littler.  I miss admiring new backpacks and hairdos and being introduced to mommies and daddies. Mostly, I miss talking to the newbies, the ones whose parents waited until the first morning of school to fill out the paperwork and who are waiting in an endless line of grown ups and kids who all seem to know where they are going and what they are doing.  It's scary.  But then Grandma kneels down and wonders if you're n...

Days pass and I don't go outside.  The alarm people laugh when I call them to cancel; yes, it's 1:20 in the afternoon and yes it's the first time we've ventured outside today and who would have thought that was possible before we entered the year of the plague, Pandemic 01. I have inadvertantly reserved real, not e-, books from the local library.  They're available now.  Two of them are waiting for me.  The librarians will bring them out to my car; apparently they've been sanitized to within an inch of their lives so they are safe to touch.  I drove around town today, dropping off birthday brownies and healing brownies and visiting with Dr. K and Not-Kathy in the parking lot between the bagel store and the Urgent Care (don't ask).  I drove past the turn off for the library on more than one occasion (okay, I'll admit to driving on auto-pilot and paying no attention to my ultimate destination, thereby necessitating a u-turn and retracing of my tire tracks)...

Jonathan Swan's Axios interview with DJT  was a candidate for this post.  For some reason.... okay, for many reasons..... it makes me extraordinarily happy.  The man's a blithering idiot, waving around charts with big (seriously big), bright bars of color and pouting that the interviewer couldn't ask questions that weren't on the chart.   TBG and I sat, fascinated, then closed our eyes and couldn't tell if we were listening to Alec Baldwin or the real deal.  We opened our eyes and imagined Sarah Cooper lip syncing his words.  The exercise made it a bit more palatable.... and then I started to giggle.  The whole thing is so ridiculous, and Mr. Swan was so meticulous, and yes the Modern Major General did come to mind. But that's about all I had that to share. The faunae (isn't that a great plural?)  are racing and slithering and scampering and leaping (yes, it's leaping when you're a bunny covering great distances on tiny little legs) and soar...

The clouds started forming early in the afternoon.   Sunshine out front, grey fluffy mounds gathering in the back, and a certain thickness in the air. All afternoon we waited.  And waited.  And waited.   The sun came out.  The clouds moved, south to north, but never got any darker. And there was no rain.  There's never any rain.  The one monsoon we had lasted for 15 minutes, took out my palo verde, and vanished.   The newspaper is talking about drought.   And every afternoon it's the same damn thing.  Clouds.  No Rain.

The last time I voted by mail, G'ma and I worked on her vote from home ballot.  The Democrats, the Jews, the women - those were our choices when I didn't have enough information for an informed decision.  We laughed, we commiserated, we grumbled, she signed her name and I put it in the mail. Neither one of us gave it another thought.   Now, with our President raising hell over the validity of vote by mail, TBG and I joined the rest of the sane world and asked for mail-in ballots.  The process was simple; a few clicks on the first website that came up when I Googled  request mail in ballot in Arizona  and we were all set. I proved it to TBG by going back to the website and looking ourselves up.  We were listed as requesting vote by mail ballots.  They arrived two days after the newspaper told me they were mailed.   They sat on the ledge.  I did some research (the Corporation Council, the sheriff, the county attorney), found a da...

Although, to be fair, this post should really be title Old Words Which Are New To Me. When I was in elementary school, the kids called me The Human Dictionary.  Daddooooo and G'ma were never afraid to use a 5 syllable word when a 2 syllable word would suffice.  They assumed that I would understand, either from the context or, more frequently, from the dictionary. They had a gigantic Webster's Unabridged, always out and available, its onion skin pages full of adjectives and nouns and synonyms and explanations.  There were flags of countries that no longer exist.  There was a definition of whore  when Cleopatra was in the theatres and my down the street neighbor told me that's what she was and I should ask my mom about it.  Before I took that step, though, I went to the dictionary.... where I was left flumoxed and confused as a 9 year old in the middle of the 20th century shold have been.  Still, I remember that I went there first.   So when Ja...