The Burrow

Carol's comment yesterday allows me to continue the conversation.  Feel free to chime in below. I made some fundamental changes in my lifestyle before we went to Little Cuter's house last month.  I decided to abstain from alcohol and Facebook for the duration of our visit.   Given that SIR is a purveyor of wine and spirits, the first part of the resolution was a tough one.  He's always got something new to share, something wonderful and unusual and cutting edge.  While I did try a vodka/cucumber/sparkling, fizzy can, it was awful and I could only manage 2 sips.  SIR was not insulted; it's a new product and those were samples in the DBF.  (Designated Beer Fridge, which lives in the garage and has, until the onset of parenthood, contained only grown up beverages.  Now, fruit juice boxes share the bottom shelf uneasily with soda and sparkling waters.). I had no trouble declining a night time cocktail; I sleep better when alcohol is not involved....

Yesterday's post poked a bubble I've been bobbling for a while.  Carole said that since Covid, nothing seems urgent any more.  There are appointments to keep, but tasks and errands and much of what used to pass for everyday life is less pressing. I really ought to go into the studio and resume my thrice weekly Pilates membership.  I'm marginally resistant because of the transmissibility of the Delta variant and my desire to visit the grandkids next month, but mostly I'm feeling okay with swimming every day and the Pilates Diva's Thursday morning studio session and push ups........ none of which impose themselves on my calendar. (except the Pilates Diva - but she's more of a gift than an assignment). My empty calendar brings me great joy.   I am surprised when things pop up. Unless I'm listening for my phone to beep and remind me that I have an event scheduled,  my participation in the random Zoom event cannot be counted upon.  I'm always sorry to miss ...

I have to work on the email forwarding service since Blogger is no longer supporting it. (If you get The Burrow in your inbox and you haven't sent me your email - now would be a good time to do so.)  I have to repair the plantings in all three of my giant pots and two of the littler ones. I have a leak in the irrigation that must be found and fixed. I am looking at the open tube which needs a goof plug right now.  It sits outside my window as I type.  I found the goof plugs last week.  Why I haven't shoved one in there remains a mystery. I have a shirt which needs alterations; I have yet to do the required measurements. My winter clothes are in a pile on my closet floor.  Their plastic tub is in the garage.  This situation has existed for longer than I am comfortable revealing.  I told Big Cuter that I'd mail his framed college diploma this weekend.  It's Sunday at 5:08pm...... that's not happening. There are bills to pay and a cleaning service to...

They've been friends for years... 14 of them, to be precise. Their friendship survived one couple's moving a short distance away; it may not survive MAGA. They have vacationed together and spent every holiday together, sharing the photos on Facebook.  Four grownups in the same neighborhood, four adults who enjoyed spending time with one another, four fast friends.  Avoiding politics wasn't easy, but the friendship seemed worth the discomfort.  After all, there aren't many people who will gladly spend a weekend helping you move your mother from independent living to assisted living, sharing hugs as well as the heavy lifting. They understood one another.  They've watched their children grow and prosper. Their relationship was a bulwark, something on which they all could rely. Then came Pandemica, spiced with a touch of MAGA.  No one was visiting anyone, not in person, anyway.  It was easier to keep the conversations neutral .... until a wedding invitation arr...

 She loves that our Zoom name for weekly trivia is Queen T's In-Laws. He uses the words my wife in every conversation. It's more than love.  That's obvious to everyone who comes into their orbit.  There's always a smile, a rub, a kiss, a how ya doin' in there .  I've never doubted that for a moment. I'm talking about how they are embracing the marriage itself.   They could have lived together forever; we'd still have loved her as our own.  But they were emphatic about making a legal commitment.  They wanted the world to acknowledge their union.  It meant something to them when they broached the idea of a Pandemic Wedding.  Being married was important and they didn't want to wait any longer. Two months in, they still seem to feel the same way.   It's really fun to watch.

I love that the library is open, this time not just for outdoor pickup, or only for indoor grab-your-reserved-book-and-go, but for actual browsing in the shelves.  There were two youngsters getting their first library cards and there were two shiny new bestsellers on the NEW BOOKS cart right inside the front door.  I grabbed them both. I started with Faye Kellerman's The Lost Boys , another in her series about the ultra-Orthodox widow married to the converted (but did he really have to??) homicide detective.  The plots are always interesting, the family dynamics are often compelling, and the characters grow with the passing years.  I don't have many main characters in my life who are also approaching 70; it adds an interesting dimension to the stories. All of that was true in this book, but I spent much too much time screaming at the pages.  If ever a book were in need of a copy editor, it's this one.  After bringing a six pack  to the table, a guest o...

He cut off his pony tail.... now I'm the only sibling with one. He helped his daughter buy a coach house in Chicago, and stopped by Little Cuter's house in Indiana on the way... because the best way for him to get from Maryland to Illinois was to drive.... because silver metal tubes should not be zipping through the air.... and because he can visit the only members of the next generation in our little family. He's always been good about keeping in touch.  He organizes the annual phone call to our sister, laughing at my reluctance to engage.  He doesn't mind her snark - which drives me batshit crazy - and insists that we call and sing (his version of Happy Birthday includes you look like a monkey, and you smell like one, too) and somehow she's never aggravated with him. He loved the Cubbies and now he loves the Nationals. When the logo jacket I bought him for his 30th birthday in Chicago wore out (finally) I replaced it with the DC team for his 60th.... though I stil...

I didn't want to change my password.  It was a unique set of letters and numbers and symbols, one that I've used for my banking,and only my banking, forever. The system was not amused.  It demanded a change. I tried to click through and continue as I always have.  No dice.  The computer was relentless. Your security of of primary importance to us.  Changing your password ( to one I haven't used before and will never remember again but they don't care about that)  will insure the integrity of your account. No one has ever questioned the integrity of my account.  Its behavior has been beyond reproach.  And yet, because their system demands it, that which has been working just fine, thank you very much, has to change. I don't like change.  Especially when things are going along so well.  But what I like doesn't seem to matter. The screen was insistent.  It would not be ignored.   The new password is easy enough for anyone who...

The saguaros are sprouting side-blooms, a rare phenomenon caused by no one knows exactly.  There's a phenology lab at the UovA (phenology being the interaction between plants and the seasons).  Everyone sees them, everyone is mildly disturbed by them, and I personally am blaming them for the paltry display of flowers atop the saguaros I pass every day.  Almost everyone blames the drought and the poor monsoon last year for stressing the plants to distraction, but the phenologists caution that these plants live very long lives, and are adapted to our severe weather. But I know they are stressed, because my paddle cactus (O puntia englemanii) tells me so.  From a distance, she's gorgeous, white snowflakes on pink or mauve or pea green paddles. Up close and personal, though, she tells a different story.  The white spots are the protective coating created by the cochineal scale, an insect who's found the perfect roadside diner..... and decided to stick around for a w...

We used to stand back to back, comparing our heights, he struggling to be taller than I was, I enjoying the fact that there was someone in my universe over whom I could tower... or at least, peer. Those days are long gone.  I swear he grew 5" since I saw him a month ago, at his brother's high school graduation party (which is a whole 'nother story.... wasn't he  just in Montessori pre-school?).  He has long lanky legs that have sprung out of nowhere.   He spends many of his mornings in basketball camp and his afternoons lifting weights at the gym.  I'm no longer needed for rebounding or as the pick in the pick and roll .  His friends drive him where he needs to go, and, in two weeks or so he'll be driving himself. His mom would not sign off on his official license unless I thought he was ready.   Are they ever ready?  They are infants at the helm of several tons of metal hurtling at alarming speeds over poorly paved roads surrounded by i...

When we moved from Marin to Arizona, I vowed that I would no longer give away my work.  If I picked up a chore, I would be paid for it. That didn't last very long.  I took on the newsletter for The Happy Ladies Club  after a lengthy skirmish over attending Board Meetings.  There was no one else.  Please?  Pretty please?  Pretty please with sugar on it and a cherry in the middle?  I was incapable of resisting the request.  The job was a pain in every body part, from my head through my heart to my butt, which grew tired of sitting while I formatted something that could be both digital and hard copy. I created and took on the Happy Ladies' care committee after I was perforated in 2011.  They were so good to me for 14 weeks, I felt an obligation to return the favors.  Over the last decade, though, setting up Meal Trains and sending condolence cards has become rote rather than rewarding.  There are others in the group who are lookin...

It's really hot. Triple digits hot. Barely a breeze, fry your skin, don't even think about walking barefoot hot. It's 107 0 hot..... at 6:17 in the evening.   I swam early this morning.  The water was a delightful 88 0 . The heater won't have much work to do today. I found the UV's sun shield last week; it had been hiding right in front of my feet for a year. I wondered about it, but I didn't miss it until a few days ago.   Why? I never left my car last summer, never came back to a steaming interior and a too hot to handle gear shift, never went anywhere that wasn't curbside or drive through.  Emotionally, this is much better.  Physically, I'm not so sure. After running around with the grandkids, my life feels sedentary.  Having to accomplish all the outside chores and activities before 10 in the morning is severely limiting, and the early evenings aren't  any more hospitable (cf paragraph 1, above).   After walking in India...

It's like putting on an old pair of slippers - every part knows exactly where to go. The kid worry drops neatly into place, right at the top of my head and next to my heart, right there in the middle of my breastbone. The husband worry sits below it, more gut-centric. They sit there, pulsing, squeezing my brain as I work to remove them, bit by tiny little bit or one big NO! at a time.  Albert Ellis gave me that trick after he did a one hour session with a mother and daughter on a stage in front of a room of social workers - and declared them cured.  After the somewhat awkward applause ended, he offered each one of us a free session, right there and then.   Just say NO! Really.  Well before Nancy Reagan, Albert Ellis told me that when those bad dumb stupid thoughts were overtaking my brain, all I needed to do was scream, out loud, NO!  and they would be gone.  Strangely, most of the time, it works. It's the anti-trigger, breaking the link between that l...

Elzbieta and I have been emailing about my participation in a longitudinal study on aging; today was my phone interview.  It was a lot more fun than I ever imagined.  Feel free to intersperse laughter.  We did. Right after saying that  We'll do the MRI screening first. she began listing diseases and conditions and maladies, one more dire-sounding than the next, a never ending recitation of all that could go wrong with the human body. Does this list get any happier?   Nope.  But don't worry, if you haven't heard of it you probably don't have it . Then on to foreign substances in my body. My hip - I knew the exact date without skipping a beat.  More metal, prostheses, piercings (which are apparently the jewelry itself, rather than the hole as I thought), pacemakers, hearing aids, cochlear implants, electrodes, electrode wires, shards of metal, had I ever worked in a metal plant, was I a welder..... it got weirder and weirder. Then, she got to the go...

Either my uncle or my cousin was born today.  The other one was born on June 6th.  I have never been able to remember who goes where on the calendar. There's an app for that, and I could use it.  But then I'd miss out on contacting one of my siblings and asking the question. On the app, all I'd get is the answer.  Via text or phone or email, I'll almost certainly get a story, too.  We'll bask in each other's company for a while, reliving old times that seem brighter as I age, and then go on about our lives. I've been thinking about this ever since Little Cuter gifted her father Yuval Noah Harari 's 21 Lessons for the 21st Century .  As described by the designated reader, it's a dystopian outlook on our future, where algorithms can do everything better than humans, leaving nothing productive for our species to do. I'm not sure that an algorithm can hug me as well as Little Cuter did last week.  It sounds like one of those boxy shaped robots ruling...

Little Cuter captured this at the end of our first day in Indiana.  Little Cuter captured this at the end of our first day in Indiana.  That's just how I feel at the end of our first day back in Arizona. Tomorrow,  I will be able to think. Right now, beyond describing my physical condition, I'm incapable of coherent thought. However, if you want to read some fabulous thoughts beautifully written by my friend, Marian Thurm,  I heartily recommend her new book -  The Blackmailer's Guide to Love.   You'll thank me,  I promise. 

Despite my best intentions to write yesterday, I was consumed with Giblet, and then FlapJilly came home from her first day of summer camp, and then it was time to eat another delicious dinner and tell jokes before the kids went to sleep and Little Cuter drove us to the airport. We were ridiculously early.  The TSA agent wasn't wearing a mask. Neither was anyone else in the nearly empty terminal, so we found a quiet corner and removed ours, as well. It was 9:15pm.  The plane wouldn't take off until 11:20...pm... Eastern Daylight Time. It was 2:40am in that time zone when we landed at Mesa-Gateway.   Our bodies were not amused.  Everything aches, on both of us.   The seats were narrower than they had any right to be, and they didn't recline.  The drop down table was teeny tiny and the raised seam down the middle made resting your arms and head down an interesting form of torture. For this, we paid money? - as G'ma would say. By the time we caught th...

The kids' garage sale was a a tremendous success.  Strangers and friends, Amish and bikers, day care owners and treasure hunters (stamps? coins? vinyl records?) perused the items strewn across the lawns and the driveway, collecting twenty-five cent sleep sacks and ten dollar juicers, filling the money aprons with dollars..... lots and lots of dollars. And there were stories, lots and lots of stories.  Most of them came from Little Cuter, who regaled the buyers with the history of every item sold until she listened to herself and tried to stop..... and found that she couldn't. And there was this story, which made my day.  I'll write it as I heard it: My daughter turned 5 just before kindergarten started; she's the youngest in her class.  Academics are not her thing. Her aunt asked her if she was making A's in school. Nope, she said with a smile, I'm making friends! That's a nugget I'll carry with me forever. 

While not many are wearing masks, everyone in Indiana seems to intuitively understand the concept of social distancing.  Shoppers stay respectfully away in the produce aisle.  Doors are held for me while standing as far from the opening as possible.  Park goers ask permission before they take the next swing. That wasn't the case when friends ventured out to a Marriott property in Northern California.   They'd been secluded for all of Pandemica.  She's immunocompromised and was unwilling to take any chances.  But there was a new baby and family they hadn't seen so he researched the policies of the various hotel chains and determined that Marriott, his usual choice, seemed the safest. He was sad to discover that reality was far from the ideal. In order to access the elevators, they had to cross the lobby.  That's the case in most hotels - you walk in the front door and cross to the reception desk, then waltz across the lobby to the elevators.  My fr...

South Bend was a dying community.  Mayor Pete turned the main street from an approach road to the highway to a pedestrian friendly shopping district, and downtown is now a destination.  He also created the most wonderful playground I've ever seen.  Soft ground over acres of accessible to everyone equipment,  none of which was too hot or too high or too scary,  all of which was just right.... for everyone.... even Grampa.  As Secretary Pete,  he's certainly the right man for reimagining our nation's infrastructure.  South Bend is the proof. 

Gramma had a boo-boo on her toe. Walking through the zoo would be a problem. Then Giblet asked if the boo-boo hurt.   Do you want a bandaid? I get you one right now. He ran upstairs to the bathroom  and returned holding a really cool one  which, after Mama opened the wrapper, he carefully applied to my pinky toe. Love comes in many forms. Sometimes it is simply sublime.