The Burrow

2/27/22  2:13pm I've been on this planet for 70 years and 12 hours.  It really doesn't feel that long at all... except when it feels like forever. I was born in the middle of the 20th century People born 100 years before me were teenagers during the Civil War.  That seemed like ancient history until very recently.  Since I've been considering the passage of time, decades compress and expand as I watch from the sidelines, bemused. Where did my 30's go?  I know there was more than diapers and play group, but I'm hard pressed to come up with an outfit (beyond maternity clothes - those I remember quite well) I loved or an event (beyond a few memorable Grateful Dead concerts) I attended.   My teens come back to me with the flick of a brain cell.  I remember how it felt and sounded as I opened my locker in the morning.  I close my eyes and I'm sitting in homeroom with all the other A's and a few B's, lucky enough to be in Mr. Jan's room (the basket...

He's been in and out of the garage many times since I changed out the pictures .  He has to walk past them on his way to the garage refrigerator, a trip he makes several times every day, seeking liquid refreshment and oblivious to the world around himself. He sees them when he sits down in the driver's seat and when he pulls back into the garage.  He ran a few errands today; he was in and out of his car. They were there when he took the garbage can, which lives on the perpendicular wall to the new pictures, out to the street. I'm not looking for credit for doing the work.  I'm not seeking praise for responding to his request the day after it was made.  Personally, I'm loving the change.  I don't miss the kid art at all (sorry, Cuters).   I'll keep you posted if/when he notices.   (I can't believe I milked two posts out of this.)

I had a post written and scheduled and was giggling on the couch to Leslie Nielsen in one of the inane but hilarious Police Squad movies (does it really matter which one?) with TBG when Big Cuter texted. Queen T was still working, so he wasn't going to interrupt her to tell her the news.   He was warning us not to text her about ..... something.   We changed the channel.   CNN told us residents of Kyiv reported hearing bombs.... or shells... or really loud noises accompanying flashes of light... or fires.... or explosions. Nope, there's no reason to tell her anything sooner than later.  There is absolutely nothing that she, nor anyone else we know, can do.  She's already worried about family and friends.  The current reality will only make it worse.   There will be time enough to cry and fret and scream at the heavens.  Letting her enjoy a few more moments of ignorance is all he can do for her.   It's more than we can...

Queen T's brother lives in Kyiv.  Do I need to say anything else to explain the title of this post?   We are following the news as best we can.  There is so much posturing and bloviating and posing with weapons of war that it's hard to separate facts from speculation. Who can read Putin's mind?  Certainly not anyone in this house. She doesn't want to call every day - she doesn't want to be a pest.  Yet she worries every day, wondering what's new, what's changing, what's happening.   There is nothing he can do to prevent an invasion.  There is nothing that she can do, either.  For a woman who prizes control, this is quite disconcerting.   She doesn't want to add to her brother's worries by letting on how upset she really is.  There's nothing he could do or say to make her feel any better.  Big Cuter's hugs are soothing.  Long phone conversations with Mom and Dad in Tucson remind her that she does not have to handl...

  This was first published in 2011.  Eleven years later, I still like it *****  Mary Ball Washington gave birth to a boy child on February 22, 1732. Unlike many of the stories surrounding this man (think cherry trees and coins across the Potomac and standing up in an open boat as it crossed the Delaware) this is an indisputable fact. Mary was not in labor on the third Monday of February.  She produced her child on a specific day - the 22nd day of February.  His birthday didn't move around with the vagaries of the federal holiday calendar. Nancy Hanks Lincoln met her second son, Abraham, on the 12th of this month.  Like Mrs. Washington before her, she was not in labor on an indeterminate day sometime in the middle of the month.  It occurred on a certain day, a day formerly commemorated by school children and mail carriers alike. Alas and alack, these fine gentlemen have been conflated into  Presidents  and their birthdays combined into a generic c...

I'm retiring from the Happy Ladies Club, and my leadership of the unit that provides get well and condolence and Meal Train support to members in need.  It's a club for newcomers; I've been here 16 years.  The group supported me through my darkest hours and I'm glad to have given back what was so generously offered.  But, I'm done.   I found a replacement and talked her through accepting the challenge.  I leave with no regrets. Tonight, there's a Homeowners' Association meeting. I joined the board several years ago, against my better judgment.  It's a no-win situation, as anyone who's ever served on such a board will most certainly agree.  But there was a gap and a need and the evidence was in front of my house so I became the Landscape Committee.   I then convinced Fast Eddie to assume the Presidency; he did so only with my assurance that I'd support him and stay on the Board.  I did.  It was COVID.  Others did the heavy ...

Two smiling second graders, proudly displaying their snails. On the right, FlapJilly's eyes and cocked head signal to those who know her that something is going on. This photo appeared on both the elementary school and the District's Facebook pages. Little Cuter shared it with her child, prepared to be proud and thrilled and excited at the recognition. Instead, she got laughter.  Lots and lots of laughter. Oh, Mom, can't you see??  I made little turds coming out of him!   That's exactly the kind of naughty a second grader ought to be. Needless to say, we are all very proud.

Are you tired of hearing about my PNC woes?  I am certainly tired of feeling them. I paid bills this morning  was thwarted in my efforts to pay my bills this morning.  I entered the amounts and the dates and clicked the SUBMIT button and there it was again - the red notice telling me that they were unable to process my bills at this time, glaring at me underneath every entry I'd made. Reluctantly, I called the customer service number.  Of course there was inane verbiage.  Of course there was unusual waiting at this time .... only this time it was unusual in that I only waited 5 minutes instead of 45 minutes or more. Of course, the service agent was nearly unintelligible.  She did, however, speak faster every time I said Excuse me, what was that?    She wanted to know why the notice was popping up.  Yes, in fact, she was asking me that question.  I reminded her that the reason I stated for my call was that red notice and PNC's seeming ina...

While some of them preferred a more active recess, others stepped right up and got into the spirit of the day. What started like this turned into this  with just a little bit of encouragement from Grandma Suzi. Even the football kids took time to send some love.  Some took their own sweet time, adding and taping and stamping  until it was just right.  Masks are optional outside; when the work became intense enough for the protection to slip, I took myself to the other end of the table. I didn't want to get sick, but I didn't want to interrupt the creative process.  Some stopped by to write a quick note on a folded piece of paper.  Some hung out with friends for all of recess.  There was lots of giggling.... unfortunately covered by masks.  Even the very sophisticated 8th graders participated.  This ended up on my knee, as the donor scooted away. I hope your day was as wonderful as mine. Listening to the scholars who knew me introduce me to those who didn...

💘  That arrow has always puzzled me.  I know it is Cupid's arrow.  I know it's supposed to shoot love into one's heart.  It just hurts me to look at it. 💓 That's a beating heart, which sends me straight to the emergency room, my heart palpitating out of control. 💗 That's two hearts in one, a kind of suffocating love that terrifies me. 💞 Circling hearts, chasing one another and never catching up - that's not my idea of love. 💕 Resting on one another, one supporting the other, one leaning into the other - that looks like love to me. 💖 Sometimes you are lucky enough to have stars in your heart, that fluttery feeling when everything is going just right. Those are all the hearts that Blogger has to offer.  From mine to yours, I'm sending love and hugs and big smiles your way.  Happy Valentines Day, denizens.

Doping reared its ugly head at the Olympics.  Once again, the Russians are drugging little girls, in this case ice skater Kamila Valieva.   I included her as one of the things that made me smile in yesterday's post, then watched the night time coverage and found out about the positive for a banned substance drug test she took before the Olympic games.  The potion took helped her heart work more efficiently, effectively making her more productive, less exhausted, able to practice longer and harder and perform feats of derring-do well into her routine, when other, less medicated skaters, might be tiring. She's 15 years old.  I have a hard time blaming her for anything. The Olympic Committee refused to let Russia participate under its own flag. That doesn't seem to hve made much of a difference - the doping is the same no matter what shade of lipstick you put on that pig. I'm surprised that I'm as surprised as I am.

The parts I'm enjoying: The families at home, crying and laughing and waving.   The mom who gestured for her daughter to pull down her mask so that she could see her medal winning smile. Nathan Chen twisting and landing and looking elegant in his tuxedo. Mikaela Shiffrin's mom going up the mountain to console her I can't believe I missed those gates  daughter. Trying to count the number of turns and flips on the extreme sports, while wondering what would possess someone to ski backwards down a steep slope, and then turn somersaults while clutching the edge of her skis. The snowboarders hugging the gold medal winner - not on their team, but who cares. The older athletes - 50 year old Claudia Pechstein,  Hanae Kubo at 39, 40-year-old snowboarders  Nick Baumgartner and skeleton racer Katie Uhlaender . Kamila Valieva, 15 years old and spinning and leaping on the ice with no fear. The views of the Gobi Desert from the top of the ski jump. What I'm not enjoying: I c...

I forgot to fill my gas tank before picking up Scarlet from her doctor's appointment.  The office is around the corner from my house.  She lives 11 miles away.  My gas gauge's range finder told me that I had 17 miles of fuel remaining.... about 1/2 a gallon.... and the car felt like it. There wasn't much weight.  A full tank, 12 gallons, weighs a little over 101 pounds.  My half gallon barely registered.  The car was sluggish and grumpy.  Perhaps it was my imagination, but we were both unhappy with me. As we approached her neighborhood, I had 8 miles left.  There were only 2 more to go before we reached her house, then 2 more back to the nearest gas station..... talk about running on fumes.... I was really pushing it. Scarlet assured me that she was not uncomfortable and wouldn't mind stopping to fill up The UV.  It was Speedway gas on both corners; not my favorite brand but I was not in a position to quibble.  I put in 3 gallons, the ga...

They flew by, the hours of Monday.  I did absolutely nothing that could be called productive, and yet, there they went I started a new book, and put it down.  Afterparties  was too melancholic, although fellow denizen, dkzody, and the book jacket called it heartwarming.   I stared at the pantry for longer than usual.  It needs to be emptied, cleansed and refilled with that which is used.  But that requires going up on a ladder and handing things down. It's really a two person job, and neither Queen T nor Little Cuter, my two organizing mavens, is here to help.  I could ask TBG, but I fear his solution would be to shove it all back in after we wiped down the shelves with a damp cloth.  Unfortunately, it needs much more than that. I considered stopping at Rillito .  My planters need freshening.  Unfortunately, the temperatures are still predicted to be very cold - too cold for nascent plants to sprout comfortably.  Plus, I wasn't...

Should I exercise or should I make banana bread? If I don't exercise, I won't be able to move with anything approaching a normal gait. On the other hand, I'm hungry.  I promised banana bread to Queen T and the bananas are not getting any younger.  Oh, and did I mention that I'm hungry.  Right now I'm in my nightgown (the long t-shirt cotton variety; this one rightly states :This is  my sexy lingerie).     The walk to the closet will be interesting - will I dress for success... which success.... my well-being or my well-being... both options speak to me, deeply.   I can taste the banana bread as I'm typing.  I can feel the strength coming back into my body as I sit straighter and organize my feet on the floor, a prelude to Pilates. What will I do?  I'm getting up right now and I'm still undecided.

Little Cuter and FlapJilly and SIR are all working from home today, each calmly taking care of business on their own computers (FlapJilly's teacher having sent hers home in anticipation of e-learning due to snow), snuggling on the couch, feeling warm and cozy...... when the first bug was noticed. There it was, and then there they were -  head lice, for the third time this year., crawling across FlapJilly's golden curls, the golden curls her mother had been leaning against just moments before. Into the shower they went, with special shampoo and a general agreement on the yucky and time consuming nature of the infestation.  I happened to call after FlapJilly's hair had been meticulously nit combed; Little Cuter told me her sorry tale as SIR nit picked her hopefully louse-free head. So, that's been my life.  I'm either at the office or washing everything she's touched. Yes,  agreed SIR.  It's your work/lice balance. We were pretty proud of him for that one.

The recently fired coach of the Miami Dolphins football team, Brian Flores, is suing the NFL and the teams individually.   No matter the validity of his allegations, that fact is amazing, in and of itself.   The accusations, on the other hand, are not surprising.  Not to me, anyway.   He says the owners are racists, hiring white guy after white guy for the front office and as head coaches, despite the league being 70-some percent men of color, despite those men having greater qualifications and more experience and, statistically, winning more games than their whiter colleagues.   He says their posturing about inclusivity is a sham.  He has a text from Bill Belichick to prove it. He also says that the owner offered him $100,000 for every game he lost.  The initial reaction was tanking  - losing on purpose to end up at the bottom of the standings, thus getting a chance at a number one draft pick in the following year.  Anot...

Giblet left his shoes at day care today.  It doesn't matter, according to his maternal unit, because whether he stays home or goes there, he's wearing the boots he came home in. FlapJilly's school is closed for the snowfall expected tomorrow.  Little Cuter was told to work at home and stay warm and safe.   I worried about driving Giblet, about SIR working out in the world, with such bad weather.  This is Indiana, Mom.  We deal with it. We have a Severe Weather Alert here too.  Below freezing temperatures are predicted overnight.  Precautions are urged. Here are my precautions: You saw the plants beneath them on Monday.  I want to be able to see them tomorrow morning. We deal with it, too.

Little Cuter bought 1 gallon black plastic pots for her plants.  She cuts and roots and plants and gives them away; folks lined up to take her donations at the last Plant Sale.  Giblet, however, had other plans for them this afternoon. Whatcha doin', buddy? she asked, as he unstacked them and lined them up on the kitchen floor. The answer was swallowed by his pacifier and his distance from the phone.  We watched in FaceTime wonder as he, rather than straightening the line, left it squiggly as a caterpillar as he ran into the playroom. Where're ya goin', kiddo?  she asked when he didn't return immediately.   Our questions were answered - first with his hammer.   I have to bang them.  And, he did. Then he was gone again.   Are you leaving them in the middle of the kitchen floor, Giblet?    The answer was obvious when he returned with the plastic razor from his toy bathroom-like-Dad-set. I have to shave them.  And he did...