The Burrow

Little cousin love.  Swimming in December.  We've hiked and gone to the trampoline park and had Boba Tea.  The girls got pedicures while the boys watched football.  We've gone out for breakfast and eaten Big Cuter prepared dinners.  Life is good. I hope it is where you are, too. 

Sending love and smiles and bright wishes for a wonderful day. 

I didn't plan it that way. I had high hopes of posting every day. The visitors in my house were not going to deter me from my responsibility to you,  my readers.  Unfortunately, Honey Bunny is much more engaging and time consuming than I anticipated.  She's awake in the late afternoon.  That's when I usually type to you.  At night,  there are stimulating conversations with her parents,  sitting outside under the stars.   My heart is full.  I can't kvetch about the Lying Liar or the United States' Supreme Court. I can't put together a coherent set of paragraphs about the Colorado Supreme Court.  I can't even formulate silly sentences about Supreme and what it means.  Those thoughts are in my head.  They are banished as soon as I see this face.  So,  I will apologize once again,  but this time without a promise to be as diligent as I have been since The Burrow began in 2009. That's a long time with...

I spent the day holding the most delightful bundle of energy.  Watching her wrestle with an empty 16.9 ounce plastic water bottle had both of us laughing.  She's no longer flinging it.  She's grasping it firmly around the middle and bashing it onto the bedspread.  Over and over and over again, switching hands and grips, sometimes using her newly acquired pincer motion to hold onto the (tightly secured) cap, she fascinated herself and her audience until she needed to stand up and use her legs.   My son made a delicious dinner with minimal mess, and there's still some of Amster's rum cake on the counter for a lovely dessert.  I'm not thinking about loading up on sugar and alcohol the day before I have fasting labs because really, who schedules such a thing at this time of year?   I'm not thinking about why the doctor wanted to redo the labs in three months.  I'm just not in the mood. I'm having an exhaustingly wonderful time.  My fami...

I had the rant all planned out.  It was pithy and thoughtful, if I do say so myself.  Unfortunately, technology brought the whole process to a screaming halt. Big Cuter found a machine for $199.  Apparently, without needing super powerful graphics (my Solitaire and Wordle games are fine with a plain processing chip.... or something like that) computers are stupid cheap.  I was surprised and delighted, gave him my credit card, and his magic fingers secured the device.   After a lovely evening on the couch watching  The Awful Truth ,  he and Queen T made a shopping run to Wally World to pick it up.  They came back with baby bibs, an ugly Christmas sweater, a doll that crawls and spouts gibberish in a baby's voice (more on this in another post), and my beautiful, new computer. I plugged it in the next morning, certain that I could set it up myself.  After the first deep inhale and the moan that followed the exhale, my son was at my shoulder...

I did get to go to the last session of my Dr. Zhivago class.  All five of us did go out for dinner al fresco.  Big Cuter did some research and discovered an appropriate replacement for the dear,  departed Lenore. What didn't happen was going to Walmart to buy the be computer.  What didn't happen was setting it up.  And what obviously didn't happen was writing the blog I've been stewing over for the last two days.  Rather than try to rant on my phone's little keyboard,  I'm going to bask in the glow of the Hanukkah lights and lean back on the Christmas pillows covering the couch while I do today's Wordle and Spelling Bee and digest my dinner.  I'll try again tomorrow. 

Because there is nothing else going on in a house with two working parents,  two grandparents, a baby, and a pig, my computer decided to die.  I didn't drop her.  No on be else remembers her falling.  Yet she's separated from her base and cannot be charged.  Big Cuter, my resident Guru for all things electronic, says replacing her will be less expensive than repairing her.  He will go with me later this afternoon to shop.  So,  for now,  my thoughts about everything will have to wait until I can use a real keyboard and not my phone.  Have a wonderful day,  full of joy and laughter.  Avoid kerfuffles if you can. 

There was a walk to Barnes and Noble on our schedule today.  Grandma had Pilates and an oil change for The UV and a quick stop for a dozen donuts on the way home. Grandma fell asleep instead of writing a blog post.  Child care is exhausting.  Posting requires more brain power than I have right now.  Tomorrow there will be many pithy thoughts for you.  Right now,  though,  I'm going to finish my nap.

Ever since Scarlett died and I no longer spent Sunday afternoons playing mah jong at her house, football has been the backdrop to the day.  I pay attention to the Jets (homage to Daddooooo, who loved them, hapless though they were) and to the 49ers because Big Cuter is obsessed, but I find the whole thing quite easy to ignore. Now that Queen T and Honey Bunny are here, my weekends are singing another tune. There are long walks and gardening (the baby is a great companion, if not much actual help). There is brownie making with my assistant resting comfortably on a super soft blanket, mouthing measuring spoons and making noise with the baking trays.  There are lazy hours watching the wind play with the leaves on the trees, listening to the pool filter, watching the chlorine dispenser make its rounds.  It's quite exciting when it comes our way. And today, we took a road trip.   I forgot how much you need to pack when you travel with someone whose bodily functions a...

Grandma was on the phone, the new fangled phone that no one else on the neighborhood owned.  She was adjusting her hat, getting ready to go out somewhere with someone, when she heard the news. Her President declared WAR.  She wanted to serve but her parents begged her not to go; her brother had been conscripted and they were terrified of losing both their kids.  She caved, didn't become a WAC, and regretted it for the rest of her life. I was walking across the hall between classes when the rumor mill reached me.  By the time I got to Mr. Quinlan's math class, the Principal was on the loudspeaker, announcing that our President had been shot and killed.    School let out early.  Grandma was crying as she drove us home.  She told us that we would remember where we were when we heard the news.  She was right. I was watching tv with TBG on October 7th, the day Hamas began to exterminate the Jews.  That's the organzation's stated purpose....

Honey Bunny's presence in my house is prompting many changes in our lifestyle. She's neither an early riser nor a cranky sleeper.  Her father was both.  She takes scheduled naps (whatever happened to never wake a sleeping baby?) and wakes up smiling and happy to see whoever bends over the Pack 'N Play to extricate her.   She's supposed to get a certain amount of calories from a certain amount of breast milk each and every day.  There is a vast supply - newly pumped and frozen.  The frozen is taking over our freezers. Her father and their Audi transported a cooler full of already frozen milk; the colorful bags fill the garage fridge's freezer. The oldest bags are defrosted and used as new bags are pumped and added.  It's a system which includes a never ending cycle of reorganizing and redistributing the food which formerly lived in the cccccold.   I don't have much to do with the process.  I watch in awe.   My only resonsibility...

Toward the end of her life, G'ma's appetite waned.  One small chicken cutlet was enough for both lunch and dinner.  How can four bites be enough for you? became a commonplace comment.  Her response never varied; Where will I put the rest of it? Now, as TBG and I explore the changes our eighth decade of life is bringing, we're finding ourselves following the same path.  A mini sandwich from Jersey Mikes  is more than enough for lunch.  We share one steak for dinner, accompanied by eight green beans each.  What has my life become when I'm counting the beans in the grocery store so we don't waste them at home?

The 49'ers defeated the Eagles this afternoon.  For most humans, this is of passing interest, if any at all.  In my house, though, it's a different story.  The television and the living room have been reserved for the game and nothing else.  As the 9'ers scored and scored and scored, the noise level rose and rose and rose.   Honey Bunny and I spent the afternoon outside and on the floor in the kitchen, considering the possibilities inherent in measuring cups and spoons. Everyone was happy. ***** Queen T spent the day dealing with a Verizon-Store-From-Hell and its equally inhospitable sales people.  After 4 hours over 2 sessions she still doesn't have her new phone.  She's uncertain if her order has actually been cancelled or if her upgrade is still valid.  She's been home for 90 minutes; she's still vibrating. ***** We tried to order dinner, once the baby's sleep schedule precluded going out.  Our first choice is closed on Sundays, which...

  Linda's comment  on yesterday's post  got me thinking.  As I replied to her,  I often think about the grown ups I admired as a kid. Mrs. Kleiner, my 4th grade teacher, who was on her fourth career when we met.  She was a scientist.  She was engaging and funny and thoughtful and kind.  Mostly, I remember that I wanted to be her when I grew up.   I wanted to be a person who did many things and who loved them all.  I wanted to learn something new every day.  I wanted to be happy in my work.  She was all of those things.  They felt right to me then and still do, today.   There was Patty's mom, the Playground Lady.  That was her title.  For me, she was a sanctuary.  Kids were not nice to me sometimes.  There was no place to hide.  I'd have been happy in a corner with a book, but that wasn't an option.  A big piece of Grandma's Garden springs from that feeling.  No one will bot...

The House is debating the expulsion of one of its members.  His name might be George Santos. It might be something else.  The Federal Government has just issued 10 more charges against him.  All the lies,  dissembling, and trash talk seem to have finally caught up with him.  It's taken a long time.  The Lying Liar wants that same Federal Government to sue MSNBC for lying about him.  He wants their license to be revoked.  He thinks that trashing a law clerk, on the other hand, is protected speech. Confusing? You are not alone.  I'm spending less time watching the news since the baby came to visit,  so the focal points shine a little more brightly.  The glare is burning my brain. There's angst in the air, as a Government shut down looms large on the horizon.    I'm lucky to have a wonderful distraction.  How much of your lunch ended up on your cheeks?

There are lots of wonderful girls in my life these days. One of them is living in my house.   Notice the very intelligent piggy skulking beneath the high chair.  She knows that Honey Bunny takes great delight in flinging her food after she's had a suck or two on whatever Mommy decided was kid-friendly enough to try.  Lettuce (the rib not the leaves) was a big hit for both of them last night. But there are bigger girls who bring me joy, too.   I snuck away for a couple of hours yesterday to visit Grandma's Garden.  The green buckets in our hanging garden are starting to sprout seedlings.  From the delighted cries of Grandma LOOK!  It's growing!!!  to our shared wonder at the magic contained in a tiny seed, it was a pretty wonderful morning. Not everyone was content to admire the seedlings, though.  There was a major redecorating project taking place, centered on the painted stones made by the 4th grade earlier this year....

There's a lot going on around here.  65 degrees is chilly for our baby, who had fun watching Grandma gardening.... instead of blogging. A real piggy back ride was amusing for all of us, even for Grandma, who should have been blogging.  I'll figure it out.  For now,  though,  I'll have to beg your indulgence for posts that are delayed. I'll be here everyday. I promise.  I just don't know when. 

Hanukkah begins early this year.  Thanksgiving was early this year, too.  By a fortuitous set of calendar connected circumstances there's a week between turkey and December, and another week before the celebration of the Maccabee's victory over the desecrators of the Temple.  There's a whole month of weeks before we celebrate a baby's birth. There will be more written about the Hanukkah.  The history resonates.  But, for now, I'm concentrating on my own annual commemoration - not of partisans over occupiers and the oily miracle that happened there, not of a woman laboring in a manger, but of the people I've connected to over the years. The Brownie List started when I left Chicago and the women with whom I raised my children.  Those were connections I couldn't sever.  I gifted them all stationary (there wasn't email in 1992) which none of them ever used to communicate with me.  I did the same thing when I left Marin in 2006, with the same result....

The dishes are washed and I didn't do them.  Costco made the pie. Big Cuter opened and poured the prosecco.  It's 5pm and life is good.

2006 With Seret and Mr. DreamyCakes, their family and ours. A mini-reunion for our kids. A hug fest for the grown-ups. Sending all the love and all the happiness your way, today and always. I am infinitely grateful and thankful for your presence in my life.

Can you find it?  Our Super Sweet 100s have taken over the raised bed.  There are lots of green tomatoes.  There are lots of flowers which will turn into tomatoes.  We've been waiting and waiting for them to ripen. Here's a hint.  Were your eyes sharp enough? Theirs were.  I took the sharp secateur and cut our first harvested tomato into 6 pieces.  They weren't very big pieces,  but they were big enough to taste sweet and juicy and thumbs-up good. We have high hopes for a huge harvest after the holiday break.   I'll keep you posted.

The death of the irrigation system in the heat of the summer was the end of the roses I've tended through the years.  There are stalky remnants of the beautiful bushes, but cutting them back reveals nothing that looks healthy.  I'll wait until January to cut them back further, and hope that there is some hope, but I'm not hopeful. Rillito Nursery 's annual rose sale tempted me with this lovely specimen.  It has big white blossoms and a luscious scent.  I potted it outside our bedroom window for maximum viewing potential.  Apparently, it was also in maximum dining potential for LiLou.  She munched on the leaves.  I was surprised but not upset.  But then she took more drastic steps. She bit off off a burgeoning blossom, Something had to be done.  After an hour or so of wrestling with a variety of supplies from my potting shed, Queen T and I managed to construct a protective barrier. We are waiting for the porcine predator to venture outside to ...

As winter break approaches, college students begin to make plans for the summer.   Mr. 20, now a junior at the University of Arizona, is one of them.  He's majoring in something related to health sciences and nutrition, the exact title of which escapes me.  It's the perfect area of study for a young man who has always treated his body as a temple.  He doesn't drink or do drugs or party; last Saturday night he sat in the sauna and then the cold plunge pool with Amster before going to the UofA basketball game.  There was no carousing on either end. He traveled to Italy this summer with family and friends.  While others ate leisurely breakfasts, he was working out in the local gym.   He's looking for an internship in the supplements, wellness, or exercise related fields.  He's been wise with his investments and his earnings; he could work for free (although I am not advocating that in the least). We've exhausted our contacts.  I offere...

We've been hosting the girls for 36 hours. We're exhausted. There is a reason women age out of childbearing.   I have always respected those older relatives who take in needy grandkids.  Right now, respect has blossomed into awe. I'm going to sleep now.  My fingers are barely moving across the keyboard.  My brain has only feeding schedules and nap schedules and bottle warming instructions and stroller security and......... Good night.

She was a trouper on the plane.  The roomier seat in business class made a big difference.  The cost to check two suitcases was just a little bit less than a seat in Business Class; she spent the extra $30 and didn't think twice. Take-off and landing were bumpier than the little one expected, but her mommy giggled and set everything right in the world again.  They both napped a little.  They were both very glad to see Grandma at the airport.   We spend most of our time interacting via video calls.  I wonder what her brain made of the fact that my face was actually right there, breathing the same air, touch-able and smell-able and ready for hugs (as soon as I sanitized my hands, of course). We wrangled the stroller-cum-carseat, three loose bags, 2 giant wheeled suitcases, a blanket and a sweater and who knows what else to The UV, parked in the very first row but a loooong way down.  It was next to the sidewalk, so we weren't worried about being run...

The high chair and full coverage bib are cleansed and ready to go. Today, the rest of the supplies arrived.   I turned into an early elf, sorting it all out.   There's so much more - diapers and a mattress pad for the Pak-N-Play my friend's teenage daughter slept in as a baby, sheets for that mattress and a dozen white muslin cloths because this kid slobbers. There was an arts and crafts project, with directions only a dedicated grandmother would take the time to decode.  By some miracle, my non-geometrical mind figured out that there were tops and bottoms and rights and lefts.  The instructions were of minimal help.   It may seem like a lot.  But they are going to be here for two months.  That's a lot more time than the vacation I referenced when a friend asked me, 30 plus years ago, if I had a good time: It was all the work, without my changing table.

I arrived at the courthouse early, of course.  I walked through the courtyard which a tv reporter asked me questions.  I walked up the steps TBG helped me up when we went for the sentencing hearing.  I went through the security checkpoint I'd wheeled through over a decade ago. Over a decade ago.  I thought the panic would have eased up by now.  Apparently not.  By the time I got to the elevator, I was back in my own personal space, remembering what happened and how it felt and what it looked like when the corridor was filled with reporters and various hangers-on. It didn't help that the Jury Assembly Room was named after Judge John Roll, whose death led to one of the 7 life sentences our shooter received.  Walking (not limping) into the same courtroom I'd entered eleven years and five days ago, I was impressed by the fact that the lawyers and the defendant and the judge's staff all stood as we entered.  It was a show of respect.  It impressed...

I was excited to be called.  I was interested in the case as it was explained in one of the numberous emails I received over the course of the last month or two.  I thought I could be a fair judge. All that changed when I received the juror packet.  Along with my bacge and lots of instructions, there was parking information.   Parking in the same garage we used when the shooter was on trial.  Going through the same security screening that left me shaking in my wheelchair, for no reason at all except the whole place felt awful.  Sitting in a courtroom where another man may end up in a little box for the rest of his life, tied to me forever. I just don't know if I can do it.   I thought I could.  I was prepared for the reaction I might have.  I've been talking to myself about it for the last week.  But as the emails and phone calls kept coming in, advising me that the judge expected to see me at 8:15 on Monday, my anxiety moved f...

Today's a day to say  THANK YOU  to someone who served, or to someone who is wearing the uniform right now.   It's the least we can do. And, perhaps, observe a moment of silence at 11am,  when the shooting stopped forever.........   the first time. ***** That's the post I  usually publish on November 11th.  If you're interested, this is what I wrote for  2011  and what I wrote in  2018 .

The polls were wrong.  Americans do like their freedoms.  We like to choose our own medical care options.  We like to choose our own vices.  We don't like having to ask the government's permission to enjoy those freedoms.   The Republican Party, dominated as it is by the Lying Liar and his minions, is making a lot of noise on the other side of that argument.  The mainstream media presents their rantings and ravings as if the blather were worth hearing.   The rock hiding all that hate and distrust and anti-democratic christo-fascist rhetoric was overturned when the Lying Liar announced his candidacy for President.  After that, the answer to the pollster's question - Is America headed in the right direction? - was decidedly no. It stayed that way all through his Presidency.  I was despondent. When YouGov asked me that question it was easy to answer.  We were racing away from what I thought of as America.   When they ask...

Little Cuter sent me some recent photos of Giblet.  This is the transcript of the accompanying text thread  GRANDMA : That face.  Those cheeks. And a non-cheesy smile!! So handsome.  (not cute, he told me emphatically) Little Cuter:  💗   NOT CUTE OR BEAUTIFUL GRANDMA: Yes, I was told.  But the gel in his hair.... Little Cuter:  💗 GRANDMA ; What about gorgeous? Little Cuter:   I'll try it.            a minute or so passed Little Cuter:  Handsome ONLY GRANDMA:  🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣   I can't stop laughing. Little Cuter:  Apparently GORGEOUS is for girls..... we'll tackle that issue at a later date....   

Students from the UofA's  School Garden Workshop , led by My Garden Guru, Moses Thompson,  descended from the heavens last Friday.  Like  angels, they solved a problem and left the world a better place.  I received the  grant from the USDA  and found malfunction in possession of an irrigation system and 50 buckets.  The instructions were a mystery to me.  Worse still,  they were a mystery to Not-Kathy,  my go to fix- it person.  A pitiful email or two brought a team of students and mentors to Grandma's Garden. They did the thinking and the planning and the pushing of tiny prongs into equally fine holes There was measuring and checking and double checking.  They installed a two tiered drop irrigation system. It took them two hours.  I spent zero hours agonizing over it.   That afternoon,  the scholars got to work. Fill a watering can with soil.  C...

There are a few truths which have never failed me.  Halloween costumes must meet three requirements: the wearer must be able to run, sit, and eat.  Clearly, the cardboard and duct tape and bungee cord robot Daddooooo and Big Cuter concocted one year failed on all counts, even with the bendable arms and knees.   After that disastrophe, my family began to accept them and act accordingly.  At tree trimming time there are two options, and only two options.  You can help.  You can compliment.  There is no in between.  Many a holiday has been saved by the loving repetition of that mantra. And then there's this one, which I demonstrated in real time to Queen T last January:  Always wait one more day before you pack the boxes.  There is always something you missed.  Always.   This is what our glass table looked like today. It's a lot fuller than when I started.  Following my truth,  I didn't pack it up r...

They were 2 for $7 in the closeout area of the fruit department this afternoon.   There were many bruised berries in many plastic containers, but I managed to secure a container that was filled with rosy red specimens and no mold.  I washed them and started taking off the tops when I realized just how large the leaves are. I had to stop and take a picture to share with you.   Seriously, have you ever seen them this full of vigor?  The leaves are the engines of the plant, and these big boys are doing their job. I've gone through most of the rest of the container since I took this photo.   I'm off to finish the rest.  Have a wonderful weekend, denizens.

At first glance, I was pleasantly surprised.  Omar Sharif is listed in the middle of the second page of the opening credits.  Eponymous, yes., but I'm not sure that Zhivago is the most interesting character in the novel.  I'm not even sure that it's a book about him at all. Then, again, I had so much trouble figuring out who was who (more often than I was willing to admit until the professor told us that this novel has more characters than War and Peace) that I may be entirely wrong. The book comes together in the end.  All loose ends are tied up.  The surprise near the end is really not a surprise if you've been following who was where when and how they got there.  Unfortunately, my detecting skills were not up to the task, except in hindsight. I didn't mind; it made the reveal all the sweeter.  You can imagine how I felt when the movie opened with the secret.   It got worse from there.  Individually the actors were wonderful, but they ...

Halloween in Indiana Hope your holiday was filled with love and candy.

As I have for the last 41 years, I'll be wearing my green hair. In one picture, Honey Bunny looked like this and then, she looked like this and then there are some in the pumpkin which we are keeping within the family for the sake of modesty.  You'll have to trust me on this, but she's an adorably chunky pumpkin. There's a Taylor Swift and a Mandalorian in Indiana.  Today at Prince there were kitty ear headbands and several sports stars and lots of orange t-shirts with various Halloween iconography in black or sparkles and sometimes both. The real event happens tomorrow.  There are announcements taped up all over campus. Welcome to Halloween 2023.   No weapons allowed. The Afghan twins don't need to be retraumatized by their classmates' accesssories.   And apparently the grown ups need to be reminded to leave their weaponry at home, too.  Even at 8 in the morning.