Santos, The Lying Liar, and A Baby

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?

Girls!

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.  The stones move around from raised beds to the mandarin orange tree to the buckets on the fence, depending on the whims of the scholars that day.  

The tree stump sits there, haplessly allowing itself to be chalked and water painted and climbed upon.  (I hate Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree; I see no resemblance here at all.)  Yesterday, it was the site of the creation of a Rock Garden (capital letters, please).

There were others involved in its design.  They were too engrossed in shifting the tiny scarecrows and pumpkins from one bucket to another to pose for a picture.  I moved myself to the left and had four scholars who were happy to share themselves and their creation with you.

I've said it before and I'll say it again:  it is impossible to be sad when kids are smiling at you.  I highly recommend it as an inexpensive form of therapy.

I Was Distracted

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. 

And So It Begins

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.  

I refused to lose contact with those who had filled my life with joy and adventures and advice and love.  A simple Happy Holidays card would not be enough to maintain those connections; a card with a short note can easily be smiled at and forgotten.  But if I bake and package and ship you brownies, a more serious response is called for.  

And so, The Brownie List was created.  Not-Kathy says the holidays don't start until my brownies arrive; she and Dr K have been on the list since its inception.  She understands the rules - if you don't connect with me after the contents have been consumed (or frozen for future delectability) you're off the list.  There's a one year grace period before your name is stricken, but that's it.

It works.

The list is now four pages long.  People understand the procedures.  Every year I am the recipient of heartfelt thank you's and details that aren't included in a pre-printed Happy Holidays photograph adorned card. It's my way of maintaining long distance relationships, and it works.

Sunday was a day for baking and wrapping and printing out 17 USPS labels .

Monday is a day for packing and shipping the first installment of Hanukkah goodies (once I pick up bubble wrap).  

my shadow and supplies

Using a medium size priority mail box adds many extra dollars (thank you,Mr. DeJoy, for not adding a holiday surcharge this year) to an already pricey endeavor. Hence, the bubble wrap.  Layer upon layer protects the treats, and my friends receive a bulgy envelope, a package which brngs laughter all on its own.

There will be pans of brownies in the kitchen from now until the first of the year.  Those are free game to anyone passing through, unless they are already in their pretty packaging.  Touching those brings the wrath of the Brownie Fairy down upon the miscreant's head.  

It's all consuming.  It's my favorite time of the year.

Afterwards

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.

Happy Thanksgiving

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.

A Surprise in Grandma's Garden

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.

Porcine Pecadillo

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 see if our efforts have been successful.  

I'll keep you posted.

A Want Ad

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 offered to reach out this way.

If you have any suggestions, an email to ashleighattheburrow@gmail.com will be greeted with gratitude.

It takes a village.....

And because you were kind enough to read Mr. 20's request, I'm sharing a little bit of the intergenerational joy that's going on around here.

Life is good.  I'm so glad you are sharing it with me.

Yawn

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.

Let The Babysitting Begin!

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 down by one of Tucson's elderly errant drivers, most of whom decided to pick this afternoon to visit the hourly parking at the airport.

No, don't wait for this spot.  We're changing the baby and arguing with the carseat installation and then we have to load up all the gear.  It's going to take a while.

By the time we joined one another in the front seats, Queen T and I were beat.  And we were hungry.  Recognizing this as verging on the Danger, Will Robinson zone, we drove through In-and-Out before we hit the highway towards home.  

TBG was waiting in the garage as the door went up.  Yes, he was glad to see us.  He took Honey Bunny for a snuggle on the couch.  The car was unloaded, the pak-n-play moved to the windowless closet (rather than setting up the blackout curtains in what will be her room), and with not too much fuss and bother the youngest and the oldest took naps.

It's going to a wonderful visit.

She's Coming

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.

Excused

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 upon me the seriousness of the whole affair, and the value the participants placed on those of us joining them in the judging.  

It was humbling.  

The judge introduced himself and his staff, including the US Attorneys who would be trying the case.  He explained the process, including the why's and when's so that there would be no confusion.  He asked if anyone was feeling ill, and the man wearing the face mask raised his hand.  After describing his symptoms (coughing, sneezing, negative COVID test) the judge thanked him for wearing a mask and excused him from service.

Then he asked if anyone knew someone in the US Attorney's office.  Up went my hand.  

Who did I know?  The lead prosecutors on my case.

Did I recognize that they were not involved in this case?  Sure did, but I had to acknowledge the very fine job they did in convicting the person who shot Judge Roll and Gabby and me.

Did I think I could render a fair verdict after hearing the evidence?  My voice was shaking as I admitted that, in spite of guilt or innocence, I feared that I would be unable to decide that another young man would spend the rest of his life in a cell.  I told him that I am haunted by the fact of the shooter in a box.  I just didn't know if I could do it again.

He listened impassively, even as deep breaths were drawn by those around me.  

"Given that you feel you will be unable to judge this case without bias, I will excuse you from service at this time."

I walked out, down the hallway where I met Brenda Starr for the first time, and I smiled. There were some very wonderful moments that happened when our trial was going on, and collecting a new friend is certainly one of them.  

But, I'm not unhappy to be removed from that space.  I've spent much too much time going over it in my head.  I don't need a daily reminder.  I'm glad I escaped.

I don't think I shirked my civic duty.  I think I did what was best for me and for the system. 

Jury Duty

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 from the back burner to my entire being.

I'm not sleeping well.  My heart is in my throat most of my waking hours.  I'm afraid of repercussions from the accused's cohorts.  I don't want to look him in the eye.  I don't want that connection.  

How can I possibly be unbiased?  How can I possibly pay attention when my brain is in full on panic mode?

I really thought I could do this.  I've changed my mind as reality sets in.  I hope the judge understands.  

Veterans Day

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.

They Are Asking An Unanswerable Question

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 asked again as the MAGA rhetoric rose ascendent early in President Biden's term, I answered yes as a show of support for him.  I thought American was on a terrible path, but Joe Biden was doing what he could to turn the tide.  

I meant it to be spun as pro-Biden.  But someone who was certain that the MAGA agenda was finally triumphant might also have said yes. 

It's essentially a very bad question.  Yet I couldn't stop considering it.  How would I answer?  What did I really feel?  How bad is it?  Am I under- or over- estimating Americans' desire to keep our republic? 

But then Americans started voting.  Kansas and Ohio and Virginia and Kentucky championed reproductive freedom and access to marijuana.  Book banning Moms 4 Liberty school board candidates, including Justice Scalia's daughter, lost in overwhelming numbers.

Do I think America is going in the right direction, now?  

I could answer yes, with a clear conscience. 

But our ability to have rational conversations across the political divide is on the verge of extinction.  The new Speaker of the House holds some fairly frightening beliefs.  The Lying Liar is ahead in the Republican race to the White House, despite 91 indictments.  

We are as fractured as we were from Civil Rights to Viet Nam.  But George Wallace was never elected President and LBJ didn't run for re-election.  No one was contending that there were alternative facts.  Republican leadership showed Nixon the door, not the nomination.

So the question is really more about feelings than reality.  Before Tuesday's election results, I was leaning toward no.  I was losing faith in Americans

According to Jerome Powell, the United States economy has recorded the highest growth rates of all major economies, yet according to those polls most Americans think the economy is in terrible shape.  That makes me wonder about the intellectual capabilities of the voting public. Here in Arizona, the Superintendent of Education is running ads touting his voucher program, diverting funds from the public schools .... funds which the voters authorized .... and I seem to be the only one who's noticed or is upset about this blatant attempt to undermine public education because an educated public is a fascist's worst nightmare.

But then Tuesday happened.  I feel pretty good about America right now, if anybody's wondering.

The Mind of a Five Year Old

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....  

A Hanging Garden

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. 

Choose a bucket and fill it. 

Plant 2 kinds of seeds: carrots, nasturtiums, beets, lettuce, or quinoa. Everything is edible; it's a requirement of the grant. 

 

Much to the scholars' dismay,  nothing grew overnight.  Their disappointment was palpable.  They didn't help the situation by drowning their buckets in water, despite my reminders that Plants are not fish.  Seeds do not swim. 

We are works in progress.  

A Truism

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 right away. 

The second morning, I found these in the kitchen drawer.

The next day I noticed this sweatshirt folded neatly in a cubby inmy closet.

The powder room floral arrangement caught my eye the next evening, right after I assured TBG that I was sure I had everything.

I waited another day, and found this in the laundry.

I really and truly think I'm done this time.  Tomorrow morning I'll bring the storage box into the house.  I won't put anything into it until the next day.

There are some things in life which have proven themselves to be true.  Life is much simpler if you just go with the flow.

The Last Strawberries of the Season

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.

Reading the Book/Watching the Movie

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 never seemed to connect with one another.  That may be a result of the script, which left out any of the novel's connective tissue.  Without the why, the what became a mystery.  What in the novel is poignant, in the film is banal (when it's not incomprehensible).

On the other hand, I noticed in the final credits that Omar Sharif's son, Tarek, played the young Zhivago.  That made me smile.

When it comes down to it, the movie does Boris Pasternak's only novel a tremendous disservice.  According to the ereader, the novel took me 14 hours to read.  IMDB lists Dr. Zhivago at 3 hours and 19 minutes.  

The movie felt longer.

Why I Live in Tucson

Halloween in Indiana

Hope your holiday was filled with love and candy.