Where To Shop

I need a watering can.  Not a fancy decorated metal can with a filter in the nozzle, just an ordinary plastic watering can that I can use to supplement the irrigation when the winds blow and the temperatures heat up.  I also need a new garden hose.

Normally, in the olden days, before DEI and FFOTUS, I'd stop by Home Depot or Lowes or Target or Amazon and the problem would be solved.  But now, with corporations beholden only to stockholders and businesses capitulating to the whims of a deranged agenda, I'm voting with my dollars.  

I haven't been in Target since they caved and removed the Gay Pride display from the front of my local store.  Home Depot and Lowes lost me when they caved on DEI.  Jeff Bezos doesn't need any more of my cash; weaning myself from Amazon is difficult but doable.

I went to Ace Hardware but they had nothing that fit the bill.  I went to the nursery, but didn't want to spend $40 on a fancy can or over $100 on a contractor's grade hose.  

It's a quandary that has yet to be resolved.  But there are other places to shop for most things, and I had two lovely experiences with that this week.  

The first was the wording from Costco, when activist shareholders wanted them to remove DEI from the workplace.  The board said it "has considered this proposal and believes our commitment to an enterprise rooted in respect and inclusion is appropriate and necessary."

I don't have to feel guilty about rotisserie chicken or roses or my garden supplies if they have them.

The second was walking into Dicks Sporting Goods on Monday to buy SIR the sneakers he wants for his birthday.  I was greeted with a big, colorful poster standing in the entryway.  There were many words but the intent was clear - the world is made up of a variety of people and you are all welcome here.

\I felt very good about spending those birthday dollars.

Acting on principle is difficult.  It probably doesn't matter in the case of one woman in Arizona deciding not to go to Target.  But foot traffic is down and so are their profits, so I'm obviously not the only one using my spending to make a point.

If only I could find what I need where I want to buy it.  

Something Is Not Right

I had to complete the paperwork for GRIN.  It was due in February but time got away from me.  There's no financial penalty for a late filing so I wasn't anxious when I opened the on-line link and began to click on boxes.

Names, addresses, titles were all current and required no action.  There were questions that had to be addressed, and that's when I realized that FFOTUS could not be on my Board of Directors.  

Has any person (a) Who is currently an officer, director, trustee, incorporator, or (b) who controls or holds over twenty percent of the issued and outstanding common shares or twenty percent of any other proprietary, beneficial or membership interest in the corporation, served in any such capacity or held a twenty percent interest in any other corporation (not the one filing this Certificate) on the bankruptcy or receivership of the other corporation?

Convicted of a felony, the essential elements of which consisted of fraud, misrepresentation, theft by false pretenses or restraint of trade or monopoly in any state or federal jurisdiction within the five year period immediately preceding the signing of this certificate?

Convicted of felony involving a transaction in securities, consumer fraud or antitrust in any state or federal jurisdiction within the five year period immediately preceding the signing of this certificate?

The Secretary of Defense has hired his brother, brought his wife to a classified briefing with a foreign dignitary, and texted battle plans over an unsecured phone line.  The Secretary of Health is presiding over a measles outbreak of alarming proportions by prescribing Vitamin A and Cod Liver Oil.  The CDC and NIH are stopping research in mid-stream.  Getting paid but not allowed to work, furloughed federal employees are bleeding the government of money that is unearned.  Saguaro National Monument (down the road from me) has no staff on Mondays.  

I know all of that.  Still, filling out that form and thinking about FFOTUS kind of solidified it all in my head.  

Like Miss Clavell said, something is not right. 

Luckily for Madeline, Miss Clavell saves the day.

Would that she could do the same for us.

 

April Fools

St. John's didn't lose in the first round. 

Your brackets are intact.  

You care about the outcome of the Final Four. 

That's what came to mind when I began to think about this post and my mind began to wander towards the dark side. 

The results of those thoughts are below the stars. Skip it if you just can't handle FFOTUS right now.  I won't be offended. 

I understand. 

*****

Tariffs will be paid by somebody else. 

The stock market isn't important. 

FFOTUS can serve a third term. 

Climate change is a hoax. 

Libraries and museums are worthy of funding. 

Social Security and Medicare and feeding children are priorities. 

We have a functioning democracy. 

Smiles

As we begin another week of chaos and confusion, misinformation (Cod Liver Oil for measles???) and outright lies (I know nothing about it), I thought I would lighten the load.  Here are two stories that made me very happy this week.

*****

Thousands of The Resistance were lining the cross town intersection, east and west, north and south on Saturday.  Up on the adjacent hill, directly across from the Tesla dealership, were dozens of protesters holding a giant American flag.  Horns were honked, motorcyclists clad in black leather and tattoos revved their engines, fists were raised in solidarity.  

I stopped by for a while, since my sign was still in my car.  I saw this sign 

and it brought me back to Thursday's demonstration outside Juan Ciscomani's office.  A gentleman holding a similar sunflower sign (did you know that the sunflower is the Ukrainian national flower?) smiled at my Slava Ukraine poster.  I said No, I don't speak the language but my DIL has family in Dnipro (which had endured bombing that morning) and before I knew it he was handing me this glass heart, 

clasping it in my hands, smiling into my eyes.

I didn't feel so alone any more.

*****

"What should I pick - rocket lettuce, mizumi, red leaf - it's a hard choice"

Look at that smile.  Look at those radish leaves in the front corner.  Look at that huge radish in her hand.

She will be the first to tell you that those are HER radishes and that SHE planted them.  She's been announcing those facts to everyone who stops by the All You Can Eat lettuce in the other half of the raised bed for weeks.  

She was very very very patient as she waited for them to mature.  On Friday, she harvested three of them, one to share with those in the garden, one to take home, and one to take to her teacher.

Look at that smile and imagine the hug that went with it as she left the garden.  My heart (and my ribs) felt every bit of the Thank You.

*****

Okay.

Do you feel a little bit better now?

Time to face the world.

Sorry about that.

Signs of the Times

This morning's street protest against the state of the world was outside Representative Ciscomani's office.  This is what it looked like. 

You Lied

From the middle of the 5th graders lining up after recess came an indignant young man.  Peering over the wall of Grandma's Garden, he looked me straight in the eyes and announced, in no uncertain terms: You lied.

 I knew where he was going with it, but he was on a roll, so I let him preach. 

You promised us that book when you read to us and then you said that you were giving it to her on Monday when we came back after break and that was yesterday and it was NOT in her mailbox.

The her to whom he most emphatically pointed was his teacher,  struggling between delight that he stood up for a perceived wrong and concern that he would hurt my feelings .  She need not have worried.  I spent two weeks wrangling a two year old; a 5th grader is hardly a challenge.

Anyway....

You lied.

Yes, I did.  I had the whole week off, with nothing to do and no place to go and doing the teachers' books was the only thing on my agenda and I just didn't do it.  I knew I should, but somehow I just didn't.  Did that ever happen to you?

The whole class was engaged at this point.  Nodding sagely, they agreed to forgive me.... on the condition that I fulfill the original promise and deliver the goods on the morrow.

And that's just what I did, spending last night writing short notes to 23 teachers on cards made at Shutterfly whenever they were on sale.  I carried in copies of The Lorax for the littles and  D'Aulaire's Book of Greek Myths for the 5th graders, with one young man specifically in mind.

Ooops

What day is today?

Last week was Spring Break for the Prince Mustangs.  It was discombulating.  Every day felt like Saturday. 

The malaise seems to have carried over to this week.  I've been one day ahead since Monday.  

Thursday is a very busy day for me.  There's a sidewalk protest outside Rep. Ciscomani's office at 9, pilates at 10, lunch with Taos Bubbe at the Botanic Garden and then hosting Dr. K and Not- Kathy for the UofA men's basketball Sweet Sixteen appearance in the evening. 

I spent yesterday thinking it was Wednesday.  I woke up this morning, dressed and packed for my various events scheduled for Thursday, ate a hearty breakfast, then checked my calendar for the Congressman's location. 

Oops.  Nothing showed up.  It's Wednesday. 

I changed clothes, went to the hardware store and the garden store, and spent a very productive morning in my garden.  

TBG took me out for a drive and lunch, then I settled in to check email, do the Wordle and Strands, and check The Burrow for grammar. 

Oops.  

No post.  Check admin page. Find today's post scheduled for Thursday, which felt like tomorrow last night when I thought it was Wednesday. 

Discombobulated. 

Tomorrow's post suffers from these same confusions.  I apologize in advance.  It was supposed to be today's post. 

I think I'll stop now.  

How Does He Still Have A Job?

This is a true story.

Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth; Vice President JD Vance; Secretary of State Marco Rubio; Tulsi Gabbard, FFOTUS’s director of national intelligence; and Mike Waltz, his national security adviser were on a Signal (end-to-end encrypted text app) sharing operational details of forthcoming strikes on Iran-backed Houthi-rebels in Yemen, including information about targets, weapons the U.S. would be deploying, and attack sequencing.

Mark Kelly: NOTICE TO WHILE HOUSE STAFF  there is a room in the building and secure systems where you are supposed to have these discussions. SIGNAL ain’t it.

How do we know this happened?  Also included in the text chain was editor-in-chief of The Atlantic, Jeffrey Goldberg.  Mike Walz invited him and he said yes.  Then he wrote about it.

Mayor Pete: the highest level of fuckup imaginable

Defense.  State.  Intelligence.  Security.  Those used to be words that gave me comfort.  

20,000

That's (the generous) count of the people who showed up to see Bernie and AOC on Saturday morning.

Foolishly, I thought the event would be held in the gym.  That's where I saw Tim Walz.  I knew I could manage that crowd. 

I arrived at the high school 15 minutes before the doors were to open.  The line was five people deep,  turning the corner, five blocks away from the school gates.  I drove by, slowly, smiling, loving the energy, looking for a parking space.  

A similar line snaked the same way in the other direction.  A group of about 100 followed a neon vested man toward the end of yet another line.

Neighbors were on their roofs, filming the scene, and relaxing in lawn chairs in their driveways, coffee cups in hand. 

I turned another corner to find a similar scene.  There was nary a place to place the UV.

Besides, I thought, all these people cannot possibly fit inside that gym.  Not wanting to be in an over-flow area, I drove home.

I wish I had looked harder for a parking spot.  I wish it had occurred to me that (obviously) they were holding the rally outside, in the stadium I passed as I made my final turn.  But it didn't, and I called TBG and told him I was on my way home.

And then I began to wonder if they were having it outside and that was why everyone was smiling because they weren't worried about getting in.  The lines were long, but not impossible.  How many humans can fit within the confines of a high school football stadium (Texas not included)?

I drove on, with volatile emotions, furious that I was missing a once in a lifetime experience and unable to figure out why I didn't put more energy into figuring out a plan.  Would a friend in the car have figured that out, gotten in line, and left me to park and catch up?  I had no one to answer to, no demands on my time, and TBG could be called again.  

And yet, I drove on.  

It's been nagging at me ever since.  The photos of the crowd 

credit Kyra Berg

are the stuff of my nightmares, and the notion of standing for three hours is, in retrospect, something that my body rejects out of hand.  I didn't go to the UofA when Barack came back to town, but I'd seen him in my hospital room and that was reason enough to skip a standing rally then and it should be enough now.

Perhaps it is JannyLou's reaction to the rally she attended in Tempe.  It was nice not to feel so alone.

Bernie and AOC talked about building community and taking action and not relying on the Democratic Party to bail us out of this mess.  Run for local office, Brothers and sisters, don’t let them divide us up by the color of our skin or where we were born or our religion or our sexual orientation. Let’s stand together as one people. Proud people. Let’s take on Trumpism and defeat it.”

The tour said they expected 8-10,000 attendees.  Double that number showed up to drink the Kool Aid.  

I wonder if my Congressman was paying attention.  These are his constituents, and they were making quite a statement.  

I'll be mentioning that in my phone call tomorrow.  

I spend too much time in FFOTUS-adjacent territory to feel comfortable.  I do feel energized and empowered by the presence of so many like minded individuals coming together to do right.  

I am beginning to have a tiny bit of hope.  And my back and feet are thankful.

Watching and Not Watching

TBG and I just calculated that our family March Madness pool has been around for about five decades.  I've saved a lot of the hard copies; they live in a drawer that could probably house more necessary items.  But I like knowing where they are.  It's part of our history

This year there are some old, familiar names and faces.  Calipari and Pitino (two of them) and Izzo are coaches I've followed for decades, Mark Few and Shaka Smart for a few decades less.  

The second Pitino is the son of the first.  The first has a checkered past and is now at New York City's flagship basketball school, St. John's.  I guess fraud and corruption and adultery and abortion are lesser considerations when winning is at stake.

With 2.9 seconds left, it looks like Bill Self (another old friend) and his boys will be heading back to Kansas tonight.  No sense paying for hotel rooms when you're not playing any more. 

Yale losing in the first round wasn't much of a surprise.  Clemson losing to McNeese (senior laden, defensive wizards) was.  TBG and Giblet were the only ones who picked them in the pool (yes, the kids are part of it as long as they can discern animals or colors).

This is one time of the television viewing year that I enjoy living on Pacific Time.  Games starting here at 8 end around bed time.  Not so much on the East Coast.  The wrap up show on ESPN goes until 1am.  I'd have to be way more committed to the whole shebang to stay up that late at this stage of my life.

I'm going to see Bernie Sanders and AOC on Saturday.  I'm lifting weights with Amster and working in Grandma's Garden with Not-Kathy on Sunday.  There are games upon games I'll be missing, scores I'll have to catch on my phone, while I enjoy a rich and full life.

There was a time, though......

Someone Asked What To Say

I've been making my three phone calls every morning.  

Brennan is a lovely young man who answers the phones for Juan Ciscomani.  I wish I didn't have to holler at his boss every time I call.

Ruben Gallego's message still says he's trying to hire enough staff to answer the phones.... and he says it at great length... in English and then in Spanish.  Now that English is the official language of the United States, I wonder if FFOTUS will come after him for abuse of government phones in service of being understood by his constituents.

Mark Kelly's DC office has a cadre of young voices who are happy to hear that I love my Senator.

Whatever my destination, I share the fact of those phone calls.  My like minded friends in the lobby at Pilates are eager to share what they've called about.  Sometimes we are overheard and the conversation expands to include others who are not as committed to the 3 Calls A Day plan.

What do you say?

My list of concerns is monumental.  I always have an issue or six to share, gleaned from my husband certified ten minutes of doom scrolling every morning.  Did you know that yesterday's Executive Order cut funding to libraries and museums, above and beyond the DEI proscriptions?  Here's the gist of my message to Rep. Ciscomani:

I know that Rep. Ciscomani's President has said that he loves stupid people, but I wonder how my Congressman feels about the dumbing down of American culture.  He has children. Do they have library cards?  Have they gone to a library's Story Hour?  Maybe a Story Hour in Spanish?  Perhaps he should ask them how they feel about that EO.

Brennan said that the Congressman has not issued a statement about the latest Executive Order but (Brennan) would make sure that my views were passed on to him.

Kindly, I didn't mention his soft snicker that I heard when I said that FFOTUS loves stupid people.  I took it as a sign of hope.

I thanked Mark for supporting Ukraine so forcefully.  I asked Sen. Gallego to hire some staff already or change the message; the current verbiage does not speak well for him as an administrator.  Then I asked him to come and speak to his constituents.

Sister's Senator, Andy Kim, is holding town halls all over New Jersey, mainly in the reddest of red areas.  Senator Schumer, on the other hand, cancelled his book tour for fear of protests.  Big Cuter is sorely disappointed in that.  He had planned to take his newborn son to demonstrate outside the local bookstore that was to host a stop on that tour.  He even had a sign, replacing Neville Chamberlin with Chuck Schumer, proclaiming Appeasement is Anti-Semitism.

From this post alone, you've got several talking points.  I'm going to experiment with making future suggestions at the end of (every?) post for a while.  That way you don't have to doom scroll, you just have to dial (202) 224-3121and speak.

If it becomes annoying, let me know.

And So It Goes

HoneyBunny was having none of it.  No diaper change.  No putting on pants. She wanted the phone and she wanted it right now.

My phone announced a video call from Big Cuter.  I answered it with my usual smiling, loving, delighted to see you greeting.  She responded with a wail.  GRANDPA??? GRANDPA????

All the grown ups laughed as TBG took the phone and the crying stopped.  He held the device, watching as she walked around the house, arranged blocks in her play pen, snacked on organic cheese puffs which were certainly not meant to be put two at a time in her mouth, and introduced him to her baby dolls.

I watched from the sidelines. TBG tried to share the viewing screen, but that was unacceptable to the almost 2 year old autocrat.  She wanted Grandpa and only Grandpa.

My son felt my pain.  He tried to include me in the conversation, in the show and tell, in the peek a boo.  Her stern little face put paid to that.

Her dinner was ready.  She had to end the call.  Big Cuter suggested that she say goodbye to Grandma.  TBG put my face on the screen.  I'm surprised that the alarm company did not respond to her screech.

We laughed.  TBG reclaimed the phone and explained that it was time to say goodbye.  Her face was a study in sadness contained.  Her lower lip quivered.  Tears stood in her eyes.  She nodded acceptance, drew her shoulders up to her ears and released them as their eyes met.

I love you, Grandpa.

A four word sentence that filled our hearts.  I can live with that.

Pictures From TFOB 2025

Before the authors, these was Science City.  From the walk-through heart to the herpetology (alive and not) explainers, there was much to learn for the Prince gardeners

and for me.  There was so much that had never been contemplated when I was learning science.  The passionate MIT PhD student clearly explained how her nano-wire super quantum connection thingy will change the world and, in the moment, I totally understood.  

*****

 

This was the first session of the first day, an un-ticketed Q&A with Robert Crais about Joe Pike and Elvis Cole and growing tomatoes from seed.  The crowd was sparse.  The weather was cold and damp.  People were wearing puffy vests and jackets with lined hoods.

Crais is at the tip of the arrow.  

*****

Billy Collins has aged (haven't we all) since his last appearance at the Festival.  He was as gentle and thoughtful and totally focused in this moment with his host as he was with each question, with each poem he read aloud.    

I went to the speakers' sales tent, spent $27 on his hardback,and felt no guilt at all.

*****

Sitting in the front row, off to one side, I was up close to Maureen Dowd as she waited with her host in front of a mural .... a disturbingly real mural in this photo where the emphasis was supposed to be on her boots and the beading that turned into fringe at the hem.  

My off-to-the-side seat came with a perfect view... of her face and her lace.

*****

I thought about sticking around for 2 hours to wait in line for the possibility of seeing Gretchen Whitmer, but, as Big Cuter pointed out, there will be plenty of opportunities to see Gretchen Whitmer over the next few years. 

On my way out, I joined the people casting shadows and sat on the bleachers

watching these girls and more girls like them twirl and swing and dangle and twist themselves through all twelve dimensions entwined in the colorful ribbons that were obviously stronger than they appeared.

If I could figure out how to use the map app to pin my parking space I wouldn't have to take pictures like this, for the address

and this for the pathway 

to the parking lot, in which, on both days, I found the one and only available space.  

Obviously, the universe wanted me to be there.  I totally agreed.

Anyway, I never argue with G'ma's parking karma.

Random Thoughts From The Tucson Festival of Books

It was cold and rainy when I woke up Saturday morning.  I never needed the umbrella I stashed in my backpack at the last minute,  but I was very glad to be wearing my niece's eponymous NaomiNomi long sleeve oxford shirt and a nice warm sweater.

Sunday was bright and sunny and a shawl would have been more useful than the sweatshirt I started out in.  But I'll never complain about a sunny day, surrounded by people buying books.

*****

I had a member's pass to two events.  Guaranteed admission to Billy Collins and Maureen Dowd, one each day, the rest of the time free to wander the exhibits in the Science City, chatting with graduate students about their passions.  

The philosopher and I discussed how many holes are there in a straw? for an exceptionally long time.  

*****

Billy Collins read us poetry and told us stories for an hour.  I wrote nothing down,  though much was worth transcribing. 

He frowned at someone recording the session.  Don't share it. It's just for those of us in this room.

*****

Danez Smith is a young,  queer, black, American poet and professor who came from the Spoken Word  world of poetry. 

His words were as lyrical as his poems he read. 

WOKE: Whatever Offends Klansmen Every9amwhere

If you are porous enough and open enough you'll hear it... said with his head cocked to the side, his eyes searching for it...

Maybe we shouldn't make the work of being human  so  much  more  difficult.

The Great Human Question - How will we treat one another?

*****

Maureen Dowd filled a ballroom with old white people, promoting her book of celebrity profiles.  Anyone looking for political commentary was disappointed.  I asked what she thought of Jennifer Rubin's Contrarian platform.  I haven't read it came out of her mouth without a beat.  The look she gave me was cold as ice.

She had a lot to say about how close she got to Uma Thurman (a victim), Jane Fonda (a cultural icon), Kevin Costner (nasty), Bob Iger (took forever to get an interview), Robert Redford and Paul Newman (sex symbols, one accepting one amazed), and Trump-the-NY-Real Estate-Mogul.  

She used both their names, just as she did with the tech bros she profiled.  Peter Thiel predicted that Elon and The Orange Menace would be a natural pairing - two consummate salesmen.  Elon got a lot of stage time.  His kid with the unpronounceable name is FOTUS's favorite, Elon this and Elon that and she never once used his last name.  

Am I being picky?

She was right about the confluence of politics, Hollywood, and Silicone Valley: illusion, power, winning, box office, ratings.

I've been thinking about that all afternoon.

*****

Brenda Starr, my favorite journalist, holds Leonard Pitts in the highest of high regards.  His talk was under one of the open air tents, and when I arrived 20 minutes early I was lucky to find a chair.  He's a delightful raconteur, who is having the best life - I get to do what I want to do and someone hands me a check for doing it.

His novels, set in places like Selma, Alabama and a Japanese internment camp, dump you right into the soup.  Non-fiction is the facts.  Fiction is the truth

And he demands the truth. On the attacks on DEI he finished his outrage with Just use the damn n word.

*****

There will be pictures tomorrow.

I Made An Appearance

I took my printed blog post from yesterday and went on a hunt for Senator Kelly's office.  I was a woman on a mission.

Senator Flake's fairly spartan Tucson office was down the street from the (infamous) Safeway, an easy, quick stop on the way to most of the places I go.  It had a large parking lot and a plaza where voters could gather, waiting as we were allowed in, by twos and threes, to wonder about the Senator's disturbing ideas on gun safety.  

Senator McCain's office was embedded in the cluster of public buildings at the western entrance to downtown.  Around a concrete amphitheater of concrete steps were the offices of the DOJ, the Federal courtrooms, and a first floor glass door opening onto the Senator's waiting room, replete with comfy chairs beneath awards and photos and memories of a remarkable life.  

JannyLou and I were regular visitors.  Until COVID separated us from the outside world, we'd drop by after Pilates, or on our way to lunch.  Our comments covered a broad range of topics, which we wrote down and passed through the slot beneath the bullet proof glass to Senator Flake's receptionist or handed across the desk with the fresh flowers to the smiling assistant who came out from the back to listen to us.

Senator Kelly's office is downtown.  After years of construction mayhem, driving downtown on Stone from midtown was delightful.  Unlike most of Tucson, the road was paved and well marked, the street signs were facing the right way, and they were large enough to be readable from a moving vehicle.

I found a place to parallel park right across the street from David Black's 1991 sculpture, Sonora, which sits in front of what is now the Joel Valdez Main Library building.

Library of Congress photo

After a small amount of confusion concerning north and west, I found my way to the Pioneer Hotel building, 50' from my car.  There was a sleepy security guard watching tv behind his desk, and some traffic in and out of the bistro and the coffee shop anchoring opposing corners of the lobby, and a directory hidden away behind the elevator.  

I'm a hiker.  I always check the map when it comes to an intersection.  Before I went upstairs, I wanted to be sure that the office was really there.  

It was, up on the 6th floor at the end of the hall, on the odd side of the hallway next to Suite 609 - although the plate on the door said Suite 600.  I rang the only button that looked inviting, stated my name and my business, waited while interesting noises came through the intercom and then I was told that the door was unlocked and I should come in.

The lovely lady was seated behind a bulletproof panel, and she had the familiar slot at the bottom through which I could pass the print out.  I wanted to tell it to her, and she let me, then she told me that the Senator had just tweeted that he would not support the Continuing Resolution.

It kinda took the wind out of my sails.  I'm not used to getting what I want from my elected representative.  

And then there is the whole Elon Musk/Twitter/X thing that I haven't opened since the bat shit crazy man bought it.  I thanked her for telling me as I bemoaned the fact that my fast source of news had been co-opted by someone I just cannot support.  She was glad to help and smiled when I said that I hoped to visit on a regular basis.  

I did my part.  He's doing his part.  In this little corner of the world, democracy is working pretty well.

The World Is Giving Me A Migraine

I was ready to write something fun about the Garden and then the news popped up as the browser turned on and I saw that the Government is now criminalizing environmental justice..

The aura began in my right eye and the sparkles moved outward as usual.  I closed my eyes, took many deep breaths, two Extra Strength Excedrin, and let my mind drift.

The path it was taking was FFOTUSian and quite unpleasant.  TBG turned on TMC's homage-to-Barbara Stanwyck film, Ball of Fire , which delightfully replaced thinking about my Congressman. 

Now I feel better, I'm able to type, and I can't stop doom scrolling the conversation in my head.  

Initially, the woman who answered the phone at his local office had no idea which way he'd voted on the Continuing Resolution.  I couldn't believe it, and I told her so:

That's appalling.  It happened yesterday.  It's important. How does he not have a statement?

She asked me to hold on, returned, addressed me by name, and said that he voted to keep The Government open.   I got over the fact that she'd actually written down my name and personalized the conversation.  I took a breath and began to rant about the offensiveness of his slight to hungry children, thus putting the lie to his professions of loyalty to moms and kids, promises I hoped he would keep.

I told her that I was ashamed of him and that I would remember this at election time.  I sighed, said I was sorry to be so disappointed, and hung up to dial my Senators.

I left a voice mail for Senator Gallego.  I told him that desperate times call for desperate solutions.  Taking a principled stand on this issue is not only the proper use of his authority as a US Senator, many essential services have been curtailed already, and so little is known about what is to come,  I'm pretty sure that nobody will really notice if the government shuts down.  

FFOTUS's minions (or is he the minion?) have already tampered with the parts we use the most.

IRS and SSA and Forest Service and Park Service staffs have been decimated.  VA clinicians are waiting for the next ax to fall on their already stretched to the breaking point co-workers.  Payments may still go out, in greater numbers and amounts than those dictated in the Republicans' budget at the center of this particular kerfuffle, but the National Parks will still be understaffed and unsafe, if not closed.

We each have to do our part.  Mine is to make my voice heard.  His is to believe the founders when they described the necessity of checks and balances, and to act accordingly.

I hung up, took a deep breath, and dialed Senator Kelly's DC and Tucson offices.  I was prepared to offer a shorter version of the screed now in the junior Senator's mailbox.  Unfortunately, I was unable to deliver my message because both mailboxes were full and unable to accept messages at this time.

The same thing happened last week.  I'm going to print this out and take it in to his office tomorrow.

Wherever you come down on the issue, your elected representatives need to hear from you.  Phone calls and office visits count more than the official email form.. 

(202) 224-3121

That's Congress's switchboard.  They will connect you.

A Million Trees

Tucson Clean and Beautiful is on a mission to save the environment, by planting 1,000,000 trees, one at a time.

Volunteers meet at a predetermined location where they sign in and are assigned to a group, given gloves and a lovely reflective mesh vest with the logo printed front and back.  Almost promptly at 9am each group picks up 2 shovels, 1 rake, and two 17 pound steel digging bars.   

They carry the equipment to their first home, where 2 trees and 1 bag of mulch await.  The homeowners' only task: soak the planting area the night before the event.

This sounded like a perfect community service event for the Cornell Club, and the Board's most competent member organized it all.  Relevant and enticing emails arrived at appropriate intervals.  She made sure everyone had everything and knew where to be.  She couldn't have done a better job.

We thought this was the kind of thing that younger alums would enjoy, that it would lure reluctant joiners into our midst.  We were wrong.

There were several families with school age kids in attendance last Saturday, but none of them were with our group.  Aside from a father and high school daughter who have attended other events over the years (and were for some reason assigned to another group) the rest of us comprised a team.

On the 15 minute walk to the site, carrying those full size tools over uneven ground (who knew Tucson had alleys?) and a lot of pavement, were four Cornellians and a Team Leader (pictured above, in the overalls, on the left).

Three of us receive Social Security checks. We let the 2 younger women carry the digging bars.  My too-tall-to-be-drafted friend in his 80's got the rake with the very long handle, I picked up the lightest shovel, and we set off on our adventure, using our tools as walking sticks.

We arrived at a corner lot with a 10' skeleton anchoring one corner.  There was an X painted on the ground, and a yellow OK from the power company, indicating that it was safe to dig.

As I said to the Leader - when I plant a tree my yard guys bring their jack hammer and I watch, then I fill the hole overnight to be sure it will drain.  Not only were there no yard guys, there was neither a jack hammer nor any evidence that water had ever touched the land.  

My tall friend and I removed a shovel or two of loosened soil before we took a video call from HoneyBunny in a little bit of shade.  She was bemused by Grandpa's absence and a stranger's presence.  Some Peek a Boo and silly faces soon made things right, and we chatted as the youngsters did the heavy lifting.  

I spread half a bag of mulch around the base of the tree the youngsters had planted and thought we were done.  The  Leader announced that we were going on to the second of the three homes assigned to our Team.  My tall friend and I finagled a ride back to the parking lot, agreeing that, in the future, moral support was going to be our contribution when physical labor was required.

I do many things.  Imitating a jack hammer is no longer one of them.  I can't really feel too bad about that.

I Should Be Happy

Since I left her house in January,  HoneyBunny has been asking to call me.  

A plaintive Baba Phone? and a compliant parent is all it takes to connect us.

The screen opens to a happy, silly, smiling, glad to see me, not quite two year old grandbaby.

She has breakfast with me.  She watches me cook.  I watch her climb and jump and kiss her baby brother. She's quite demanding if life forces me to move away from the camera.  Her displeasure is replaced by a big grin but the point has been made.  

At least that's how it's been until last week.  Suddenly, TBG's sporadic appearances are multi-grain to my plain white bread.  The calls come on my phone so it's my face she sees.... and she can't wait for me to finish saying hello before she wonders about Granpa??? Granpa???  

He's always been happy to join the party, but he has less endurance than I do.  Until last week, he could say goodbye without consequences.  Not so much any more.  The child knows what she wants and she knows how to get it.  

Grandpa has been smitten since she was several weeks old.  He finds her delightful, not demanding.  That's a good thing because when he's not on the phone she's not, either.  He left for spin class this morning and she pouted and cried and Daddy had to hang up the phone.

I suppose this lovely relationship should make me happy, and on most levels it does. 

It's hard not to be a little jealous, though.

Brother Sends - Sister Gives

Brother, who lives in Maryland, copied this email onto his aptly titled My Sisters What's App chat: 

Hey everybody, it's Mark Kelly.

For some reason, Elon Musk just attacked me on Twitter — calling me a “shill”.

Look — he can go to war behind his keyboard all he wants. It’s a free country. But I’ve launched into orbit 4 times, I flew 39 combat missions in Desert Storm, and I held my wife’s hand in the hospital after she was shot in the head. 

I don’t scare easily, and I don’t really care what he thinks of me.

What I do care about is that he is gutting our government, illegally firing federal workers, illegally dismantling independent federal agencies, spreading conspiracies, and empowering extremists.

I’m going to defend working families and the middle class against President Trump and Elon Musk with everything I’ve got. 

And Elon: When you finally get the nerve to climb into a rocket ship yourself, give me a call.

That's the Mark I've seen, up close and personal.

Why Brother got the email and I did not remains a mystery.  But I was glad to read it and share the love with my siblings.

Sister was so impressed that she sent $50 to his campaign.

There were 1300 people at the four corners near the Tesla dealership last weekend, protesting Elon.  I drove behind a Tesla with an I bought this before I knew he was an asshole sign in the back window.  TBG tells me that the stock has tumbled.  And with all of this, my Senator shot right back at the fool... and garnered a fifty dollar donation that would have gone elsewhere.

I have been smiling all weekend.

Bonnie Turned 80

Her black and white geometrically painted mailbox on the street is reflected on the wall beside her front door.  

Her quilts are on the walls and a blanket rack's rungs.  They are stacked three deep on beds and folded on foot rests.  Her giant quilting machine occupies most of the floorspace in a crafting room lined with shelves and clear boxes of fabric.  

Today her brilliantly shimmering, red with colorful accented sparklies sneaker-ish shoes complemented her long, bright, many colored tunic.  Her wardrobe seems to be full of singularly excellent pieces, all new to my eye and all impressively pleasing.

True, I only see her at events.  TBG, however, has been hanging out with her for years.

Twice a week, in the gym and then on Zoom, they and a core group of similarly situated humans have been in each others' lives in the way that time and shared sweat and conversation creates.  It's been an extended caring circle for more than a decade.  

And so this afternoon we battled traffic and drove cross town to the Birthday Girl's home in Poets Square. There we admired and snacked and toasted her specialness with Prosecco. Her guests were as eclectic as her wardrobe.  They had interesting stories and like minded politics; making conversation with strangers was easy.

As we left, Happy Birthday-ing and thanking her for inviting us, she laughed and said:  I was surprised that I was 80.... so I decided to have a party.

There's something to be said for that attitude these days, don't you agree?

A Short Story

Nina's comment on yesterday's post reminded me of a story.  

She wrote that her parents consumed  30 minutes of national news, filtered through the professionalism of Walter Cronkite.  I replied that I grew up with that kind of news, too. Just as there were Chevy families and Ford families, there were ABC and CBS and NBC followers, but everyone knew that Cronkite was the voice of the evening news.

It was a big deal to read an out of town newspaper, but Daddooooo read the NYTimes on the train into the city, Newsday was delivered to our house in the late afternoon, and Uncle Abby (who lived next door) brought home the Post.  

Nobody read the Daily News.

Newsweek and Time gave us depth and a chance to respond.  I once had a letter published in Newsweek.

Timing was everything.  I took the magazine out of the mailbox and read the movie review in the elevator going up to our apartment.  I finished reading it at the kitchen table and wrote a response on a postcard and dropped it into the mail slot for the afternoon pickup.  

So many differences from today - a magazine you could hold in your hand, a postcard readily available, two mail deliveries a day.  No one even imagining sitting at a computer and ranting at an e-zine via email or tweeting a criticism before the pixels were dry on the page.  

The movie was Superman.  I wrote I'll still see the movie, but it won't help that David Ansen told me the ending... or something like that.  

I was snarky then and I'm snarky now.  If I'm peeved, you'll know about it.  I've never had a letter published in the NYTimes, but that doesn't seem all that relevant these days.  The Arizona Daily Star seems to like what I write, and has published several of my letters in the last few months.  

But since 2009 I've had 4,153 opportunities to rant and rave to the general public.  Every time one of you reads a post, I feel like I've won the lottery.

Thanks for being here.

Absolutely Not

That was TBG's response to whether we should watch the Joint Session of Congress.

I was conflicted.  I always watch them, if only to take the pulse of the listeners.  Sometimes there's drama, and I don't mind seeing it in real time.  POTUS deserves to be heard..... or at least until FFOTUS.

On our walk this morning, I asked Taos Bubbe about her plans.  Absolutely not! came out of her mouth before I finished the question.  She'll catch snippets if they appear on her internet feed, but the thought of spending time with that man made her physically ill.

The notion of self-care by avoiding all things FFOTUS suddenly became front and center for me.  Bluesky and Substack are filled with outrage that is nigh on impossible to ignore.  1440  is unbiased but the links lead to others and suddenly I'm drowning in the slime.  

It drives TBG nuts.  This morning, as I regaled him with the latest outrage, he asked Why do you do this to yourself?  This afternoon, I really had no answer.

I had lunch with The 250K Cruise Club today. We were four ladies-who-lunch, on the patio of the Arizona Inn, loudly and passionately expressing our disgust for FFOTUS.  It is uncertain if we changed anyone's mind, but no one could doubt our feelings.

One of us will watch it, and if it makes me vomit at least I'll be alone and no one will notice.  One will watch until it becomes too painful, one will, like TBG, catch the news reports in the morning.  I couldn't articulate why I felt guilty about skipping it, but my friends helped me dissect it.

I'm an American.  This is an American thing.  Democracy depends on participation.  Those were the valid, civics lesson answers.  Missing a moment of chaos.... that one was harder to explain away.  Like watching a train wreck, in my mind it was hard to look away from that.  Then someone mentioned self-care and I began to nod my head.

I was playing mahjong while President Zelensky was abused in the Oval Office.  Dr. K was appalled, TBG was disgusted, and I am now no less embarrassed than they are despite only seeing the replay.  

6:30 rolled around and, to my surprise, TBG asked if we should give it a try.  It's the State of the Union... we should watch.  

We turned on PBS.  We turned off PBS about a minute later.  That smug, self-satisfied smirk had no place in our living room.  We cleansed our palates with a bit of My Favorite Year, tried once again and were rewarded with Rep. Al Green shaking his gold headed cane and yelling Mr. President, you don't have a mandate as he was escorted out of the chamber by the Sargent at Arms.

I got my drama. 

We went back to  the movie.

More Than Plants

It was cold and windy in Grandma's Garden today.  When the clouds were blocking the sun, the scholars in sleeveless shirts were clutching their arms around their bodies, seeking comfort.  My arms were only long enough to enfold three or four of them at a time.  A serious distraction was needed.

I found paint pouches in the storage bench.  There was no paper except for a brown bag from the grocery store.  There were no paint brushes.  There were lots of children clamoring for something to do.  I looked around the garden for a solution.

The bigger kids have been stripping the stump of its bark, leaving a smooth surface behind. 

We've been saving the bark in a big planter, with no particular plan for its use.  Today, I found one.

I gave the scholars large strips of bark and told them to consider them paper.  Small pieces of bark made useful brushes.  I dropped dollops of paint, one color at a time, onto the grocery bag 

and the kids got to work.

There were rocks to be painted or used as applicators.  There were grooves in the bark to fill and smoother surfaces to color. 

As the grades changed during recess, Garden Leaders took charge of adding paint and explaining the weirdness of it all.

Meanwhile, I harvested broccoli and shared it with three simple commands: Open wide; Close; Chew.  It's a measure of the trust they have in me that no one wondered aloud if it was safe to eat.  They opened and shut and chewed and generally agreed that broccoli is sweet and growing it ourselves makes it even tastier.

We dug up a carrot, which was too skinny to be called mature.  We washed it off anyway and three of us shared it.  Victoria's face scrunched up first, with Romero's and mine following closely behind.  We spit it out in unison, then whined about the bad taste in our mouths.  Broccoli bites didn't help the situation at all.

Not everyone was interested in painting, though.  These two sang a new-to-me clapping song as their hands made intricated patterns in the air.

There's always something to amuse the scholars who visit the garden, even if it has nothing to do with plants.

Random Thoughts

It's Oscar Night.  I saw Wicked in the theatre but only because I was visiting FlapJilly at the time.  Other than that, I'm clueless.

People I respect recommend A Complete Unknown, and TBG is taken with Timothee Chalamet after seeing him as the celebrity guest on College Game Day .  I've heard that there's an Ayn Rand architect and some very powerful performances by women I've never encountered.  

I may see the films, I'm skipping the awards show like I always do.  It's too cringey for me.

*****

Dr. K hosts our Friday mah jongg game, although the game itself frustrates him every week.

Dr. K came to paint the ornaments that make up Ben's Bells on my birthday.  He did one, then sat back and joined the conversation as the rest of us enjoyed ourselves much more than he did.

We've been friends since 1973.  You'd think I'd be able to figure out something he likes.

*****

Lots of people from the past have been visiting Tucson recently.  A sorority sister who was dismissive back then has not changed in 55 years, if those who've seen her recently can be believed.  I'm not going out of my way to schedule some time with her.

Instead I saw The Kibbitzer and The Doula before and after Indiana, and am in the midst of enjoying our Friends From LaMaze.  They've become annual visitors, warming my heart with their willingness to spend some of their vacation time with us.

*****

My only male first cousin tells his Florida snowbirds that they are, in fact, tourists.  

I love the tax revenues and the small shops' increased sales (because why schlep to Tucson to go to Macy's?).  I'm not crazy about scarce dinner reservations.  

What I really resent is their assumption that they are Tucsonans, when they flee at the first sign of triple digit temperatures.  

It's just not right.

*****

The pollen is high.  

People used to come here to escape the pollen.

This is truly the Anthropocene Era.

******

There it is.  

I managed to get through a whole post without crying about how embarrassing it is to be an American right now.

I'm pretty proud of myself for that.

February 27th

Elizabeth Taylor, Constantine the Great, Plato ( ??? ) and I were all born today.

In their honor, I posted today's post a minute ago and will spend today celebrating.

I'll be back on Monday.

Calling Congress

Has reading or watching the news over the past few days tended to put you in a good mood or bad mood?

3986 people responded to YouGov's poll today.  42% were grumpy, 20% were happy, and 38% didn't really care at all.

Our legislators won't be hearing from the 38%.  The 20% may express their joy through campaign contributions, but I can't remember the last time I dialed a politician's office to thank her.  

That leaves 42% of us to do the heavy lifting.  

It's impossible to avoid what's going on in Washington; there are headlines everywhere.  Can it be that Medicaid and Medicare are being eyed in this round of budget cuts?  I called my Congressman to find out.

Usually, my questions are met with I haven't spoken to her today but I will be sure that she gets your message.  Today, was different.  I was told that the Congressman had just told the White House that he and eight others are not necessarily going to go along with taking from those who can least afford it.  

The young man who answered the phone was delighted that I called.  He was happy to tell me that although the Congressman voted today to send the budget bill to Committee because without a budget the government would shut down, he and 8 other Republicans sent a letter to the White House expressing their hope that SNAP and WIC and Medicaid remain untouched.

He didn't argue when I said that perhaps shutting down the current White House's agenda wasn't necessarily a bad idea.  I ignored the fact that Medicare wasn't included and asked him to thank his boss for looking out for the hungry and the ill.  

He paused, just for a moment, then said how much he and the Congressman enjoyed, wanted, and most of all needed calls like these.  They are very useful when we present our case.  We can show that we are speaking for our constituents.

He went on in that vein until he began to lose steam. We said very cordial goodbyes and I promised to call him tomorrow about something else.  He's looking forward to hearing from me again.

The people who answer our elected officials' phones, who greet you when you walk in the door, are usually young and interested in governing.  They are on the constituent services, not the campaign, side.   Sometimes, especially now as we fight despair, it' s easy to  forget how idealistic patriotism can make you, especially when you have something as wonderful as American Democracy (used to be).

This young man was reminding me that democracy isn't easy, that it only works if we participate.  He was telling me that my call was useful, a necessary part of getting what I wanted.  He assured me that I was heard.

I felt connected to the process, and I liked it.  If you want to make your own call, click here.  

It's a simple way to fight despair.