Paint in the Garden

TBG is quite confused.  He cannot imagine how painting has anything to do with gardening.  

The Prince gardeners, however, have no problem at all making the connection.  They're both fun.

I poured dollops of acrylic paint onto sturdy plates,

where, despite my admonitions to the contrary, they did manage to mix all the colors together.

Playing with the paint was as much fun as painting with the paint.  Below, the foam of the foam paint brush is jutting out, while the colorful, kid size handle is buried under thick layers of paint.  

I don't know why they were so proud of this, but they were.

They painted big rocks

and small rocks, 

some with more imagination than others.

They decorated the plastic containers

and the tire,

the raised beds

and the garden side of our brick wall.  

That happened while I was hosing off paint drenched hands, with the purple nozzle, over the purple trug.  

Allowing them to use the hose on for one another is, I quickly discovered, not a viable option; the temptations are just too great.  Not wanting to risk the wrath of the school nurse (who provides dry clothing) again, I paid closer attention to the water than the wall.

When I turned around, a big kid was using her fingertips to leave her own, personalized imprint 

on one corner of the already decorated bricks.

I decided to think of it as improving the space rather than damaging school property, which prepared me to follow one of the more interesting 5th graders as she proudly displayed her creation:

handprints which go all the way down the walkway and turn left to the gate, a feat which required her to pass through the garden's cacti and the Do Not Enter fence. I thought about that, and the obviousness of those bright red palm prints, and laughed.  

It was too late to do anything about it.

I don't think I'll get detention.  Neither will she.  The whole thing is delightfully cheery, after all.

Where Is DOGE When I Need Them?

We received an unintelligible letter from a nameless (for obvious reasons) government entity.

We are intelligent humans, well educated in the art of deciphering difficult prose.  These sentences were not prose, which Webster says is the ordinary language people use in speaking or writing.  

Ordinarily, when I speak or write people understand what I'm saying.  Gibberish seems more to the point.

Back with Merriam Webster again, we find a double whammy.  Gibberish is not only unintelligible or meaningless language, it lands smack in the middle of pretentious or needlessly obscure language.

The letter in question requires no action on our part; that much is somewhat clear.  Further clarification will come in a subsequent communication, although no time frame is offered.  We have no way of independently discovering anything about the account in question; it seems to be a paperwork/filing/miscalculation on someone's part.  

Ours or theirs?  Who knows?

We're fairly certain that we are not at fault.  We are equally (un)certain that the amount in dispute is less than $50 dollars.  We are definitely certain that anything coming out of the Federal government at this point is suspect.

With firings and dismantlings and furloughs abounding, only a desperate person would call a government agency and hope to speak to a human.  So, we wait and wonder.

Is it DOGE screwing around with the data base and sending out fear inducing missives to unsuspecting citizens or is there a built-into-the-system mechanism that generates these things?  If so, it seems to be an obvious place for the DOGE boys to do something useful.

In the meantime, we will fret (because that's what we do) and fume and check the mailbox.  I can hardly wait to see what comes next.

Is Anyone Listening?

My Congressman and I have issues.  He is a nice guy, by all accounts, mine included.  He is personable and a good listener and he has great hair.

Unfortunately, there's a big disconnect between his words and his deeds. He says he's for a lot of things, and against some other things, but his voting record doesn't match his speech making.

When I call his office to ask about one switcheroo or another, I always say that I'd like a response.  Sometimes, I remind them that I've called yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.  I ask why they keep promising to get back to me if they never call, they never write, they don't email or text or anything.  Nor do they have anything to tell me when I make it easy and call them directly.

Unfailingly polite, the people behind the dial tone take down my information, thank me for calling, and assure me that the Congressman will be told of my concerns.

No one can answer my questions.  No one seems to try.  And he's all I've got.

Bernie Sanders sends me encouraging emails, urging me to run for any office at all.  My local Democrats had plans to rally behind a bullhorn outside an event featuring our Congressman.  Had I not wrenched my back (I'm okay now) I'd have taken a new sign to the protest at the Social Security office on Saturday.  

What I'm not doing is sending money to Democrats.  They had a couple billion dollars and we still got a felon in the White House.

Not-Kathy sent me this, which was not written by Liz Cheney, as rumor has it.  Dr. Pru Lee, aka PruPru on the Liz Cheney/Adam Kinzinger Against Trump Facebook group, takes credit for it.  She says it better than I could.

*****

Dear Democratic Party,

I need more from you.

You keep sending emails begging for $15, while we’re watching fascism consolidate power in real time.

This administration is not simply “a different ideology.” It is a coordinated, authoritarian machine — with the Supreme Court, the House, the Senate, and the executive pen all under its control.

And you? You’re still asking for decorum and donations. WTF. That won’t save us.

I don’t want to hear another polite floor speech. I want strategy. I want fire. I want action so bold it shifts the damn news cycle — not fits inside one.

Every time I see something from the DNC, it’s asking me for funds. Surprise. Those of us who donate don’t want to keep sending money just to watch you stand frozen as the Constitution goes up in flames — shaking your heads and saying, “Well, there’s not much we can do. He has the majority.” I call bullshit.

If you don’t know how to think outside the box…
If you don’t know how to strategize…
If you don’t know how to fight fire with fire…
what the hell are we giving you money for?
Some of us have two or three advanced degrees.
Some of us have military training.
Some of us know what coordinated resistance looks like — and this ain’t it.

Yes, the tours around the country? Nice. The speeches? Nice. The clever congressional clapbacks? Nice. That was great for giving hope. Now we need action.

You have to stop acting like this is a normal presidency that will just time out in four years. We’re not even at Day 90, and look at the chaos. Look at the disappearances. Look at the erosion of the judiciary, the press, and our rights.

If you do not stop this, we will not make it 1,460 days. 
So here’s what I need from you — right now:

1. Form an independent, civilian-powered investigative coalition.
I’m talking experts. Veterans. Whistleblowers. Journalists. Watchdog orgs. 
Deputize the resistance. Build a real-time archive of corruption, overreach, and executive abuse.
Make it public. Make it unshakable.
Let the people drag the rot into the light.
If you can’t hold formal hearings, hold public ones.
If Congress won’t act, let the country act.
This isn’t about optics — it’s about receipts.
Because at some point, these people will be held accountable.
And when that day comes, we’ll need every name, every signature, every illegal order, every act of silence—documented.
You’re not just preserving truth — you’re preparing evidence for prosecution.
The more they vanish people and weaponize data, the more we need truth in the sunlight.

2. Join the International Criminal Court.
Yes, I said it. Call their bluff.
You cannot control what the other side does.
But you can control your own integrity.
So prove it. Prove that your party is still grounded in law, human rights, and ethical leadership.
Join.
If you’ve got nothing to hide — join.
Show the world who’s hiding bodies, bribes, and buried bank accounts.
Force the GOP to explain why they’d rather protect a war criminal than sign a treaty.
And while you’re at it, publicly invite ICC observers into U.S. borders.
Make this administration explain — on camera — why they’re terrified of international oversight.

3. Fund state-level resistance infrastructure.
Don’t just send postcards. Send resources.
Channel DNC funds into rapid-response teams, legal defense coalitions, sanctuary networks, and digital security training.
If the federal government is hijacked, build power underneath it.
If the laws become tools of oppression, help people resist them legally, locally, and boldly.
This is not campaign season — this is an authoritarian purge.
Stop campaigning.
Act like this is the end of democracy, because it is.
We WILL REMEMBER the warriors come primaries.
Fighting this regime should be your marketing strategy.
And let’s be clear:
The reason the other side always seems three steps ahead is because they ARE.
They prepared for this.
They infiltrated school boards, courts, local legislatures, and police unions.
They built a machine while you wrote press releases.
We’re reacting — they’ve been executing a plan for years.
It’s time to shift from panic to blueprint.
You should already be working with strategists and military minds on PROJECT 2029 —
a coordinated, long-term plan to rebuild this country when the smoke clears.
You should be publicly laying out:
• The laws and amendments you’ll pass to ensure this never happens again
• The systems you’ll tear down and the safeguards you’ll enshrine
• The plan to hold perpetrators of human atrocities accountable
• The urgent commitment to immediately bring home those sold into slavery in El Salvador
You say you’re the party of the people?
Then show the people the plan.

4. Use your platform to educate the public on rights and resistance tactics.
If they’re going to strip us of rights and lie about it — arm the people with truth.
Text campaigns. Mass trainings. Downloadable “Know Your Rights” kits. Multilingual legal guides. Encrypted phone trees.
Give people tools, not soundbites.
We don’t need more slogans.
We need survival manuals.

5. Leverage international media and watchdogs.
Stop hoping U.S. cable news will wake up.
They’re too busy playing both sides of fascism.
Feed the real stories to BBC, Al Jazeera, The Guardian, Reuters, Der Spiegel — hell, leak them to anonymous dropboxes if you have to.
Make what’s happening in America a global scandal.
And stop relying on platforms that are actively suppressing truth.
Start leveraging Substack. Use Bluesky.
That’s where the resistance is migrating. That’s where censorship hasn’t caught up.
If the mainstream won’t carry the truth — outflank them.
Get creative. Go underground. Go global.
If our democracy is being dismantled in broad daylight, make sure the whole world sees it — and make sure we’re still able to say it.

6. Create a digital safe haven for whistleblowers and defectors.
Not everyone inside this regime is loyal.
Some are scared. Some want out.
Build the channels.
Encrypted. Anonymous. Protected.
Make it easy for the cracks in the system to become gaping holes.
And while you’re at it?
Stop ostracizing MAGA defectors.
Everyone makes mistakes — even glaring, critical ones.
We are not the bullies.
We are not the ones filled with hate.
And it is not your job to shame people who finally saw the fire and chose to step out of it.
They will have to deal with that internal struggle — the guilt of putting a very dangerous and callous regime in power.
But they’re already outnumbered. Don’t push them back into the crowd.
We don’t need purity.
We need numbers.
We need people willing to burn their red hats and testify against the machine they helped build.

7. Study the collapse—and the comeback.
You should be learning from South Korea and how they managed their brief rule under dictatorship.
They didn’t waste time chasing the one man with absolute immunity.
They went after the structure.
The aides. The enforcers. The loyalists. The architects.
They knocked out the foundation one pillar at a time —
until the “strongman” had no one left to stand on.
And his power crumbled beneath him.
You should be independently investigating every author of Project 2025,
every aide who defies court orders,
every communications director repeating lies,
every policy writer enabling cruelty,
every water boy who keeps this engine running.
You can’t stop a regime by asking the king to sit down.
You dismantle the throne he’s standing on — one coward at a time.

Stop being scared to fight dirty when the other side is fighting to erase the damn Constitution.
They are threatening to disappear AMERICANS.
A M E R I C A N S.
And your biggest move can’t be another strongly worded email.
We don’t want your urgently fundraising subject lines.
We want backbone.
We want action.
We want to know you’ll stand up before we’re all ordered to sit down — permanently.
We are watching.
And I don’t just mean your base.
I mean millions of us who see exactly what’s happening.
I’ve only got 6,000 followers — but the groups I’m in? The networks I touch? Over a quarter million.
Often when I speak, it echoes.
But when we ALL
speak, it ROARS with pressure that will cause change.
We need to be deafening.
You still have a chance to do something historic.
To be remembered for courage, not caution.
To go down as the party that didn’t just watch the fall — but fought the hell back with everything they had.
But the clock is ticking.
And the deportation buses are idling.

*****

We need to be deafening.  She's so right.  We're on the precipice.  I'm dreading the fall.

Cheers

I understand that language evolves; Little Cuter took History Of The English Language (HOTEL) after all.  I was an enthusiastic adopter of Ms (notice - no period).  I'm squeamish about using third person plural to refer to a singular human being, but I'm getting used to it.  

But. 

Something is going missing, something that used to make me smile, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.  Allow me to rant for a moment.

After dinner, someone used to stand and say:

Let's raise our glasses for a toast.  Here's to a wonderful whatever we're celebrating. CHEERS!

 For more than just recently, though, I hear this:

Let's cheers.  Raise your glasses.  Cheers to that wonderful whatever.

The old version lets you join in a rousing huzzah.  The new one leaves you hanging, raising your glass a little higher and smiling a little wider.

It's a tiny little thing, like giving up gay as a synonym for lighthearted. 

Still, it rankles.

48 Months

That's either a lot or a little.  It depends on your perspective.

It's a very small slice of their overall lives.  It's also perhaps the most intense part of their lives.

Not many months after connecting, they were COVID bound in studio apartments, shared with LiLou, their 135 pound pig.

lilouthepig.com

They worked and ate and saw each other, and only each other and the random store clerk.

Then they came and stayed with us for a few months. That was a whole different kind of closeness, with a fabulous intensity for all of us.

Still working and living with LiLou, they were married and pregnant and birthing babies in short order, having waited long enough.  Learning that sleep is vastly overrated, they've dealt with problems large and small.  

Now they and LilLou are in a bigger house, with a lovely backyard, a talkative two year old, and an incredibly advanced three month old.  They are starting to balance cost of living and school districts and the value of staying close to friends and the loss of remote work - nothing different than anyone else I've ever known, except for the compactness of time.  

Through it all, they don't pass one another without a loving touch and a kind word.  

It's a promise they made and one they've kept.  They fill each other's holes, gracefully and gratefully, happy to have one another around.  One is able to function in the morning, the other not so much.  One cooks.  One researches the best way to do things.  One loves to shop, one would be happy if comfy clothes appeared without effort.  

And so, without much stress, they are clothed and fed and living their best (sleepless) lives.

48 months ago there was this:

Now there is this:

48 months ... long days.... short years.  Here's to 48 times 48 more.

I Have To Make A New Sign

AOC and Bernie and Cory Booker and Gretchen Whitmer have all been in Tucson lately.  Mayor Pete is on Substack, sporting facial hair.

He does look older and more electable, doesn't he?

In another sign of the impending apocalypse, Stephen A Smith, the world's loudest and second most annoying sports commentator, said that people are asking him when he's gong to announce his run for President.

"I have no choice, because I’ve had elected officials — and I'm not going to give their names — coming up to me. I’ve had folks who are pundits come up to me. I've had folks that got a lot of money, billionaires and others, that have talked to me about exploratory committees and things of that nature. I’m not a politician. I’ve never had a desire to be a politician," Smith said, noting his contract with ESPN.

The season has started because, y'know, there are only 185 more weeks until the election and no one wants to be left behind.

No viable candidate has raised their head to replace my Congressman.  That's a race I could work on, if only there were a race to work on.  

Instead, this Saturday I'll stand outside the Social Security Office instead of the Tesla dealership, doing what I can to stop the madness. The anti-Musk protest has apparently done all the damage the organizer thinks is possible so we're moving to holler about protecting the safety net that keeps seniors off the streets.

He says we need new signs.

Any suggestions will be warmly welcomed.  I'm going to need all the brainpower we can muster for the next 1,295 days.  

Happy Earth Day

This is the 8th post I ever wrote, back in 2009.  

I've updated it just a little, but republish it here for the 16th time.  

I like Earth Day. I was there at the start, after all.

Created in large part by U.S. Senator Gaylord Nelson, in the world of 1970 it was a touchy-feely alternative to the harsher realities of the anti-Vietnam War protests. War was such an uncomfortable subject and arguing against it made your parents wonder why they were spending tuition dollars while you were telling the lawfully elected President of the United States of America that you knew more than he did. With your picture in the crowd on the front page of the NY Times, at 18 years of age, no less. 

But planting trees? Recycling newspaper? Not littering? All this in service to Mother Earth. Who could be aggravated about supporting Mother Earth?

Earth Day had teach-in's. They were more fun than sit-in's, which invariably involved police and disciplinary action. They were less fun than be-in's, which owed more to Timothy Leary and The Grateful Dead than to anything political or practical. Teach-in's were earnest and had hand-outs and statistics and pictures of desolate landscapes ravaged by the cruelty of man. There was science and legislation and outrage and lots of free tree give-aways.

Earth Day had no mandatory family gatherings. It required no gift giving, no card sending. You went outside and did something - cleaned a playground, weeded a median strip, planted one of those free trees. You felt good because you were doing good.

And Mother Earth was grateful.

*****

This paragraph is part of the original post:

Now there is Earth Week. Were this still 1970, there would be protests about the idea  being co-opted by the man. Instead, Sheryl Crow is designing re-useable grocery bags for Whole Foods and Wal-Mart is selling others next to the discounted paper towels.

Earth Week?  We can't even agree on climate change.  We are still protesting a venal administration, but most of us are recycling, or feeling guilty if we're not.  I always have a pretty reusable bag or three in the trunk because there's too much packaging in the world.  

Why that statement made my children cringe and shush me remains a mystery to this day.  

Here's wishing you a sunny and productive Earth Day.  If nothing else, buy yourself some flowers and send thankful vibes to the grower.

Oops

I published my notes for tomorrow's post instead of the post I'd written for today.  Sorry, all 30 of you who read the notes.... the real post is below. 

Saving Democracy While Living My Life

The thought of spending any mental energy on the impending Constitutional crisis, on the Supreme Court of Georgia's mere existence, on the revocation of visas and the vague chilling effect all of this is having on what I write.... well, denizens, it's just too much.

I started out on Friday, wearing a school t-shirt,  at Prince Elementary's Volunteer Appreciation Ceremony.  We were treated to a not quite ready for prime time but totally adorable rehearsal of all four kindergarten classes' Promotion to First Grade on the stage, one table away.

Look at these patient five and six year olds waiting for the grown ups to fix the sound system.

The lovely woman who coordinates the monthly Food Bank was as delighted as I was when the first little one called out my first but not last personal greeting.  There was an occasional wave and there were many smiles until the music started.  The singing and dancing was enthusiastic; they earned a standing ovation.  

I changed into my Good Trouble t-shirt and went on to the bi-weekly, LD18 Democrat organized, street protest in front of Rep. Juan Ciscomani's Tucson office.

I went upstairs, said hello to the lovely young people behind my Representative's security alarmed entrance, and left a note wishing he'd make a public statement about the Administration's plan to deport US citizens. 

I waved my sign

for a while, raising a thumbs up to the honking horns with the other pissed off citizens, then I turned my sign to the side I drive around with,

changed into my Every Body is Beautiful pilates shirt, and sweated for an hour before returning to school and gardening with the kiddos.

I spent Saturday morning doing the same things, without the school pieces.  I'm in great shape which is a good thing since holding a sign up,  no matter how light,  requires a certain amount of stamina. 

This was a lot easier 50 years ago. I cannot believe we have to do this again.  Saving democracy is hard work.  I hope there are some young people willing to pick up the mantle.  This is going to be a long fight. 

Happy Easter Weekend.

 I wrote this in 2015 and I am resurrecting it here.

It's everything I love about The Burrow - family, deep thoughts, and a smile

Happy Day Off From Work to those observing Good Friday (by choice or executive fiat).

Happy Easter to those who believe, to those who like getting dressed in frilly finery,

to those with great hats, and to those thinking deep thoughts.

*****

wikiart.org

At an early age, Big Cuter wanted to know why that guy has a towel and nails through his hands when we were confronted with Marc Chagall's White Crucifixion at the Art Institute of Chicago. His query highlighted the central problem I had with teaching the Cuters about Easter.  I was stuck between bunnies and lambs and a crucifixion. 

Nannie was eager to help, but she, too, was flummoxed.The bookstores didn't offer much.  Their descriptions of the Last Supper and The Passion and The Resurrection were either glossed over or overly grotesque for a sensitive, half-Christian, half-Jewish, little boy.  

We decided to stick with the bunnies and rebirth.  It was spring, after all.

Passover presented some of the same issues.  Why did God want to kill little boys, my own son wondered. Walk softly and carry a big stick came to mind as an answer, but it wouldn't do much to assuage his worry.  He was, after all, a first born son.  We wondered about a merciful God, about a righteous God, about a jealous God before the soup was served.  

I didn't worry about those issues when I was a child.  I thought it was weird that someone could die and be reborn, but if my Catholic girlfriend thought it was true, then who was I to argue?  Weird worked through elementary school.  

By the time I was in high school, I was doubting the whole religion thing in general, and was able to ascribe my problems with the stories to a problem with mythology in general.  I didn't give the Bible more credence than Edith Hamilton's Mythology.

Now there's FlapJilly and I'm faced with the same dilemma.  I asked her other grandmother, a Christian of many perspectives, if she had any ideas, but, sadly, MOTG was as lost last year as were Nannie and I, decades ago.

Once again, there were those bunnies.

Is that what faith is all about?  Believing that which is awkward because God is somehow involved?  If I had faith, perhaps I would know the answer.  But, I don't.  

So I am left with eating unleavened bread as I contemplate the Resurrection.  I wonder if the disciple to Jesus's right in The Last Supper really was Mary Magdalene.  I posit interesting tides and the parting of the Red Sea.  I dip my pinky in a wine glass and recount the ten plagues visited upon Egypt, and then I wash them off the plate and eat dinner.

It's not exactly what Sunday School or Hebrew School hoped for, but it's all I've got at the moment.

I'll celebrate by planting more pink and white  blossoms in my containers.  I'll watch the leaves appear from the bulbs planted years ago, and I'll concentrate on rebirth and miracles.  

And I'll try not to be angry at the bunnies eating the petunias.  It's their holiday, after all.

To My University

I learned to rely upon my brain and my heart.  I learned to be passionate about what was right and to fight to make it so with all the tools at my disposal.  I learned that there is strength in numbers and that showing up is the least one can do.  

I read the classics.  I read modern histories.  I learned about the inevitable ebb and flow of dominion over land and people.  I thought about right and wrong as we closed classes two springs in a row to protest the President's warmongering.

We were rude and unruly.  We occupied buildings and marched through campus.  

No one was deported.  No one held back funds until our ship was righted to their satisfaction.

The world went on, swinging back and forth from civil liberties to far-fetched fantasies, finding an occasional moment of peace and ease.  The University survived.

Now, faced with a crisis reminiscent of the McCarthy era, the University has a choice: acquiesce to a bully or stand your ground.  

Yes, it's a lot of money.  Yes, it's a research catastrophe.  

It's also an opportunity to show that you stand behind what Ezra Cornell said at its founding:

I trust we have laid the foundation of [a] university … where any person can find instruction in any study.

 

Another Take On Seders

 I had so much fun rereading my previous Passover posts.  I hope I'm not overdoing it.

*****

Brother is an excellent writer.  He kept me amused all through college with his semi-monthly JA NEWS.  All sides and corners of the pages were covered with amusements and philosophy, as were the envelopes.  He has his own particular take on the world.  Here's a glimpse.

Our Wacky and Wild Seders

We have two dozen haggadot that are all the same.

Sometimes we start reading around the table, each person reading one sentence. You have to pay attention – “Where are we?” is not acceptable with this crowd. Then we switch to each person reading one word. It goes slowly at first, then picks up speed until somebody says “REVERSE” and we go the other direction. It usually ends in laughter when two people next to each other keep saying “REVERSE!”

We also have a collection of different haggadot, from fancy collectible printings to crumbling ancient Maxwell House booklets. When we use these haggadot, everyone at the table gets a different version. 

We sometimes try the one sentence at a time thing with the various translations. You have to listen while reading ahead and thinking about your next line. This usually winds up in a discussion like, “That doesn't make sense” or “You missed this part” or “Mine translates that as (whatever).” 

We always compare artwork in the different versions. Some is astonishingly good, some is astonishingly bad, and some is just astonishing

But the company and the food are always good.

Taxes

Funding this government makes me queasy.

The House passed no meaningful legislation last session.  They are on track to pass only hateful, vengeful bills this year.  The Senate, hopelessly mired in posturing, isn't much better.  Arizona's legislature is at odds with the Governor, so nothing gets done.... except by the State Superintendent of Schools who is going out of his way to promote charter schools.

The Secretary of Education was interviewed and spent several minutes talking about the importance of A One.  A One should be in every grade, even kindergarten and first grade can benefit from A One and we will be a leader with A One.  TBG and I were totally flummoxed; why was she promoting steak sauce?  

The host was happy to explain that she was referring to Artificial Intelligence..... AI. 

Y'know those people who use I instead of me incorrectly because they think it makes them sound smarter than they really are?  I will put up with a lot but please do not mess with grammar, the English language, reading simple phrases.  Just don't.

A local water project, part way through development, is stymied, its infrastructure refurbishing funds frozen by an unelected ketamine addict.  United Airlines wants me to be certain that my name on my official photo id is exactly the same as the name I use on their website because TSA is really concerned about that now.  There's a humanitarian disaster in Myanmar and an American presences is noticeably absent.  

Canadians want nothing to do with us.  Mexico's president is having some success, treating him as a recalcitrant child whose temper tantrums must be managed, but who can be calmed by a using big words and a sweet treat.  The EU is getting credit for UNICEF aid packages and, once again, the USA is absent.

No one is answering the phones at the IRS or Social Security.  Kids and parents are afraid to leave their homes; Homan's goons may be hovering.

Where is my money going?  

Can I designate it all to supporting Ukraine?

We filed, but we didn't feel good about it at all.

Happy Passover

First published April 12, 2017

 Families gathered around a table.

The fancy china unwrapped and the silver polished.

On the table, someone's hand embroidered ("NO! Don't use that to blot up the wine!) tablecloth and napkins.

Well-worn Haggadah in hand, the patriarch stands and recites and sings and calls on others to participate.

Hard boiled eggs and salad greens staunch the appetites, then apples-and-nuts-and-Manischewitz-Concord Grape wine ("More, please!) tickle the palate.

Matzoh ball soup and gefilte fish and then all the main courses anyone could imagine and then more singing and more praying and gradually the kids disappear until Daddy is looking for the Afikomen.

What could go wrong?  My all time favorite family photograph says it best:

I hope that your seders (should you be lucky enough to participate in one or two) are filled with joy and laughter and the kind of love that sends a favorite grandchild over the edge.

And Just Like That

Summer arrived today.  

I stood outside on Saturday, without a hat, for more than two hours, holding a sign, and I was never too hot.  I was wearing two layers on top.  I was glad I wore a sweater over a cotton blouse on Sunday.

Today, I barely lasted an hour outside in Grandma's Garden.  From now on, I do my outside stuff before 9 am.

The humans aren't the only ones altering their patterns.  Those look like javelina tracks along the front of our property.  They haven't done that there since the last time it was hot.

My bearded iris are loving the heat,

and the store bought petunia starts are equally delighted.  

Mostly, it's the yellow season that announces the arrival of warmer temperatures.  This tree was bare and green a week ago.  Now it's providing yellow pollen to annoy the entire neighborhood.

It hasn't rained in a while, but, surprisingly, the ocotillo are blooming.

This is an ocotillo flower up close.

The succulent that volunteered several years ago has given birth to many pups (see the babies around her base?) and this year, for the first time, she's showing her floral stuff.

The wildflowers are starting to get into the act, too.

It's time to move the flannel shirts into the totes and take out the rest of the tank tops.  Just like that, summer has arrived.

 

Today

It's National Pygmy Hippo Day.

It's National Unicorn Day.

The stock market rebounded in a big way.

FFOTUS is thrilled - his name is leading the news, he's making waves, foreign leaders are lining up to kiss his ass.

I'm sticking with the unicorns.

A Gentle Suggestion for the Democrats

Speaker of the House Johnson represents a district in Louisiana.  38% of his constituents are on Medicaid, helped by the ACA, even if their minimum wage  job provides coverage.  Medicaid is less expensive for them.

He is promoting drastic cuts to Medicaid.  

CBS interviewed residents of Vivian, Louisiana.  Vivian has few large employers, and most employers pay the minimum wage, which hasn't changed since 2009.   It's $7.95/hour.  Take home pay averages $200/week.

We are just stuck was the prevailing sentiment. 

But neither of the two people interviewed voted in the last election, and neither knew that Johnson is their representative in Congress.

Perhaps some voter education is in order.  Organizing used to be the Democrats ace in the hole.  Perhaps they ought to seek out new territory and expand their reach.

Sounds like Vivian, Louisiana might be a good place to start.

Happy Birthday, HoneyBunny

She's two.  

She's magnificent.

Her big eyes miss nothing, from the squirrels (announced in Russian) scampering on the fence to the tiniest little booboo on her finger.  Immediate attention is required, and her persistence makes it so.

She climbs and jumps and slides higher and faster than the 3 year olds at the park.  It's her happy place, down a short path from her front yard, filled with all manner of potential adventures.  Sometimes the tan bark ground cover, sometimes the faux steering wheel, sometimes the swings, but always the park.

She loves her baby brother, treating her two little baby dolls the same way Mommy treats him.  When the little human isn't in his car seat or his high chair or his napping pad, those plastic babies take his place.  After checking with them, she is glad to assure anyone nearby that they are okay.

Okay, baby? from the mouth of one who was the baby until two months ago is possibly the cutest thing I've heard in recent times.

Her Daddy is improving his pony tail skills; today she had a top knot and a low pony.  Many colored barrettes keep the strands out of her face.  Not long ago we wondered if she'd ever grow hair to be styled.

She gave us a concert on our last video chat.  Old MacDonald led off, followed by fifteen minutes of songs she's heard at day care or on tv.  Most of the words were intelligible.  Her enthusiasm was contagious.  Her grandparents could not stop beaming.

She's not feeling well today, so her cupcakes at day care will have to wait until she recovers.  But birthday wishes will still flow her way, starting with this one, at 12:00am, the first one of the day.

Happy Birthday, HoneyBunny.  Grandma loves you a lot.

Hands Off Photos

I'm so proud of Tucson.  The local paper says 10,000 people showed up on April 5th to voice their concerns.  There were a lot of concerns.  Here are 93 of them.

They were multi-cultural.

 They were artistic creations from protesters with lots of markers.

Nobody liked Elon.

Or DOGE

Or FFOTUS

There were signs about issues

There were signs about signs about issues.

There were suggestions.

Democracy was on the minds of many of us

There were calls to action

And then there were the winners

It was a lovely day in Tucson