The Burrow

There have been adventures.  There have been hugs.  There have been delicious meals.  All of this has photographic evidence residing in my phone.  Unfortunately,  Blogger turns my photos sideways.  We are not really that weird.  It's the app, I promise.  While I could list the places we've gone and the foods we've eaten,  without the photos it's too boring for even the most devoted of denizens to read.  So,  I will borrow a laptop tomorrow morning and begin, once again, to type.  For now,  though,  let's revel in the absurdity that is running our country. FFOTUS says Russia wants Ukraine to succeed. The fact that Zelensky kept a straight face as this nonsense was a tribute to his acting chops.  The Epstein files were redacted with see-through black marker. Apparently,  you can save them as a document and the redactions disappear.  They aren't just corrupt,  they are incompetent, too. Ev...

Written for December 24, 2009.   We were sitting on the steps in the main hallway of Annie's Washington abode, watching the 2 little girls play in their fantasy land, when he asked the question. Not "How  does  the seed get into the egg, Mom?" Nope, that one was just before the Fullerton exit on Lake Shore Drive in a raging snowstorm on barely plowed roads when we were already 15 minutes late and traffic wasn't moving. Peacefully watching the girls, the sunshine through the magnificent beveled windows making the prism rainbows we were, I thought, busily counting, out of his 7 year old mouth came " Santa's not really real, is he, Mom?" He noted my pause, and, ever the Big Cuter, his face took a serious cast as he reassured me:  "Don't worry. I won't tell her.  She  really believes he's real." What followed was a precise analysis, continent by continent, time zone by time zone, of the why-nots of Santa's voyage. He was quietly dem...

Honey Bunny needed to watch football. Not just wanted to watch football, but needed to watch football, with the intensity that an almost 3 year old needs anything.  "Where's Brock Purdy?" she asked, over and over and over again, in the highest little voice imaginable, unable to process the fact that the game wouldn't start for a while. The 9ers are her team, in their red uniforms.  The Colts are in blue.  She groaned with every tackle and cheered at every touchdown. What we couldn't do was find her cousins.  They were in the end zone,  with seats SIR was gifted from work. But Little Cuter took care of that problem.  Do you think he's excited to be there?

I'm writing this introduction after I finished downloading my disgust with FFOTUS.   Random Thoughts because that's all I can muster.  I can't put them together into flowing paragraphs.  I'm letting my pre-travel have I packed the right things  anxiety allow other bad thoughts to intrude.  If you're in a happy mood and don't want to be disturbed, I totally get it. But my cup spew-eth over and this is my space to vent.  I'm going to leave the venom and dismay sadness and hopelessness right here and go on to enjoy my family and friends.  I really really really hope the world allows that to happen and that all of us have joyous and peaceful times before us.  A girl can dream, can't she? If you're ready, read on. ***** Why am I surprised?  I had high hopes that were (ridiculously) dashed.  For some reason, not based on anything past or present, I did believe that the pedophile's files would be open for perusal by America and the world b...

My nails are a shimmery, shiny red. My menorah is fully embracing Chrismukkah. I had to freeze The Cornellians' annual kringle; I ate one third of it before reason set in. We are spending the holidays with our kids and their kids and that's about the most wonderful sentence I can think of typing right now.  It's a gift we don't have to wrap or ship or worry about.  It's a one size fits all (maybe a little squished but still.....) joy fest and Giblet made his class newspaper by announcing the news.   Right now, though, I'm too pooped to pop, and certainly unwilling and (even more) unable to let any 22 minute rant derail my happy train.   Self care is vastly under-rated.   Happy Happy Joy Joy  

Today was Crazy Sweater Day, tomorrow is Pajama Day, Friday is the first day of Winter Break.   From the looks on the teachers' faces it can't come soon enough. $92 million ..... $57 million .... guaranteed for nine years or four years .... with health benefits and state of the art workout facilities ... and is it enough for the talented young man who can throw a ball?   I know 60 educators who might take any one of those deals.   As the vacation nears, the kids start losing their minds and the staff bears the brunt of it.  There are no free breakfasts and lunches during Winter Break.  Everyone is at home and there's barely room when they're just sleeping and one third grader fell asleep today at her desk because it's very noisy at my home.      Many of the kids will be moving to new homes, new families, new schools.  One Garden Leader is getting four more brothers and I already have five. Another is moving so far away ...

An occasional reader of The Burrow commented unfavorably about that big picture that takes up the whole screen .  That was the motivation I needed to take the time and correct the situation.  The interface is uncomfortable.  Not much is where I intuited it would be.  I found a theme that made me happy - plain, simple, a white background, and a way to make the font bigger.  Unfortunately, it did not have a way to reply to comments.  I couldn't find a work around.   Organizing that failed theme took more than enough time.  I moved on.  I moved further on.  I went back and forth between several bold and bright ideas.  Time passed.  The options began to blur into one another.   Did that one have a way to remove the picture?  It did, but finding the drop down menu where that was lurking was no mean feat.   There was the matter of The Burrow ... the words in the header, not the content below.  Did I...

I was trying to get through December without totally losing my shit.  I made steady progress on the Brownie List, finishing all but 3 deliveries and cleaning up the wreckage before the cleaning ladies came today.  There's something wonderful about the moments before you rearrange the pillows for comfort rather than show, especially when someone else has created the pretty setting just for you. That's the vibe I was carrying into the evening.  There's not much left to do.  My house is neat and clean.  We are as healthy as our 150+ years on the planet will allow.  I lit the Hanukkah candles and sat back to do the Wordle. I opened my phone and there he was, the human wrecking ball of our Constitution, talking about Rob Reiner.  Rob Reiner for crying out loud.  Princess Bride (the perfect movie according to FlapJilly) Rob Reiner.  When Harry Met Sally, Spinal Tap, Stand By Me Rob Reiner.  The man who is being lauded as having re-invented the...

I dropped off brownies to my nursery this morning.  The owner was there to greet me.  She and her husband, and now her daughter and son-in-law, have been my friends and GRIN supporters since before there was GRIN.  They caution me if the plant I'm admiring will require more care than I'm willing to provide.  They do the heavy lifting and I do the pretty planting.   Our politics could not be more different.  Staunch conservatives, small business owners, and devoutly religious - just think of the opposites and there I'll be.  Abortion has been the lightning rod for our (friendly and respectful) disagreements over the years, until FFOTUS came to town.  They were fans. They weren't thrilled with his verbiage but were willing to overlook it because he was espousing the up by your bootstraps mentality that lay behind their growing business.  Things didn't go quite as well as they hoped, but Pandemica was nothing but great for their business....

While waiting in line for a prescription, I was visited by my (dead) mother.  She stood right next to me, pointing at the shelf, upon which sat this remnant from my past: I had neither seen nor heard nor spoken about Albolene for approximately half a century, yet suddenly I was transported to a bathroom in my ancestral manse (a split level in 1950's suburbia).  While I'm certain that my mother never considered paying this much money for it: I am also confident that she wouldn't refuse a tub if I were to buy it for her.   That got me thinking about what other blast from the past might be lurking on the shelves. Would I find Prell shampoo, neon green and smelling luscious its tube? The thought sends me straight to the showers at Girl Scout camp, my first sleep away experience.   click Americana TBG had a law school professor with an unusually white and bright smile; they called her Ipana.  Does anyone born in the last 50 years know why? created by AI via...

In every Joy to the World and Merry Christmas and Season's Greetings and Happy Holidays embellished box I fill with red or green tissue paper (a little bit, just to be festive) and silver squares of Reynolds Wrapped brownies, there's also a little conversation.   Granted, I'm the only one participating in the exchange, so it's really a soliloquy.  But I'm addressing the recipients, by name or nickname or relationship, and the dialogue is peculiar to the recipient.  I really am looking for answers to the questions I'm positing as I pack and address and ship.  How old, how long, how serious, how happy..... these are things I wish to know. Not-Kathy, aghast at the cost of shipping all this love, suggested that I get everyone who lives near others to meet at a central point and pick up their gifts.  I laughed and replied that she was the only one who would think of that (true) and the only one who would do that (not true). That was another reminder of the beaut...

 These are the comments left on last week's post about The Brownie List. dkzody December 4, 2025 at 8:56 AM Yours is the second wonderful "best story of the day" this morning. Thank you for sharing happiness and kindness. I know it's an effort, and I know it is much appreciated by those who receive those packages. Reply Delete Linda Reeder December 4, 2025 at 6:04 PM Are these the fabled brownies?! Bless you for still caring They arrived just in time.  Here's why: I love to bake and package and ship and receive the love which comes with The Brownie List.  I don't like chocolate.  I don't eat them (possibly weird but that's never bothered me). Thus, I never know if they taste good (grammatically doubtful).  Acting as my Official Taste Tester is a major reason TBG is in my life. Today, I decided to get ahead of my usual three pans per day.  By the time I was done, there were nine 8x8 baking pans of all descriptions littering (purposefully chosen verb) m...

I sat in the front row of the intimate (~200 people) town hall my Senator, Mark Kelly, held on Friday afternoon.   I secured that front row seat by claiming kinship with JT, who grew up near me on Long Island, whose nephew is someone I liked but who disillusioned me, and who was delighted to play along with my charade as I charmed the young lady trying to seat me in the corner by declaring that I had to sit by my uncle right there in the front row, 2 feet from where everyone's hero spoke.   JT and I waited next to each other in Line B, having arrived fifteen minutes before the doors opened.  We exchanged New York snark about politics and politicians and the hangers-on, on all of which he shared an insider's perspective.  The woman behind us ended up seated right next to us; it was the beginning of a beautiful (if brief) friendship. There are many links on the interwebs which will give you the highlights.  It's obviously his standard stump speech, but d...

I am honored and thrilled to be on The Brownie List! I am a cook and know there is a secret ingredient in them aside from the love. Would you consider a bribe for the recipe? ...... You can save the long newsy update this year, I think I know what's up, almost daily, lots of fun! With love to you, FAMBB    ( Comment on this post, originally published 12/9/2009.  Reprinted here, slightly amended.)     The Brownie List - A Jewish Girl Does Christmas   It started innocently enough. HDK & Zanner and TBG & I were celebrating our first holiday season as working adults and we gave them a pan of my brownies and they gave us fire place tools. You know what I'm talking about..... the big brass stand and the little broom and dust pan and the oversized tongs and the pokey thing that's the only piece you ever really use anyway so why are the rest of them there???? Well, dear reader, I was abashed. Obviously, there was a mysterious Christmas gift giving code...

I've gathered the ingredients on the countertop.  They'll live there until I'm done. The pans are washed and ready to go, on top of the towels I inherited from Nannie.  The pot with the melting chocolate and butter was part of my mother's trousseau in 1950.  That's 75 years of oatmeal and melted butter.   Just waiting for that chocolate. I baked and packaged and wrote short notes to ten different sets of people who are in my life but live far far far oh just much too far away.  Everyone will reach out to thank me, not only because it's protocol for remaining on The List, but because it's been too long since we last touched base. It's time consuming and messy and dealing with the USPS website is a nightmare and it's just about the best thing I do all year long.  Each box sparks a smile, a sigh, a wonderful warm hug around me heart.  I know so many wonderful people.  It's good to be reminded of that now and then.  

Dilatory means slow to act ..... and that's what happened this weekend.  I had every intention, really, of posting every day while we were in Indiana with the grandbabies.  But marathon UNO games; hide and seek in the basement; jumping at the trampoline park; and watching the snow fall... and fall... and fall, leaving more than ten inches to play with, and then hanging with the softest, snuggliest,  most loving puppy in the world,    there was barely time to open my phone or computer to type.   I'm assuming I'm forgiven. By Saturday afternoon we were stir crazy.  Leaving Grandpa home to watch football, the rest of us piled into SIR's massive Ford and plowed our way through icy roads and piles of unplowed snow to the mall.   FlapJilly loves the mall, even when there's nothng but pre-shopping to be done.  Her mom took photos of the things she liked while the boys wandered on their own .... until we came to this place. Who knew there w...