The Burrow

I was glad that Big Cuter was coming to visit.  I needed reassurance and validation and a second opinion from someone familiar with the history.  I needed comfort and solace and support.   I got the comfort and solace and support.  I got hugs and kisses.  I didn't need a second opinion; things were changing rapidly.    The man who couldn't get out of bed was walking without assistance. The man who pointed instead of talking was using his words. The man who was never hungry was eating every 20 minutes. This is why: Berries all over her face Play Doh Cutlery is optional                                                                        Brother made the ferry and cars for Big Cuter 40 some years ago.  What goes around, comes aroun...

TBG has no energy.  I have no oomph. It's hard to get motivated to do anything at all.  Except when the grandkids arrive.  Suddenly, TBG's playing hide and seek from the couch. I hopped out of bed when I heard high pitched giggling... despite the fact that it was 6:15 and we'd stayed up past 11 to watch the first 3 episodes of Reacher. Oatmeal for the masses. Mandarin oranges for snacks.  Chasing a stuffed smile around the couch.  Searching for Cinderella's missing glass slipper. Jumping on Grandpa's bed.  Giving and getting hugs.       Suddenly,  neither of us is tired. 

For years, asking a clerk or a salesperson or a nurse or a friend for something got you No Problem for a response. It annoyed me, implying that I had asked for something difficult, that the listener would handle the situation, that it was not a problem at all.  But I usually didn't think that my request might be a bother.   May I have ice tea to drink?  Could you hold the door for me?  Can you reach that item on the top shelf? Those are requests.  If I thought they might create an issue I wouldn't have asked.  I didn't want to make a tumult, cause an issue, initiate a problem.  No problem  assumes an issue, one I didn't see, anticipate, or intend to bring to the situation. Spending most of last month sitting with TBG in the hospital, I began to notice a change.  Instead of No problem  people were saying Of course. That's so much nicer, isn't it?  Instead of assuming a problem needed to be swept away, there's an acknowledgement ...

Of late, TBG has not been hungry.  There's no telling from day to day what will work.  Today, cold milk (and sometimes the accompanying Cheerios) was what he craved.  Yesterday, it was flautas from our Mexican restaurant .  He keeps sending me to Dairy Queen for a small chocolate milkshake.  His taste buds never get the message from his brain that says I love this! Drink me!  Instead, two spoonsful in his nose wrinkles in disgust. It's too bad I don't like chocolate... or maybe that's a good thing.  I've been well fed by eating what tastes terrible after two bites.  It makes meal planning very simple. I'm thinking about this because, in bringing out the toys for HoneyBunny and The IVth's visit this week, I came across Junior Kindergarten Recipes For Your Holiday Entertainment.  Created by Little Cuter's class of 5 and 6 year olds in the late 1980's, it's full of gems.  As I ease back into the swing of things, I'm taking a shortcut and sh...

I've been absent of late because sometimes life asserts itself quite forcefully. I'm going to take the rest of the week off and allow catastrophe to take a back seat for a while.   I'll be back, with recharged batteries, on Monday. 

Sometimes it's all just too much. Michael Pollan's  A World Appears  has broken my brain.  I can't let my mind run free; I'm constantly wondering if I am thinking the thoughts before they are verbalized in my head.   Is it my neurons firing or is it me , whatever that means.  Do I exist outside of the chemical and electrical impulses in my head?  Pollan notes that this problem is, in some ways, unsolvable since we cannot extricate ourselves from ourselves and observe ourselves from the outside. See what I mean?  Thinking like that can really tie your brain in knots. A kinesthesiologist chimed in on the subject this morning, giving me a very complex description of what goes on in my brain when I think or move.  Pollan calls this materialism  or physicalism , the need for something quantifiable as an explanation. But Pollan dabbles in psychedelics.  He meditates.  He spends time on silent retreats.   Do plants have cons...

The presumptive Attorney General of the United States thinks he is the man's lawyer, not the country's lawyer.  L'etat, c'est moi  seems to be the governing principal in DC these days, so his (misplaced) loyalty shouldn't be such a surprise. But, it is. John Cornyn is happy to let FFOTUS and family off the IRS hook now that he has a signed declaration that the pay-me-because-I-desecrated-the-Capitol fun is kaput.  I see no indication that Todd Blanche won't implement something similar once he's confirmed, nor do I foresee any such protection from tax audits for me and mine. My favorite crooked AG is John Mitchell, Nixon's cohort and someone who actually spent time in prison (19 months for conspiracy, perjury, and obstruction of justice).  Does hiding and lying about the Epstein files in order to protect his client, the guy in the gilded Oval Office, count as conspiracy, perjury, and obstruction of justice? I'm not a lawyer, and my personal legal eagl...

Appliances that were inserted to treat him are going to be removed tomorrow, along with the offending irritant.   This comes as a surprise, although not an unwelcome one.  The hospitalist managed to squeeze us into the surgeon's schedule. Once again, I'll be driving to the hospital, parking with the valet, and waiting. I've spent most of this summer in the hospital, waiting. Getting old is not for sissies.

FlapJilly's birthday was July 29th.  Her mother called us so that we could sing happy birthday to her.  Usually, we make that phone call on our own.  That happens when I decide that it is July 29th. Unfortunately, I spent all day Wednesday knowing it was the 28th. How does this happen to me?   Without a school or work schedule to follow, I end up at Pilates on Monday when I'm scheduled for Tuesday.... or I miss my eldest grandchild's birthday. Spending days in the hospital added to the problem, especially when they don't update the day/date white board in the patient's room. As G'ma said when asked for the day and date during her mental status exam - Do you have a newspaper?  That information is in the top right corner. If only the print edition of the local paper weren't $90 a month......

Costco's aisles were filled with backpacks and lunch boxes this afternoon.   Monday was New Teachers First Day. School starts in one week - Wednesday, August 6th. My desk is covered in planning for the year.  A planting calendar, the school year calendar, Back to School Love Feast..... my brain is not prepared for this. It's July.  It's the middle of the summer.  I should be planning a trip to the ocean, not deciding which seeds to plant in Grandma's Garden.   I don't understand why the school year is structured the way it is.   Tucson Unified School District is floating the idea of year-round school, or 4 days/10 hour weeks.  (Parents have been asked to weigh in;  this woman's analysis is worth reading) .  The Cuters' school in Chicago was on trimesters; we loved it.  Having vacation time when everyone else was in school made ski slopes uncrowded and theme parks deserted.  We made good use of the time. I'm not just c...

TBG is being released today.  The relief is palpable.... for both of us.  The hospitalist managed to secure a follow up appointment with a doctor whose scheduler told me the next avaliable date was in November.  Home health care is organized, and I had nothing to do with it.  Behind the scenes, people were working and planning and all we had to do was say yes.  His bills this year are close to $500,000, and that's without this 8 day plus surgery stay. We paid a manageable deductible.  Procedures billed at thousands were magically reduced to hundreds because we have insurance.  The uninsured pay the not-discounted-amount.  It's easy to see why medical debt destroys families.  Medicine in America is broken.  None of the staff here received the 40% increase that TBG now is paying for h his insurance.  Where did that money go?  Gun violence is never acceptable.  I can, however, understand the rage and fury and helplessness tha...

Drove home in the dark, though tonight it was punctuated by bolts of lightning.  This is not the lightning of Long Island or Chicago or Marin.  These are vertical, startlingly bright, tremendously long, bolts of light that illuminate the mountains and make midnight feel like late afternoon.  Sometimes there are more than one at a time, and the whole sky turns a milky white. I would rather have been a passenger than the one responsible for staying calm as the night explodes. Hadn't remembered to leave a light on and groped to find the alarm, whose bright green clock wasn't enough to encourage a speedy transit of the 5 steps from the door.  I dropped my hospital purse and the bright pink cooler on the kitchen counter and turned to the sink to wash my hands. I looked up as I replaced the detritus of the day with aloe and grapefruit and saw this Last month,  Auntie M and Mr. T sent me a fruit basket filled with lots of multi-colored paper, some unfortuna...

Drove home in the dark.   Hungry, but this isn't New York City so by 9pm there's MickeyD's or Burger King.  Created a boring but filling turkey sandwich, read Miles Taylor's Substack . Found Arcturus and Vega and went inside; the air was too thick to be enjoyable. I was moping.   Came into the library and saw a new message blinking red on  the answering machine (yes, an answering machine for our landline.... yes, a landline, too). Wondered what the other 14 messages were and listened from the beginning. Magic. Giblet and Little Cuter babbling happily, signing off with a resounding BYE!!! FlapJilly and Little Cuter encouraging Giblet to say hi. Big Cuter and Queen T after their first ultrasound; she's beautiful. The rest were nonsense and easily deleted.  While congratulating my past self for saving them, I replayed my three love notes from the past. I'm smiling and my heart is full.  Like I said: Magic.

Trying to find joy in a hospital setting is a matter of small steps.   This morning,  TBG was ready to lighten the darkness and let me roll up the windowshade. It's a lot easier to be anxious when there is beauty avaliable with a tug on a chain.  Instead of focusing on the tubes and the beeps and the evidence of illness surrounding him, I'm lying back on the small, sort of comfortable, sofa,  watching the clouds and writing to you.  I can feel the love.  I feel you caring.  It's a virtual, giant, warming hug.  Thanks for being here.  

Hospitals (yes,  we're back in the hospital) create an interesting collection of humans.  When we arrived this morning, there were white,  middle aged,  sick people in the waiting area of the Emergency Department.  This evening,  it is filled with people of every color and size and shape.  It also creates an interesting collection of machinery,  much of which is attached to TBG at the moment.  Heart rate,  blood pressure,  respiration.... I can watch it all from my chair at the end of his bed.  There are green squiggly lines,  white curves with flattened tops,  blue  mountains, all sorts of numbers in pink and green and turquoise. There's some comfort to be taken from monitoring the monitor.  It makes up for the fact that I can do nothing to fix what's wrong with him.  The EMTs came just after my 911 operator told me to call back if he stopped breathing.  That was a piece of information.... what el...

Did you ever stand in the middle of the room looking for the adult who would tell you what to do? That was me, last night.  I'll have more to say tomorrow.  Right now,  I'm trying to be the competent grow up on the room. 

"Are you and the President friends?" "I'm his lawyer." At a certain point, the rest of us have to stand up and shake the 37% of Americans who think that this shit is okay.  It's really really not. JD says that if Watergate happened today, it would be a 12-hour news story .  I have been thinking about that since he said it last month.  No matter how I spin it, I can't make it okay.  He's telling us that his administration's sins dwarf  Nixon's.  And he doesn't seem to mind. It's not okay.  It's really not. Pete Buttigieg just explained it all very clearly while talking to Jen Psaki.  We are in a moment where real change can happen.  FFOTUS certainly broke everything, but that doesn't mean we have to put it back together the same way. Real thoughts spoken in complete sentences combined into paragraphs and plans and ideas and I really really really hope he gets to be president.  Soon.

TBG and I managed to listen to some of it.  We clicked away at the same time that CBS stopped showing it.   Sen. Mark Warner (not John Warner, the Virginia Senator once married to Elizabeth Taylor) called on his Republican colleagues to stand up and defend our elections against FFOTUS's lies and mendacity.   But it's more than lies and mendacity.  It's truly drivel. DRIVEL Definition & Meaning Merriam-Webster https://www.merriam-webster.com › dictionary › d rivel Jul 2, 2026 — 1. to talk stupidly and carelessly FFOTUS accused China of stealing millions of Americans' personal information by hacking into our (unbelievably, like no one has ever seen) insecure voter data bases.   Sure, maybe.  Except it's an incredibly dumb argument, especially coming from a politician. Anyone can access those data bases by paying the County a fee.  It's how campaigns are run.  I brought the huge computer printouts from the Marin County Recorder's...

The interminable road work fronting her business for the past too many years to count forces me to drive several extra miles, ignoring the map lady's guidance, since none of her left turns or u-turns are possible.  It doesn't matter.  She's worth the trip. The relationship between a woman and her hairdresser is personal and private and, if it's a long term relationship, a living diary.  You have the same basic conversations every time, because that's what life looks like.  Family, work, sports, politics.... whatever your connections, you've watched them evolve over time.  Children grow, teams win, politicians die, but the chair and the tools and the participants remain the same.   Today, as most days over the past few years, we moaned and groaned over FFOTUS's clown car government and its ripple effect on small businesses like hers.  People are stretching out their intervals for services, letting their hair grow, giving up colorizing.   ...

TBG found it.  He was searching for something that wasn't sports related.  He stumbled upon something neither of us knew was coming.  It didn't appear in any of the what to watch  lists that come across my feed.  It was just lying there, waiting to be discovered. Season 3 of The Diplomat  is on Netflix. We were excited.  The sun was still up and we turned it on anyway. Six hours later, well past our bedtime, we decided to save the last two episodes for tomorrow night, in part so I could type to you, but mostly because we want to stretch out the pleasure.    This is brief.  I am tired but my mind is racing.  I'd definitely add this to  yesterday's list. .

It's been a while since I shared the good stuff.  Here are snippets to entice you to dig deeper. Geraldine Brooks is one of my favorite authors.  Her take on Little Women  won the Pulitzer Prize.   Horse  is about so much more than the celebrated stud sire and his enslaved groom.  Memorial Days  is her latest and I loved it as much as all the others.  It's a retrospective and real time look at  grieving the death of her husband, Tony Horwitz  (who turns out to be a very interesting character himself and whose Confederates In The Attic  is on my library reserve list. ***** Millie Bobbie Brown won my heart as Eleven in Stranger Things.  Although TBG dismisses it as barely a chick flick, I find the Netflix adaptation of Nancy Springer's young adult novels  to be absolutely delightful.  Where he sees puerile, I see guilelessness.  Her gender bending clothing, her fierce and admirable mother, and her domineering ...

Today, he is 8. Fitzgerald, the dog zooming through the birthday photo shoot is oblivious, while I am struck by the passage of time.  Wasn't it yesterday that FlapJilly and I were waiting at home for Mama to push him out?  Now he's hitting home runs. I love the big kid he's becoming,  the kind, sensitive, artistic, responsible, human who runs faster than anyone else, ever, and whose heart is always open and giving.  He was that way as a toddler.  He's that way now.  Watch out, world, for what's coming next.  He's not a baby any more.    

At 7:15  this morning,  as I realized that, once again, the water in Grandma's Garden was not working,  my car thermometer read 98.   Tonight, at 8:30, our pool's thermometer read the same.   The heater turns off when the pool reaches 85 and we let the sun warm it up the next few degrees to take the edge off.  But sustained triple digits during the day lead to overnight lows around 82 and if I've not done my laps by 10 I'm swimming in bathwater.   Without a sun shield and a shaded parking space, my car barely cools off by the time I'm home. First world problems, I know.  But the service dog I saw this morning was wearing rubber soled booties with gripper dots to raise her paws off the sidewalks.  It's not an overreaction.  People who live outside show up in Emergency Rooms with third degree burns from sitting and sleeping on our sidewalks.... and that's a first world problem, too. Anyway, it's too hot to do much think...

Whatever the reason, the quarterfinal game was hard to watch.  The Americans were late to every ball.  They stood around as Belgium danced around them.   4-1 is an embarrassing soccer score.  Watching that fourth goal bounce into the net, initiated by an errant pass and unimpeded by the goalie, had us groaning.  Is soccer just not our game?  Was the brouhaha over the red card too much of a distraction?  Did changing the line up and then changing the line up confuse the players?  Or did they just not care? That's the sigh.  Here comes the smile. Waiting in line at the clinic's pharmacy is always a pleasant experience.  Weird, I know, but absolutely true.  Today, we three women all agreed that, although none of us (nor TBG on the bench) could recall its name, the Sally Fields movie with the octopus is a must watch film.   Although I was feeling pretty good after sharing intelligent thoughts about an amazing actress with...

Eric Swalwell was MSNBC's favorite panelist until he wasn't any more.  He vanished in an instant, withdrawing from California's gubernatorial race (and why isn't that governatorial?) amid allegations of sexual misconduct by numerous women. ***** John Kennedy engaged in numerous acts of sexual misconduct during his presidency..... that we know of.  Were women too frightened to come forward then?  Or was he just so charming that no one could say no?   ***** Graham Platner managed to defuse his tattoo disaster only to fall upon yet another allegation of rape.  Bernie Sanders, an early supporter, wants him to withdraw from the Senate race.  Seems like we'll be watching Susan Collins be shocked and surprised for 6 more years. ***** Ruben Gallego, once a good friend of Eric Swalwell, now regrets their relationship.  Ruben used to be a regular on MSNBC, too.  We haven't seen him in a while.  Is the stain of that relationship souring his status ...

After ruining my 4th of July, FFOTUS decided to trash my World cup fun, too. Was the red card an overreaction?  Do we like VAR?  They won without him with only 10 players on the field so maybe it doesn't matter? All that was interesting to consider as we waited for tonight's match.  Then the Corruption Hotline fired up and our felon was talking to FIFA's crook and afterwards the red card disappeared. Note: the rules say a red card cannot be overturned. Note: the two guys on the phone have never, will never, can never play by the rules. So now, instead of watching the US men triumph or collapse under adversity, we're faced with a match whose outcome has already been marked with an asterisk. Everything the man touches dies.

America couldn't throw itself a birthday party.  Everyone seemed to lose interest once it became all about FFOTUS.   There was no bunting.   There were no American flags put out for the occasion (except ours, because he doesn't get to take that memory away from me).   There were no 250th Birthday Sales.  Our Mexican restaurant  did offer me a $6 margarita (which I happily accepted) and volunteered to change the tv channel (is that even a thing anymore?) so that we could both watch the soccer with ease.  We didn't inconvenience anyone; we were the only patrons. For some reason known only to himself, TBG turned our television to Fox and invited FFOTUS into our living room.  God, Communism, and your beautiful 2nd Amendment  later, he began introducing very old veterans who were to salute very old flags and then take their very old selves off FFOTUS's stage.   Some of them didn't get the memo and seemed to overstay their ...

This is how I feel about America right now - droopy.  But there was a time when I felt hopeful, even enthusiastic about our standing in the world.  That's when I originally wrote the post I'm reprinting below the sad flag.  I'm going to let those memories take me back in time for the 4th of July. And it turns out that I will put on our country's colors and not give in to the despair I feel.  I cannot let him take this away from me, too. The sky is pure blue,   painted that way as G'ma said every time she looked up.  The occasional fluffy white cloud drifts by, and I'm hearing G'ma remark on that, too.  The flag in front of the house is swaying, the pole wedged between the base and the capital of one of the front columns, secured with thin, silver, crafting wire.   It's an elegant solution to TBG's reluctance to put holes in his house;  I feel like Daddooooo every time I wrap another ring around the post. Daddooooo was big on ingeni...

I'm not in the mood to celebrate or look back on happier times. I should have no problem with my closet this weekend.  I have a plastic tote filled with red, white, and blue tie dye, with flag adorned t-shirts, with sweaters fastened with patriotic buttons.  It's our country's 250th birthday party and we all should be celebrating. But there's nothing going on.  No Happy Birthday America sales, no bunting, no flags, no nothing. I feel somewhat awkward putting on any of the celebratory finery.  FFOTUS has preempted America's birthday party.  He's crashed the event, made it all about himself, and in doing so ruined it for the rest of us.  It's hard for me to feel proud of America's exceptionalism when FFOTUS has smeared it with feces. Take a look at these pictures Brother took on Tuesday afternoon at Trump's American State Fair on the National Mall in DC. From Brother's accompanying text: The temporary buildings are synthetic stucco and canvas mural...

John Roberts wrote both decisions. In one, he says the President can fire anyone he wants,  in any Federal agency, even those created by Congress to be independent of the political party in power.  Goodbye FTC Commissioner Slaughter. In the other, he says the President can't touch the Federal Reserve Board.    Member Cook keeps her job. Justice Amy Coney Barrett took him to task , pointing out the tension between the two rulings. If you're still wondering whether the Supreme Court is acting as an independent body, beholden to the Constitution and the American people, I'd love it if you can explain this. All I've got is that the money-ed class does not want the global economy rocked any more than FFOTUS has done already.  They are less concerned about big businesses merging and driving up prices while lowering competition and worsening the situation of those American people they're supposed to be serving. My Congressman is running tv ads saying I work for YOU!...

I find swimming laps to be unbearably boring.  There's nothing to read and, while my head is submerged, there's nothing to hear.  There are just my thoughts and me.  When I'm not thinking about using my muscles appropriately, I'm running ideas for The Burrow or wondering about my offspring and their offspring or the memories the songs on the speakers evoke. Slow dancing in the twilight at 6th grade graduation parties.  Standing in the cafeteria line for breakfast during my freshman year in college.  The Beatles. The Stones. Grace Slick in all her configurations.  They each bring something to the party. But yesterday I was flummoxed.  I ran the conversation over and over in my head until they played a song I didn't like and I got out of the pool and enlisted TBG in solving the problem.  He laughed, of course he knew what was what, and then he proceeded to stumble over it all just as I was.  So, for your confusion/edification/delight, here's th...

There are times when I feel like a hero, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Today, I'm looking askance at curbstones. I'll be back tomorrow, with thoughts. I'm not in a position to have many of those right now. 

I'm too worn out for original thought, though everything is going just as planned (for once).  Instead,  I'm giving you a link to why I think Mayor Pete's Sunday appearance with Joanna Mendoza here in Tucson was abruptly cancelled this afternoon.   TBG and I planned to attend, had signed up on line, were waiting for the exact location to be revealed.  Instead, we received a this event is cancelled  email with no explanation at all. Later on, I opened Substack and read this, by my favorite Mayor and Presidential Candidate:           A Terrible Thing Happened to My Family by Pete Buttigieg Even in today's climate, there should be one fundamental principle everyone respects: whatever you think about someone in politics, you leave their kids alone. Someone decided to hurt our family this week. I’m furious, and I want to share what happened. Read on Substack .  There's the link.  There's no paywall.  You don't need a...

I cannot believe that I watched it.  I was enthralled, captivated, drawn in the way a good movie draws you in - slowly, the anticipation growing then the climax and then it starts all over again.  It's usually a dull, boring, repetitive process.   Not this year.  This year I recognized most of the players.  This year I remembered the Iowa State games and the Houston games and how Arizona's Wildcats fared against them.  I had opinions on scoring and defense and attitude. I could take issue with the talking heads about who should go one or two.  Lacking knowledge of the NBA teams' particular needs, I relied on TBG's somewhat greater insight, although he warned me that his information came solely from other talking heads.  Was Burries too short for .... where is Koa Peat..... Veesaar as one of Jay Bilas's prime picks halfway through the first round? Tommy Lloyd's recruiting progeny are strewn over the college landscape, as NIL and the transfer p...

For those of you who were otherwise engaged in more substantive pursuits, allow me to share the highlights of the hours it streamed on my laptop as I watched the NBA Finals unfold.   I tuned in after the right section of the scaffolding had been erected.  The work resumed after a lengthy rain delay, and those minions on the left are handing the metal rods onward and upwrd. They got higher and the night got muggier and anyone who has ever had the misfortune to be in the District in the summer knows that the air is thick even when it's not between storms. The moisture in the air must have made the support beams quite slippery.  I beame concerned when the workers got up to the piano keys. Fortunately, most of them were tethered, as the arrows indicate.  But what about this guy out on the beam, way at the top on the right?  There wee no tarps covering the material that's being lifted, and the humidity was intense, yet he's hanging out on a board above concrete ...

And we're home and life is much better. A hospitalist listened and questioned and followed him from the hallway to the private room ( Be very grateful about this!)  spending all the time needed to figure out what came next.  She was the first person to consider the why, to share the lab results and what they might and eventually did reveal, and to help us create a viable plan going forward. There are still so many floating pieces, so many appointments and tests and treatments to schedule.  There's so much to understand.  We have insurance and the means to pay for it (and all its hefty deductible and co-pays).  We have no work or child care obligations.  We have smart and supportive family and friends, and we're not afraid to abuse them.  I am comfortable dealing with the system. I've spent all day watching soccer and swimming and cooking and recognizing that I live a very privileged life.  A change in any one of those pieces would throw everything...

We arrived at the Emergency Room yesterday about 2pm. TBG's pain and nausea were treated well and efficiently..... in the hall.  There were 50+ patients waiting for beds in the hospital.  We were seated in the hallway  ****** That was the start of Friday's post, written Thursday afternoon, on my phone, still in the hallway. the patient no longer seated but able to lie down on a stretcher in a screen-divided, open to all passersby cubby. Those hours, all eighteen of them in the Emergency Room hallways before a room became available, revealed the open wound that is America's health care system.  Without a curtain separating us from our fellow captives, we saw and heard it all. Sir, are you living outside?  The strong smell of urine as the bedraggled man struggled by us on his way to the restroom; and the lengthy clean up afterwards. The EMT's from car accidents all over the county and beyond.  The Yuma EMT who explained their four hour drive to his gurney rid...

It happened on our lawn. Not only was it tacky.  Not only did the grift include paying the fighters in the felon's personal crypto.  Not only were the military personnel (fit and clean shaven) used (illegally) for political capital.  Not only did the fly over shake buildings in DC and delay flights out of National Airport (without prior notification of the airlines, passengers, or air traffic control).  Not only were the lights bright enough to cause a pilot to file an incident report (because he couldn't see) with the FAA. Nope, that's not all.  At the end, the winner decided to opine on Michelle Obama's gender.  The head of the UFC smiled.  There were cheers.   All of this happened in front of the people's house.  A president created a situation that allowed (and appreciated) a foul remark about a woman to go unchallenged.  That woman lived for eight (exemplary) years in that house.  It was her lawn.   On FFOTU...

The World Cup was barely on my radar.   Then it started.  Suddenly I'm cheering for Uruguay and searching for the exact location of Cape Verde (which is now Cabo Verde and has always been about 350 miles off the coast of Guinea Bissau).   I can type during hydration breaks and half times.  Otherwise, I'm mesmerized. Almost like I was mesmerized on Friday night, watching the scaffolding, and the rain, and the workers outside The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.   But that's a post for another day. The Iranians and the Kiwis are about to go at it again.   Gotta go.

Big Cuter learned about MJ in preschool.  He was a devoted fan until Jordan's last (championship) game with the Bulls in 1998.  His loyalty never transferred to the team. We were living in Marin by then, and the 1990's Warriors were uninspiring, to say the least.  The 49'ers, on the other hand, were the winningest NFL team of the decade, and his fandom stretched to cover every aspect of his life except, perhaps, his underwear.   He moved to the East Coast and took his 9'ers gear with him.  He was a regular at the neighborhood sports bar which showed their games.  He dragged us to one here in Tucson in what he said was a crucial situation.  Sunday game times were sacrosanct; call only if you wanted to talk football.  We knew that Queen T was the one  when he shared a photo of them hiking while his team was on tv.  Granted, they weren't playing that well and being disappointed had dampened his affections just a bit, but still.... thes...

He did it often.  It was commonplace.  Others of his species appreciated it and were willing to join in his enjoyment.  More than once.  It amazed me that he could find something new to see or feel. There were times I could identify what was on the screen before entering the room.  Not always from the announcers' voices, but from TBG's moans, groans, and cheers of delight.  Watching and re-watching and re-re-re-re-watching certain sporting events made him inordinately happy.   I didn't really understand it until now.  But I spent the better part of last night watching and re-watching the Knicks come from behind, erase a 29 point deficit, and triumph with 30 seconds of exceptional basketball to end the game.  It made me in ordinately happy. This morning I watched rabid Knicks fan Stephen A Smith tear up recounting his experience on his couch with his kids.  I never watch him willingly; today I awaited him anxiously.  Michael Wil...

And that sports post is still awaiting ... lurking... hiding in the shadows of my draft  folder and seemingly unable to escape.  There's another game tonight and another game tomorrow night (basketball then hockey... yes, hockey) so it will still be relevant if I ever finish writing it. But it's hard to focus on The Burrow when I'm just feeling sad and overwhelmed and angry at the world. FFOTUS doesn't think Stephen A Smith has the brainpower to be President.   Rolling Stone  attibutes this to racism.  I think it's a doddering old man's go to response when he has no idea what he's talking about.  Whether the Orange Menace's presence at the 3rd game of the NBA Finals caused the Knicks to lose is debatable.  The fact that he fell asleep during the game is just unacceptable. TBG's medical regime creates unbelievable tiredness and dizziness. This gets in the way of most everything he (or I or we) want to do.  Part of the reason my posting ha...