The Burrow

Almost every one of my usual comment writers chimed in on the understanding tv post yesterday.  dkzody's right  :  You enjoy this entertainment and use it a lot so it's worth it. Carol's idea is a classic :  Somebody write a book about this, and SOON.  Although I fear that publishing a book means the information will probably be outdated before it hits the bookstores' shelves.   Linda Reeder  is like me, and relies on the voice remote to find what she seeks.  TBG remembers all the station numbers.  I prefer to filll my brain with other things.  I know how to find the apps on the home screen.... sometimes.... and Netflix and Amazon Prime are the only places I go on my own, and then, only rarely. Laura  and  Jim Davis  offered practical solutions.  JES  wants to fix the problem by visiting (something we've been trying to do since 2010).   What I need is a college kid with aging parents/grandparents w...

Little Cuter and SIR are considering cutting their cable. Our provider is no longer contracted with ABC, which is now a problem since TBG has entered his Sports Deprivation Season and is forced to follow professional basketball, many games of which are on ABC.   You would think that this would be a problem with a solution, and I'm sure you're right.  There ought to be a way to send my computer's input to my television.  They tempt me with apps names like CastTV, which I download and then am unable to use. We pay Xfinity a hefty fee each month for cable and internet.  There's streaming music on a surround sound system inside and outside the house.  It's fun when I'm swimming laps, not so much when I'm trying to have a conversation in the living room. Since I first posted about this I've been asking random people if they understand TV these days.  The first person who says yes will be hired to explain it to me.

I was peeved and I used you to hear my rants and I typed until I felt better and that was supposed to be Friday's post.  At least it was supposed to be Friday's post, if only I had remembered to click Publish.   Not wanting you to feel neglected since I messed up my every day schedule, here, without extraneous verbiage, are the pictures from Grandma's Garden that were to be (with extraneous verbiage) Monday's post. It's a follow-up to Thursday's post  about painting pots for the faculty and staff.  (And yes, this is a shameless plug for someone new to The Burrow to jump around and see what we're all about.) Our scholars are the face of America - immigrants and refugees from Afghanistan and Sudan and all over Central America. One color per brush, under the umbrella for shade. I said Smile!  and she posed. Someone created her own quiet space. He found just the right perch. The Beyond! t-shirts are relics from the early days after our perforation. They are our...

I've been writing postcards for Tony the Democrat  for a long time.   Recently, I wrote Turn Out the Vote notes for the Virginia redistricting plan.  The accompanying explanation seemed reasonable, the message refuted Republican misdirection  lies, I requested 5 addresses and did my part for our representative democracy within 3 days, as requested. We won.  I felt great.  Tony's research shows that our postcards have a measurable effect so I decided to take personal pride in the outcome. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a pop up notice reported that a judge had quashed the thing before I even got a chance to raise a glass to myself. There will be appeals and outrage and much ado.... about something this time. Meanwhile, I'm peeved.

I went to sleep before I published Friday's post.  It will all work out over the weekend, I promise. 

My alternatives today were to write about FFOTUS's Cabinet (the swamp has been draining quite nicely in the last few weeks); or California Democrats doing their best to get shut out of the gubernatorial race entirely; or the fact that I can do both of things the internet correlates to longevity (getting up out of a chair and up off the floor without using your hands). I opted for photos from my school garden, a place where kindergarten and second grade meet and mingle and complain about getting soil in their eyes while being wheeled around and around in giggly circles.   The fact that she filled the purple cup herself,  asked to be dizzy-fied, and threw the offending particles herself never really came up. This scholar decided to build a big lump to cover the broken irrigation system.  There was so much care and patience in that little corner of my world.   We don't remember what the dead plant was, but it really doesn't matter.  It didn't take lo...

This is the 8th post I ever wrote, back in 2009.   I've updated it just a little, but republish it here for the 17th 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...

I have been re-reading John Scalzi's Old Man's War series .  Science Fiction is not my favorite genre.  If not for the books Big Cuter recommends I wouldn't read it at all.  It's too much science and the fiction gets lost for me in the details, most of which I don't understand at all.   Ender's Game  came to me after he read it in middle school. It's still one of his important books (along with Plato's Republic.... yes, I know.....), and for good reason.  It opened my eyes to the possibilities within the genre, but nothing grabbed me that way until I found John Scalzi. I saw him at the Tucson Festival of Books  in March and picked up the books soon thereafter.  They are filled with many types of sentient beings.  Some are asteroids.  Some are room sized bugs with arms designed for slashing.  Some are human, although some of those humans are green, with self repairing bodies.   Not all of them have consciousness. ...

I went to the Old People's Protest outside Congressman Ciscomani's office on Saturday.   That's not what it's called in the weekly emails I receive,  reminding me of the event, any specific theme to reflect on our signs, and the parking suggestions.   I usually parked in the lot for my Congressman's office.  But over the few weeks since I've been there,  a fence has gone up.  The email noted that a locally owned toy store,  Mildred and Dildred, supported our efforts and invited us to park behind their nearby store.  So, I did, aided by the handy dandy sign at the curb.  If you look at the upper left corner, you can catch a glimpse of a fellow sign waver.  I drove around back, grabbed my sign and my pinwheel, and joined the throng. Can I call 75 75 year olds a throng?  Waxing and waning over a two hour window, the organizers call it 75 strong every week.  Some are older, some are younger, but no one is as old as we wer...

The Chevron station at Prince and Oracle Roads usually has the least expensive gas on my way home.  Today, regular was advertised at $4.65/gallon.  Drive right in and pull up to one of the six empty slots. So, I drove to Costco.  There, the line for the 20 slots snaked through the parking lot and out to the street, and regular gas was $3.85/gallon. That's eighty cents per gallon in my pocket, or $8 for the ten gallons I bought.  $8 a week, 52 weeks a year..... we're talking serious money here.   I spent the afternoon worrying about people living paycheck to paycheck and being very grateful for my situation in life.  

How do you know that you don't know something if you don't know it? This was the question TBG posed after recognizing that 75% of the kerfuffle over the doctor's return call was not because the doctor didn't make it but because modern technology was, in this instance, totally inaccessible to him. He was unaware of the feature that would have avoided a lot of angst.   And so he asked how we could hold him responsible for not knowing something he didn't know.  If he didn't know it how would he know to ask for it?   All of these are reasonable interpretations of an uncomfortable situation.  But TBG is right - he was an idiot.

Chinua Achebe's novel, Things Fall Apart , was a high school staple when the Cuters were young.  I read it, liked it, let it fuel my interest in western African authors, and forgot about it.  But the title stayed with me. As our medical situation devolves into absurdity, my house began falling apart, too. The toilet in the bathroom kept running.  Deaf as I am, it didn't bother me.  TBG, on the other hand, was driven crazy by the intermittent rushing of water in the tank.   The refrigerator in the garage decided to die while Little Cuter's family was here, on Thursday, as the garbage cans were collected by Waste Management.  The smell of defrosted frozen left overs was potent.  I kept the freezer door closed until Sunday, the night before our Monday collection. Opening it was traumatic, nauseating, gross, and awful.  Figuring out how to dispose of it all took some concentrated thought.  With TBG in no condition to do any heavy lifting, my...

I understand the logic behind it.  I wonder if anyone thought about the unintended consequences. Lab and imaging and blood work results all appear, quickly, via email.  Too quickly.  They arrive, tempting you to open them and read them and try to make sense of values and <'s and >'s and long words with Latin or Greek roots. They arrive before the physician receives them, or so we've been told many, many times.  And so, we wait.  Waiting for a phone call promised within a day or two, only it's been four days and okay, two of them were the weekend, but still...... There are people in our orbit who could interpret them.  Dr. Google is always available.  But the medical people started this and they ought to close the loop.  They have the expertise and our trust. I wish they would act like they deserve it. ***** I'm purposely oblique in these posts because it's not my story to tell.  I feel the love even if I'm not answering questions <3

Remember in the Before Times when the cashier at the grocery store would ask you if you preferred paper or plastic bags? Now, of course, we all carry reusable bags (in California they rip out your fingernails if you show up bagless).  Whole Foods will use an old fashioned paper bag with two handles and the bigger chain stores use only plastic if you show up without your own toting equipment. It's the same with paper records.  Everything is in the cloud.  Everything, that is, except for TBG's information.  He asks for a printed copy of everything anyone financial sends electronically.  I no longer laugh.  When we need something he knows just where it is, while I'm busy searching for the right folder, the right password, the damn machine to turn on and stop updating itself. This morning he asked for some help.  Apparently, a decade's worth of statements have begun to outgrow their drawer.  He thinks he only needs a few years saved.  Did I have ...

Is there anything lonelier than waiting in a hospital?   The testing will take a couple of hours.  Family members are not allowed behind the DO NOT ENTER door. We do better when we can be together.   So, I sit and I wait and I worry, even though the worrying is useless.  He's where he's supposed to be, doing what he's supposed to be doing, while I stare at Happy Patient Access Week  posters on the wall.   G'ma always said she felt safest in the hospital, because they know what they're doing and I don't.  Bleeding on the sidewalk outside the Safeway, I felt an eerie sesnse of calm when I heard the sirens heading our way.   But now, powerless, waiting, wondering, uncertain about the next steps, I turned to my keyboard to control my anxiety.  Your presence is comforting, even before I send this out into the ether.  I'm not sharing details, and I'm closing the comments on this post because I'm trying not to focus on the...

Yesterday featured swimming,  more swimming,  Jenga, hot dogs on paper plates with all the trimmings.... all that after the kids drive up to ghost town near Phoenix to meet up with SIR's brother and nephews.  This morning it's Uno for the boys (Grandpa gets a quick nap as Dada takes over) as the girls sleep in.   Grandma's crazy pants came home with them yesterday,  a gift from the extended family. They are wild and wacky and so totally me.  Two more days of love and fun in the sun.   My heart is full and my schedule is destroyed. 

There was just too much fun and no time to write. There was mini golf There was New York style pizza.  There were go karts and bumper boats and then a long drive home for the pool and dinner and kiddo bedtime before introducing SIR to The Music Man. I may never get on schedule while they are visiting.  Sigh.......

I could write about Pam Bondi, but why? I could write about Todd Blanche, but except for noticing that he has an extra letter at the end of each of his names, why? I could write about the Arizona Wildcats being demolished in the Final Four, but I don't want to think about it any more. I could write about managing the health care system, from billing to appointments to physcians, but who wants to dwell in that space? Instead, I'm going to continue cleaning up and putting away and washing and dusting and grocery shopping and fill my mind with thoughts of the hours dwindling away as I wait for my mid-West family to arrive. Now, if I could only find a way to work dwarf into this post I would have used all the dw words in the English language.  (Does anybody else miss The West Wing ? ****** That was supposed to be Friday's post, until I remembered that it was Easter and I had my Marc Chagall vs bunnies post.   I put it in the queue to be updated and posted today but then the gr...

First posted in 2014; lightly edited over the years. 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 Confronted with Marc Chagall's White Crucifixion at the Art Institute of Chicago, a very young Big Cuter wondered (quite loudlly) why  that guy has a towel and nails through his hands.   I directed him to his father, who was raised in various Protestant denominations, because his question 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-Christi...

Every once in a while, Passover and Easter come around at the same time.  Given all that's going on in our lives, neither Little Cuter nor I noticed that was was one of those years. So, to those who are celebrating, I hope your seders were/will be filled with love and memories and lots of soup and matzoh.  To those who are waiting for Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I hope your spirits soar and your days are filled with candy and sunshine and smiles.   Here in my little corner of the world, the seder never happened (cf. paragraph one).  Instead, my focus has been on organizing my environment to accomodate two grown ups and two kiddos who will arrive with swim goggles and hugs on Saturday morning. Clean sheets and blankets and pillows have been retrieved from their shrink wrap storage bags.  Flannel fitted sheet, no top sheet, his and hers favorite blankets on the correct sides of the bed for my darling daughter and her perfect husband.   Those blan...

She was Queen T's first child. When she arrived, as a piglet, she was the size of her grown up head.  Mama was Queen Pig, and LiLou was her subject.  Establishing dominance is an essential part of preventing Spoiled Pig Syndrome, which is a  real thing.   Pigs live a hierarchical existence, showing weakness is not suggested. So, grown up LiLou's brain has implanted Queen T as the TOP PIG,  the giant person who feeds her.  Even though she weighs as much as Mama, she is cowed into submission by a stern LiLou. No.  Not a shouted NO, because LiLou would think Mama was squealing right back at her. It's the way she speaks to her human children - equal parts love and do not do that.   It's hard work being a piggie Mama, and that's part of the charm.  Taking her responsibilities seriously,  LiLou's hoof-icures were always a mainstay. Queen T is all about new challenges and learning new skills, and this new skill came with affection going bo...