The Burrow

She was born on a tragic day.  She died on a tragic day.  In between she was magic.  She was 6 going on 16 when I met her.  We bonded over pick up sticks.  She played well with others. Big Cuter, CTG, and her big brother breaking out the 30 year old dinosaurs in 2010. She was interested in politics and religion and family connections.  She was brash and silly and full of energy.  She was my friend, always willing to go on an adventure, right up until our last one. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.  I miss you every day.

It doesn't have any other name.  It doesn't make the list of mass shootings on the chyrons.  It was a big deal and then not so much of one and every now and then it comes around again. I wish it wouldn't.  I wish people wouldn't have to worry about me, about how I'm doing, about where I'll spend the day, about how they can help. I wish it were just another Tuesday. But it's not.  It's a very special Tuesday this year, one that makes me smile.  Today, on the anniversary of the assassination of a Federal Judge and the attempted assassination of a sitting Congresswoman, that Congresswoman will join the Speaker of the House as a bill is introduced to make meaningful changes in our nation's gun laws. It won't solve everything. It won't fix the problem.  It's not enough and much too late.  True, all true. But today, my Before-and-After Day, my government is working to make me safer.  Background checks as outlined in this bill would ha...

Sixteen years ago, Christina-Taylor's parents were unaware of the planes flying into the Towers. They were busy with her birthing. On another plane this afternoon, I did a little mourning and a little smiling.  I imagined her Sweet Sixteen party, an event that will never happen, which made me sad and mad and resigned.  But I could see her, dressed and accessorized to the nines, her hair as shiny as her eyes, greeting her guests, making sure everyone was having a great time, delighting in being the center of all the love and attention. Her father reminded us over and over again that Christina-Taylor would not want sadness to be her legacy.  I try, each and every day, to remember that, to focus on her laugh and her attitude and the fun we had together.  Some days it's easier than others. Flying home from my granddaughter, another tall, inquisitive, thoughtful, delightful girl, I felt the loss of the 9 year old holding my hand and jumping for joy over the prospect...

I was peeved.  After a lovely morning at home, I'd donned sneakers and a loose t-shirt, organized a water bottle, downloaded a podcast, and drove over to Christina-Taylor's path .  After walking nearly two flat miles with Not-Kathy on Monday, I was ready to tackle the 3.2 mile roundtrip along the Canada Wash. Unfortunately, the construction on the nature preserve piece of CTG's park requires truck parking in the tiny lot; a Parks and Rec employee informed me, with no small amount of attitude, that there were no spaces.  She told me to leave. I made a u-turn, with steam coming out of my ears.  Can't they park on the sidewalk or the open space? Can't they use the Community College lot across the street?  It was 70 degrees and sunny, citizens were out on bikes and trikes and horses and feet and who was she to tell me that I couldn't walk with my little friend's hand in my heart in the morning. Did I mention that I was peeved? I drove, aimlessly, conside...

Saturday will mark 46 months since I intersected with bullets.  As anniversaries draw near, I fight an on-going battle with the dark side.  48 months ago Christina-Taylor and her family joined G'ma and my family around our dining room table for Thanksgiving dinner.  As I begin to gather my cold weather gear for this year's trek to Little Cuter and the Polar Vortex, my heart goes back to that Thursday afternoon when CTG was 9, and full of promise.  She and G'ma discussed the utility of various silver serving pieces. Plate and sterling.... G'ma describing the differences and CTG listening and absorbing and then choosing the fanciest ones for the mashed potatoes and the string bean casserole and the kugel and the stuffing.  G'ma, perched on the seat of her walker, wondering who that beautiful little girl might be, wondering why she was asking so many questions, wondering what we were celebrating.  I miss those girls. Little Cuter and I were discussing he...