The Burrow

Messers 6 and 4 waited excitedly but patiently on the concrete launching pad separating the rows of cars from one another. The fairly-busy-lots-of-the-time entrance lane was blessedly empty as I watched through the wall of windows in the gym's lobby. Amster caught up with them as Mr. 4 was leaping into his brother, his Globe-bought cowboy boots propelling him to ever greater heights. They each grabbed a hand and skipped across the road and came to the really-heavy-and-hard-to-open door. Mr. 6 struggled mightily, pulling with all his strength, and managed to get it open.Then,to my horror, he slid through the opening he'd created and ran towards Kids' Club. Big mistake. First he had to get past me. And I was pissed. Amster is the woman I admire most here in Tucson, and her son had just treated her rudely. This would not stand. Once all 4 of us were together, I asked the boys if they knew what we were? " A group of ladies and gentlemen" I told them, and we tr...

A relative has begun signing her emails "Go Yankees". Conversation at the Happy Ladies Club luncheon today dwelled on Oregon's resurgent football team. Gardeners were meeting for an early dinner and a UofA volleyball game last week. I am bereft. I have no team for which to cheer. I need a home team. I love Peyton Manning, and the Little Cuter has outfitted me with a commemorative shirt but I've never lived in Indianapolis so the Colts can't possibly be my home team. The Cowboys may have been America's Team, but now, I think, the New Orleans Saints have earned that moniker. They are marvelously undefeated and totally fun to watch and it feels good to be able to share successful vibes with The Big Easy, but, again, they're not my home team. Orb Kcrob never wears anything but Michigan t-shirts. It's where he went and he's damn proud of it. I find myself in collegiate gear from TBG and the Cuters and myself but I can't seem to ma...