The Burrow

I was only gone for three days.  It feels like an eternity. I'm having serious re-entry problems. There was a garbage can to drag out to the street this morning.  There was a newspaper to retrieve at the end of the driveway. I had an appointment in the morning and a luncheon date at noon; I wanted to do both of them but I resented their presence on the calendar anyway. We're on the last gallon of milk and the bread is looking a little green around the edges. Nothing in the house can create an edible dinner. The grocery store is in my future. I'm blue because there was no elevator to take me down to the bakery in the building for a fresh blueberry muffin, a muffin that is Goldilocks-like in its perfection - not too big nor too small but exactly the right number of bites to fill me up but not out. I made oatmeal as I dreamed of Little Griddle  doing all the work, leaving only the eating to me. I like vacation. The real world is rearing its all too normal head and I...

Prepare for a screed.  Prepare to be harangued.  Prepare to be brow-beaten.  I've come to the conclusion that the only way to get on the national radar is to holler. I'm not using the word in a pejorative sense.  I'm not condoning screeching or other loud noises.   Hollering , when I was growing up, meant speaking with more than the usual amount of intensity.  The voice did not need to be raised; it was the emotion powering the words which turned normal, Long Island forcefulness into hollering. It's time for us to start hollering about sensible gun legislation. I'm not getting into a 2nd Amendment argument.  I've managed to stop the conversation by reminding my interlocutor that the first few words of that Amendment include  well-regulated , which to me, condones some measure of control. I'm not a constitutional scholar; I can't parse the verbiage beyond read the words, for crying out loud .  That piece of the argument is fruitless...

She looked gorgeous.  Her arm brace was off, her hair was styled, her smile was glowing.  Her husband held her hand and guided her through the throng.  My eyes were wet as I watched her swing her leg to walk, turn her head to see.  She's the living embodiment of everything that is wrong with our gun laws today.  She served in Congress with those she brushed by. How can they not be moved to act? She was a Republican before she was a Democrat.  She's a gun owner. She's damaged.  Those are all facts which should make her opinions somewhat more valuable than others.  Somebody should be paying attention. She wrote her own speech, which is much more eloquent than any words I could write, myself. Read it, and weep. Every word was articulated with care and effort.  Her mouth formed each syllable, her tongue got around each dipthong, and the work it took was obvious.  Mark Kelly, astronaut, Navy Commander, husband and friend, stood by he...

I've stayed away from discussing weaponry in The Burrow. We had a conversation about it, my family and I, while I was on a morphine drip in the hospital.   There are angry people associated with the issue, Mom.  I couldn't bear it if you got shot, again.  Those are powerful words to hear from your adult daughter.  They made an impact.  I stayed away, and focused on doing good and healing. Then twenty children were slaughtered by a young man with a gun. Little Cuter and I agree; it's time to act. I'm putting my energies behind Michael Bloomberg's Mayors Against Illegal Guns'  effort to bring the record keeping efforts related to gun purchases into the 21st century and to Demand a Plan  to end gun violence.  Our elected officials must have thought about the issue once in a while.  NOW is the time for them to share their thoughts. We have been silent too long.  There is something fundamentally wrong with a system that allows indivi...