The Burrow

I love the end of football season.  Not the time when it's over, but the month or so leading up to the end.  Hour after hour of talking heads blathering about formations and roster changes and coaching decisions and TBG fascinated, focused, glued to the screen.  I'm amazed at the intensity he brings to it all.  Without much thought, he can bring up statistics from seasons gone by.... long long ago and just last year... comparing and contrasting and explaining to his uneducated wife the ins and outs of large men running into one another, carrying a pigskin.  He's a great teacher and I'm an avid listener and it works for us - when I pay attention. I enjoy Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon on Pardon the Interruption, and their 30 minutes of (usually) adult conversation keeps me in the sports loop, able to converse with my son and my husband and the young man behind the bagel counter.  The VW service reps were surprised to find themselves talking about NFL...

I've written about this before, and I'm sure I will be writing about it again. Today I selected an apartment for G'ma. She wasn't with me, though she did see it yesterday. I decided when she'll be leaving her current space and "transitioning" (apparently, the elderly do not "move", they "transition") to her pod-castle. I didn't ask her if she wanted to rush right into it or wait a month or so. I looked at my calendar and I picked a date. She'll have to give up some of her furniture (as she shrinks so does her living space, it seems) and though I'm sympathetic to her feelings of loss, I've also given her no choice in the matter. It is what it is. Because I say so. And I'm uncomfortable with the power. That's an unusual state of affairs for me. The gavel was one of my favorite parts of being President of the School Board. I know that the world would be a better place if I were in charge. I never played d...