The Burrow

I was hobbling.  There was probably a moment of trauma, but Pilates and basketball with Mr. 11 and a new massage technique all vied for the honor.  I iced and elevated and tried not to aggravate it and, little by little, the swelling went down and my mobility increased. I was on the mend.  I wasn't perfect, but I was making progress.  Driving still led to swelling, but I managed to get all the way to the Arizona Daily Star's offices at the opposite end of Tucson with only minor discomfort.  I parked away from the front door, under a shady tree, and strolled through the parking lot and the paper's lobby.  I didn't need to sit on the comfy couch; my knee didn't hurt at all.  I examined the linotype machine and the pictures on the wall and then Brenda Starr came and escorted me to her class. She leads budding journalists on a summer writing adventure.  They are young and eager and have PRESS badges on lanyards around their necks.  I was ther...

That's what I am.  Blank. Empty. Scraped raw. The tears have stopped but the ache inside is pulsing. I could take another Ativan. I could wallow in the misery. No.  I will not allow him to win. I will stop trying to let my fingers figure it out on the keyboard, because I am tired of dwelling in this space.  I am going to the garden store and I am going to buy pretty things and then I am going to play in the dirt. I'll be back on Monday with a lighter heart. For now, hug those you love and hold them tight.  Tomorrow is not promised; make the most of today.

It was a bright, sunny morning as the stranger and I left the gym.  I was feeling strong.  I was walking well.  I listened as she retold my story through her eyes - watching me over the years in the gym, seeing me on tv, thinking of and praying for that sweet little girl - and then I drove home. Something was nagging at me, so I called Little Cuter for a pick me up quickie, bur she was debating taking a long, healing nap beneath her desk, battling a-flu-that's-going-around, and I fell quickly into Mommy mode.   Take yourself home. It's a public safety issue; you are infecting the others.  I never sent you to school when you were sick.... and YES you can have a note from your mommy.   TBG joined in at the tail end, just in time to hear about triumphs in the potty. We hung up smiling, and though I pouted when I saw that the jump into the pool with my sweaty, worked out, self was thwarted by the pool guys, lovely gentlemen who had just started their weekly...

There were six of us, women of a certain age, playing mah jongg this morning.  We were at two tables, playing 3-and-a-dummy.  The upstairs lobby in our friend's senior living complex is bright and airy and, if I sit with my back to the hallway, I can see both the main entrance and the doorway to the balcony. It feels very safe. I traded my usual seat without much thought; my friend was warm, and I could feel a breeze she was lacking.  I decided not to mind that I couldn't see the doorways; she promised to keep an eye out if there was a tumult below. I was fine... I was winning.... once then twice then oh, dear this is embarrassing, three times in a row. I managed to fill a 2015 + winds hand; if you know the game you know that doesn't happen very often.  I had lots of jokers and it was easy to decide which hand to play and I was cruising along, smiling and accepting kudos and then I jumped about five feet in the air. A woman seated behind me stood up.  He...

I told her she could ask, so I couldn't be angry with her. Of course, feel free to ask me a personal question. I just didn't expect her to ask the one question I ask myself to which I have no answer. "Did you fall on top of her body?" I wish I knew.  I wish someone knew.  There are no pictures, no memories extant from those who were there, and I have blocked those moments from my conscious brain.  I like to believe that I am not the kind of person who would leave a child behind in an effort to save myself, and the fact that I know we were holding hands as the bullets began flying lets me believe Little Cuter's interpretation of the pulling-my-arm-across-my-body action I repeated while recuperating - You know, Mama, that way you said Come On!  I answered.  They offered opinions on whether I should view the FBI's photographic evidence.... uniformly against it, if you wondered.... and they stared with open eyes and open mouths and, I hope, open hearts. ...

PTSD said hello this morning.  She crept out of my psyche, catching me unawares.  I was walking through the living room, catching a glimpse of the television, when she found something to set her off.  She's been dormant for a while, but I've felt her revving her engines all week long. There have been too many shootings recently, I moaned to Little Cuter over the phone.  I don't like to interrupt her work day, but TBG was at the gym and Big Cuter doesn't get the whole PTSD thing the way those of us who were there at the beginning seem to find it.  There are some good things that came out of this whole experience, and shielding my son fro the horror is one of them. But today, I needed someone who would listen and understand.  Little Cuter wins the award for that.  She was the only one I could think of who would understand that Tom Brady getting off on all counts of deception and impropriety could be a trigger for me. "We hold ourselves to high standar...

In the gym this morning, energized and focused and ready.  I walked on the stepper and did bench presses with my hips evenly weighted across the bench. I lifted the bar up and down, chest open, breathing deeply, squeezing the muscles, moving the bar with precision.  I was one with the world. Then, I sat up. A young white man wearing a black hoodie, his face obscured in shadows, turned and showed me his back - a white assault weapon silk screened on the fabric. Part of me wanted to rip it off his body, right then and there. Part of me wanted to get right up in his face and ask him if he'd ever been on the receiving end of a bullet. Part of me wanted to weep. I took what was left of me and closed my eyes.  Looking down and not up or out, I finished my bench presses, my french presses, my dips and my push-ups, but the joy was gone. I debated talking to the gym staff about their definition of obscenity... but left before I upset myself any further. I'm still...

I got a speeding ticket today. I was the only car on the road, in either direction.  As soon as the cones started I slowed down to the speed limit.  Apparently, that wasn't enough for the nicest Sheriff ever, who didn't cite me for criminal fastness nor for going so quickly through a construction zone. That was kind and I'm not taking anything away from the gesture, but there was no danger to anyone because there was no one else around, the speed which inspired the ticket was the posted limit,  there was nary a construction worker on the scene, and I was finally going home after eight hours away. I'm too aggravated to think through more than a paragraph at a time.  My brain refuses to let go of the angst. TBG tried to talk me down, reminding me that it's over, I can't make it not have happened , which is what I asked for when he offered anything at all , trying to put a smile on my face. He's right of course, but the aggravation has taken hold and is in ...

Lauren Bacall has been in my head all day. It's a Billie Holliday tune I first heard in this Hoagy Carmichael rendition in To Have and Have Not , probably my all-time favorite Bogey and Bacall film.  The words of the song (a man who's done her wrong) don't have anything to do with my funk..... or do they?  I'll let you decide after you finish this. The events of last week blew up in my head last night.  For no reason on God's green earth, I decided to be furious with my boys for talking about the NBA on our usual, Sunday night, phone call.  I could feel the rage boiling up inside.  Little bits and pieces emerged first; head shaking, muttering, mumbling got no response.  I made my feelings known, fury was unleashed, anger unfurled, accusations hurled.  I was outside looking in, as my mouth was spewing vitriol. Such is life with PTSD.  It appears randomly, set off by loud noises or skinny white boys in hoodies, or with a definite cause, l...