The Burrow

It was a quiet Thanksgiving, with just my boys and me at the table.  Big Cuter knocked his wine while reaching for his father's hand but that was the only blip in the evening.  My mashed potatoes came close to matching Little Cuter's creations, my turkey only took 35 minutes longer to cook than I'd planned, and Whole Foods' pre-made gravy ensured that everything arrived at the table at the same time, warm and tender as it could be. We were thankful.  They were complimentary.  There were left-overs.  There were ghosts. Christina-Taylor appeared first, hovering over my shoulder as I decided which serving pieces to use.  She and G'ma had that chore in 2010, just six weeks before the bullets began to fly.  Which ones should I use?  she wondered.  Ask G'ma , said I.  And so the youngest and the oldest guests talked about the history of this silver spoon and that slotted spoon and I listened as they made wise choices.  My mother sitti...

There was love.  There was laughter and tickling and racing and running.  There was so much hugging. There was love first thing in the morning, when FlapJilly hid in her mommy's neck, not wanting anything more than those arms around her small self, sheltering her from the world.  There was love later on, when the zoo was tiring and her daddy's shoulders were the only place she wanted to be. There was love in the pool in the late afternoon sun, when her tiny arms and legs paddled furiously, alternately shouting Marco  and Polo , pretending to close her eyes and squealing with delight when she was caught.  I want to like something as much as FlapJilly liked the pool was Big Cuter's accurate assessment of the situation. There was hide and seek.  Three year olds do not have highly developed skills in this arena; squeezing into a corner of the kitchen, lying silently under the ottoman in the living room, curling up beneath the dining room chairs, each ch...

The alarm woke me up, but I didn't mind.  I put on my favorite workout tights, ate my favorite flavor of yogurt for breakfast, accomplished great things at Pilates, and was home in time to receive our rewoven-at-a-remarkable-price poolside lounge chairs at 9:15. I went out again.  Costco, early, open before their posted hours, offered up a great parking spot.  I went purposefully through the store, list in hand, and checked out in record time.  Two of my favorite men carried and stacked and put away while I organized my very clean refrigerator.  Each item I placed carried a story. Lox for FlapJilly and cured meats for SIR and Big Cuter.  The cranberries and navel oranges smiled back at me from the fruit bin; they knew that Cuisinart had finally sent the replacement-for-the-recalled blade so that I could make Auntie M's cranberry relish.  There are yams reminding me of Ivette and her casserole, and I found myself missing Hough's creamed spinach in a...

I've been re-reading Thanksgiving posts, and smiling a lot. Here is some of the joy.   I'll be back to reality on Monday; I'm taking the weekend off. ***** Memories Then: ..... of full bellies lying on the couch, begging for relief, as Hough's creamed spinach wound its way through an overloaded digestive tract..... ..... of my first niece, a veg even as a toddler, eating cucumbers for dinner and feeling just fine..... ..... of walks around the neighborhood, wrapped in scarves and hats culled from the front hall closet, surrounded by all ages and temperaments, mellowed by tryptophan On dinner in Cleveland Heights at Nannie's house: We'd sit in the dining room, using it, for once, as more than an inconvenient space between the kitchen and the tv room, sideboards groaning, waiting for Nannie's yearly screech.  Thanksgiving wouldn't be Thanksgiving without my mother-in-law jumping up from the table, just as the first fork was lifted and yelping,  ...

Big Cuter set the oven on fire last night, so it's a good thing that JannyLou is making the turkey.  I can cook on the burners tonight, and beg left overs for tomorrow's late night snacks.  Foodstuffs taken care of, I had time to re-read my Thanksgiving posts, one a year since 2009.   This one is from 2010, before most of you knew my name.   JES and Nance and I were wondering how to increase the traffic to our baby blogs as we called them, and then, as JES so aptly pointed out, "Damn, girl, you go and get shot!" Over the years, Nance's Mature Landscaping blog and Meg (see below) has vanished along with her Members Lounge, but JES and I continue to plug away.  Time passes and the important things stay the same - the friendships, the work, the love. So, this throwback to a gentler time warms the cockles of my heart.  From those cockles to yours, denizens, I send love and warmth and many many many thanks for reading.   I am so gratefu...

Is it a measure of our times that I re-read the title to this post and wondered if gender identity was implied?  I ponder and pause and parse what I've written because I've spent the last week with my children... and they never miss an opportunity to deconstruct and interpret and tease me about my verbiage.  I love every embarrassing minute of it.  It comes with love and respect and respect for the depth of the love we share.  They know that I can take it, they send it my way with smiles and twinkly eyes, and they are always always always on the alert for any sign that they've hurt my feelings.  Most important, they are very funny and very right.  I'm so involved in the moment that, as TBG reminds them, I often don't let the facts get in the way of a good story.  (I am aware of that as a fundamental truth to much of my life and so I made I conscious decision when I started The Burrow to type only the absolute truth.  Many a post would have be...

Do we really have to shop every day of the year?  Is it necessary to leave home and exchange cash for goods on Thanksgiving? Can't we take one day away from the hustle and the bustle and the need to accumulate? ***** Did the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, performing with a pop singer I did not know, need to shake their butts and caress their breasts, in close ups, at 5 o'clock on Thanksgiving afternoon?  Elvis appalled the 1950's with his pelvic gyrations.  I wonder what my grandparents would have to say about what we're seeing today. ***** Does the dog have to bark furiously just as the baby is falling asleep?  How does he know? ***** Do football players have to perform self-congratulatory dances after making routine catches and tackles?  I don't remember attacks of terpsichory after a particularly effective social work interview. ***** Did I really need to eat the third helping of turkey and stuffing this afternoon?  Was the berry pi...

An olio, a miscellaneous collection, a good word to know if you do crossword puzzles, and, perhaps, the new name for the Random Thoughts series.  There are so many stories to tell.... ***** It was a little bit of  Love Actually  at Tucson International Airport on Wednesday night.  Grandmas were hugging and being hugged. Girlfriends were standing aside, letting parents and sons embrace, patiently waiting for their own hugs and kisses.  Little ones were asleep on shoulders and in crooks of arms and in strollers. By the time Thursday morning rolled around.... at about ten past midnight.... there was only Big Cuter's plane left to land and the crowd had thinned considerably.  We were hunkered down in front of the tv monitor, which broadcasts from the arrivals hallway, just after the security station. Travellers in the know smile and wave at the camera, much to the delight of their relatives in the lobby. We all wondered why the security guard chose that par...

..... of sunny freezing Thursdays, waking to the smell of Nannie's turkey in the oven, rolling over on the old bed on the third floor, surrounded by my babies..... ..... of full bellies lying on the couch, begging for relief, as Hough's creamed spinach wound its way through an overloaded digestive tract..... ..... of my first niece, a veg even as a toddler, eating cucumbers for dinner and feeling just fine..... ..... of walks around the neighborhood, wrapped in scarves and hats culled from the front hall closet, surrounded by all ages and temperments, mellowed by tryptophan and love. Thanksgiving was in Cleveland Heights.  My family was too far and too expensive to visit, plus, there were all those arguments which never seemed to end.  TBG's folks put out the welcome mat for us, and we wiped our feet and joined the fun year after year after year.  The drive from Chicago wasn't too onerous, especially as we crooned Over the River and Through the Woods... we reall...

My favorite parts of the holidays hearken back to the past.  Sometimes I reach to my childhood and sometimes I go back to last year.  This is the post I wrote in 2009 as I was waiting for the kids to arrive.  Life was simple and my worries revolved around keeping G'ma safe and secure as she recovered from bi-lateral broken ankles.  This year is a bit more complex, with emotional issues taking center stage at a once-again-family-only Thanksgiving dinner.  I'll be busy prepping and shopping and wedding planning.... I'm going to be recycling posts and hugging my children. Here's how I felt back then: I've been thinking about family and friends, as The Cuters make their way to the desert southwest for a family-only Thanksgiving. They're at their respective airports hours early, as befits a TBG-spawned human, and if the weather holds out they'll arrive in Tucson within an hour of each other. The Little Cuter will be arriving first and promises to be hungry; I...

with many thanks to Little Cuter for the photos. Back and forth to Tucson International Airport, no direction lasting more than 25 minutes.  Another reason to love living here. ***** We stayed close to home, avoiding the big stores... except for Costco.  Suitcases and vodka and sparkling water, a wreath and 2 huge poinsettias and a strong son to put them into and take them out of the cart and the car.  I knew there was a reason I had children. ***** Vibram Five Finger Shoes were purchased (Happy Hanukah) for Big Cuter and hiking shoes selected and paid for and given to TBG for a perfect surprise Christmas present for me.  We toured the outdoor mall in the upscale suburb which was supposed to house a Bloomingdales or Nordstrom's or Neiman Marcus but which, predictably, now houses a Wal-Mart, while TBG visited the dentist.  Athletic gear at Dick's and GrandDog toys at Petco and shoes and shoes and more shoes at DSW and then a lovely lunch at Wildflower. Having ...

The house is really empty now. I told TBG that we had to get some more stuff out right away and he looked at me as if I'd grown another head and wondered why in the world I thought there was something wrong with the simplicity that was our un-decorated home. I am suffering from Decoration Deprivation. Though TBG volunteered, unsolicited, that the tree was beautiful and that I should feel free to leave it up as long as I pleased, the consensus seems to be that after Epiphany (I don't know what that is, but it seems to be important) your Christmas pillows are no longer adorable. Rather, they begin to speak to your need for clutter and your inability to clean up after yourself. So, I began to dismantle the house. This counter in the kitchen isn't used for anything (a design flaw to be rectified in my dreams). I figured the stuff I stashed there could live there for a looooong time. I never figured out how to water this kissing ball from Auntie M and family, and it...

And this is what it looked like after 8 hours of cooking and eating and cleaning up and eating some more. We were thankful and joyful and now are tryptophan-coma-ing on the couch. Have a wonderful weekend - I'll be back on Monday with more musings. For now, I'm going to bask in the wonderfulness that is my whole family under one roof. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.................

For my happy, healthy family for my friends, near and far, old and new and old-and-found-again for the abundance of goodness I see every day for the richness of the world I inhabit for the joy I find in simple things, I am truly grateful. Happy Thanksgiving to you all !! There's a bonus post below.... it's a Wednesday 2-fer!

This is the weirdest day of the holiday weekend. If it's not a day of arrivals, and it's not a day of grocery shopping, it's merely a day of waiting. And it's not like a Jewish holiday, which starts the night before thus giving the day a special designation ( erev Thanksgiving just doesn't sound hebraic, does it?). Instead it just sits here, waiting for something to happen. The Cuters slept in, TBG spent the morning in the gym, and I took a totally unexpected nap on the couch from 8 til 10am. Satisfied the Big Cuter's craving for a chicken fajita burrito at Chipotle while drinking a Coke and smiling at the adult version of my little boy. Went for a fancier lunch with the Little Cuter and TBG, and watched the two of them hold their head at the same angle as they perused their exact same sandwiches. Met with the roofer and the exterior lighting guys and read Anne Perry in the sunshine. All four of us drove back to the gym this afternoon, and now we'...

I've been thinking about family and friends, as The Cuters make their way to the desert southwest for a family-only Thanksgiving. They're at their respective airports hours early, as befits a TBG-spawned human, and if the weather holds out they'll arrive in Tucson within an hour of each other. The Little Cuter will be arriving first and promises to be hungry; I'm bringing pot roast and fresh baked bread so she can feast while we await her brother. TBG thinks I'm silly; I flash to Daddooooo meeting me at LaGuardia with a bag of bagels and oranges and Coca-Cola and some chocolate candies for himself. I'm smiling as I pack the snack sack. C&B were planning to join us, as they have every year since we've been sharing a state. Alas and alack, medical issues have altered their plans; when did we get old enough to have our bodies get in the way of life? Of course, there was the Thanksgiving when TBG and my brother and I drove 350 miles over the river and throug...

The World Series should be over by now. Yom Kippur has come and gone and they're not even in the LCS (and how long did it take me to figure out what an LCS*is??) . It used to be that all the dads would congregate at the home of the closest congregant during the afternoon recess from prayer and watch the last few innings of the game. There was always a game on Yom Kippur, or so it seemed. Kids were never invited; women were not included. No way was I ever a participant. ******* Making plans for the Cuters to come home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's $200 more expensive for them to fly in after work/school releases them, but we'd pay double that for the pleasure of their company. TBG and I do just fine while they're off living their lives, but the house feels much more complete when they're around. We've moved so many times that it's not they're in their rooms and it's just like always . Rather, it's more they wanted to spend their time off wi...