Ooops

Apparently, between Bell's Palsy and March Madness and a myriad of nonsense I forgot to schedule a post for today.

Thanks for pointing it out, Little Cheese.  

I'll be back tomorrow, as originally and most beautifully planned.

(Bonus points if you get the movie reference.)

Springtime in the Desert

Apparently, my phone can take panoramic pictures.

This allows me to show off my bluebells.  These are not weeds, TBG's protests to the contrary.  A weed is a plant in the wrong place.  These, while not intentional, are not weeds.  These babies have seed packets you can buy in the store.  Fortunately for my garden spending, my bluebells were naturally seeded by the members of the animal kingdom who pollinate and defecate in my yard. 

The yellow flowers are brittle bush, and are also volunteers, deposited not always where I'd choose but appreciated none the less.

I spent the day in the garden out back, pulling out the rose bush remains that perished when the irrigation system crapped out last summer.  There was no there there anymore; my foot kicked out the stumps with ease.  The face lift was noticeable, but there was more to be done.  

I replanted the not-hanging-but-standing-on-a-post basket with the remains of other failed containers.  I examined the sticky little bugs I found attached to and crawling on an irrigation nozzle; I'll bag it and take it in to the master gardeners tomorrow for diagnosis and treatment.  I cleaned off the pretty metal rack that holds the I-can-live-outdoors tools and swept the potting shed floor clean.  

Tomorrow, if the weather holds, I'll plant the roses in the front and ask Mr. 21 to come over and dig me a hole for the rose tree in the back.  I tried to dig it myself; I gave up almost immediately.  

I may even finish the cacti-and-succulents-in-pots situation I'm trying to create at our front door.  I've had the tools and the soil out there for months, without the urge to complete the job. But it's been high in the upper 60's and sunny here and these are them weeks we cherish.  I can be outside and do whatever I want to do at any time of the day, wearing shorts and a long sleeve shirt to protect my arms from the sun and the prickers as I clip and dig and get soil under my still perfect manicure.

We've had a lot of visitors, sharing the bounty.  Look who showed up this morning.

St. Patrick's Day

Reposted, with additions.

I know nothing about the origins of the holiday.*  I do know that once the boys made it clear that corned beef and cabbage and boiled potatoes did not hold a candle to pizza, Little Cuter and I began a delicious tradition of eating, ravenously, voraciously, turning to our fingers when that bite eluded the fork.  

I've missed her every March 15th since she went to college.  

Her brother in law brines his own meat, creating three huge trays, each with a different recipe, enough for the family and friends that filled his house.  I'm jealous of the food, but not the public setting.  Part of the joy I take is in the messiness, the pure hedonism, the lack of propriety or respect for anything except getting the tastes into my mouth as efficiently as I can.

I usually use a dish towel instead of a paper napkin.

I am slovenly and unapologetic.

So, for whatever reason we celebrate you, thank you St. Patrick for having a day.

*****

According to the interwebs, this 5th century priest was never awarded sainthood and was either brought to Ireland as a slave or sold a few of his family's slaves to pay his way there.  He probably didn't drive all the snakes out of Ireland, but he certainly used the clover to explain the Holy Trinity.  I'm not sure how the 3 leaves made it to 4 leaves for luck, but there you have it.

What A Day

There were wonderful moments in the garden today.  The green onions are sprouting everywhere, and the kids had a great time sharing their bad breath.  We have arugula and rocket lettuce and red lettuce and spinach and big romaine leaves. 

Rocket lettuce tastes like mustard, which surprised a few taste buds.  The spinach was also a surprise, in that they really liked it.  With mint and cilantro and scallions, the scholars made their own garden grown salad.  Nobody asked for ranch dressing.

The irrigation system needed adjusting and the beds and buckets needed watering, which was done by young gardeners who kept the water on the plants.... for the most part.  The daisies are blooming and ready for picking, and all the girls who asked left with a yellow or an orange flower.  

But then there were the fifth graders who didn't know odd numbers from even numbers.  Even the teachers were amazed.  

Two of the scholars who ate the celery we used for a lesson on xylem and floem appeared .  I soon afterwards in the nurse's office.  One had a rash on her neck.  One had a scratchy throat and an ear ache.  The celery was the only thing they had in common.  Neither the nurse nor I thought of celery as an allergen.  The girl's necklace might have caused the rash.  The boy's symptoms defied explanation.  

Since it was close to dismissal, the nurse decided to let the families sort things out. 

I closed the garden and walked to my car which did not respond to my key which was logical since I'd left the key in my wallet in the garden.  I walked back and then back again.  I got gas and a chicken and yellow roses at Costco, adding Tana French's newest novel to my basket as a reward for surviving the day.

TBG's got Bell's Palsy.  .  

It's uncomfortable but not fatal.  He's well medicated and we understand the process of recovery.  He's a trooper, making the best of a bad situation.  But everyone needs to wallow in misery from time to time, and this is one of those times.  He's as upbeat as a man with half a face can be.

I should rearrange our usual places on the couch.  I'm looking at the droopy side and it's making me sad.  The unaffected side still smiles at me.  I just have to move over so I see it more often.

As I said, it's been a day.

Clocks - A Short Rant

The only person who knows what time it is is the one who owns only one clock.

I have children in the Eastern and Western time zones.  I am in the Arizona zone (it's true; look at the options for your clock).  I never know what time it is anywhere.

My computer decided that my clock should change.  This was confusing for a few moments early on Sunday morning.  I didn't think I'd slept that long.

There is so much to be said for leaving things alone.  

That's it.  I'm done.  No one listened to me when I insisted that school start after Labor Day.  I don't think anyone will listen to me on this, either.

Tucson Festival of Books

The sun was shining, a breeze was blowing, the clouds were high and white, and there were books everywhere I looked.  People reading books, people buying books, p eople sorting through books..... you get the picture.  The TFOB is my favorite weekend of the year.

I took a different approach this year.  Instead of working through the list of Author Events and marking out a packed schedule for both days, I just wandered.  Open seats were inviting me to hear about Martin Luther King, Jr first thing in the morning, eating my bagel and lox before hardly anyone else arrived.  

I waited in a comfy chair on the patio outside the North Ballroom before listening to Alysin Camerota and Luke Russert talk about their childhoods.  A mathematician from Britain made the case for the marvelous connections between mathematics and literature.   T.C. Boyle  read us a story.  I had lemon Italian ice for lunch.  And that was just the first day.

Reminding me why I love books and authors and authors talking about books and other authors was the morning panel with T.C. Boyle and Linda See and Viet Thanh Nguyen. I wandered through Science City and the Children's Village, collecting stickers and pens and post it notes emblazoned with logos and affirmations.  A sorority was giving away free books and I filled my backpack with goodies for the kiddos at Prince.  I have some lovely bookmarks, many small stress balls in the shape of brains, and very colorful pipe-cleaners which a delightful science educator encouraged me to fashion into my very own, very silly, very oversized glasses.  

With a philosopher, I considered whether TBG's watch, which has had every piece replaced over its life, is still the same watch he bought long ago.  A panel on Religion's Grip on Politics was a frightening glimpse into the vortex of right-wing, Evangelical Protestants, from people who'd been deep in the belly of the beast.  Their philosophy is bad religion and bad history, and they had the pages from Scripture and reality to back up those claims.

I ran into friends, randomly.  I chatted up strangers while we waited in line.  I walked without feeling all that tired.  What used to be a long long walk was suddenly right there.  

It's my favorite weekend of the year.  

Watching the Oscars

We've seen one or two of the movies, which is about par for the course.

Billie Eilish was wearing knee socks standing next to Ariana Grande, whose sleeves were weirdly gigantic puffballs of pink satin, and Cynthia Erivo, whose deep green dress had lizard scales down her (very lovely) back.  Ryan Gosling scampered about in a sparkly pink tuxedo.  

So far, that's the most exciting thing that's happened tonight.  The speeches are, for the most part, unintelligible.  We wondered, more than once, if the winners were speaking English.  

The fawning over the Best Actor nominees was cringe worthy.  Bradley Cooper brought his mother to the show, and her big blue sunglasses were just fab.  

I always like the hugging when the winners are announced.  Christopher Nolan must be a wonderful human being; everyone hugged him and mentioned him and enthused about him.  Steven Spielberg smiled benevolently as the passersby nodded in his direction. 

Emma Stone defined gobsmacked when her name was announced.  The fact that her dressed popped its back seam made me love every bit of her. 

Was Al Pacino high?  He shuffled out, opened the envelope without reading all the nominees, and then wandered around behind the throng of filmmakers involved in Oppenheimer who joined the producers on stage.  

Jimmy Kimmel wore a series of ever more ridiculous tuxedo jackets, tailored to highlight his least attractive features.  He made a joke about the Lying Liar and not everyone clapped.  

Children and parents and music teachers were thanked from the stage.  They were, I am sure, happier than I was to listen to it.

Can you tell that this is not my favorite show of the year?

A Disappointment

No, this isn't a commentary on the State of the Union.  Joe hasn't started speaking yet.  

No, this is a commentary on the sad state of the stationary department in Target.

Yes, I went into Target.  I needed a picture frame and pens; it was the store that had them both and was open at 9:15am.  It's been upgraded since my last visit.  The aisles are wider and it seems like there are fewer options.  I had to ask for directions to the picture frames, of which there were none worth buying.  

I searched out the writing implements.  I found them    There was no way to test them, no small white pad of paper and a variety of tied to a console pens.  How was I to choose?  

Understand that I write a lot - transferring thoughts to paper by moving a marker over paper, not depressing buttons..... although even there I need just the right keyboard to feel fully at ease.  I have a lot of requirements, starting with no leaking and ending with how it works on a coated piece of stationary.  I

I was attracted by a lot of the packaging, and was glad to see that the pretty pencil box was also the least expensive alternative that met my needs.  The pens were a different story.  The hand feel and the ink flow and the color of the (always) blue on the paper - these are things that cannot be determined by looking through plastic.

I chose these.  Medium point, blue ink, click top so useful when only one hand is available, all at a low price.  I took a chance.  I made a mistake.

 

This is the most uncomfortable writing implement every invented.  

The square padded finger rest felt like it was correcting my grip.  I was taught how to hold a pen.  There is nothing wrong with my grip.  The edges kept poking into my fingers' tender inner flesh.  No matter how I tried, it never felt right.  

Plus, right out of the packaging, it was blotting the paper.  

I'm going back to Target in the morning with my receipt and my request to exchange the pens, only one used, and then only to fill in five or six answers in a crossword puzzle.  Then I'll go next door to Office Depot and see if I fare any better. 

I'll keep you posted.

Goodbye, Nikki

It was refreshing to notice that the talking heads never once mentioned Nikki Haley's sex or ethnicity when announcing the suspension of her campaign.  The last candidate standing was her moniker and it made me happy all day long.  

I'm not happy that she's out of the race; I enjoyed someone calling herself a Republican who actually had the audacity to say that the Lying Liar wasn't fit to be President.  Why she didn't start that line earlier in the campaign is a question for another day.  Anyone who takes a step across the line from blind obedience to maybe there's another way gets a small round of applause in this house.

We're trying to be kind to those who might be persuadable, the uninvolved voter whose family has always pulled the Republican lever (remember the giant handle which closed the curtain and revealed the voting machine?), the twenty-something who gets his news from the sports channels, the guy from bike class who stopped coming because everyone else knew right from wrong.  

It's better than being furious with them.  We've tried that for years and have gotten nowhere.  

But I digress.  Back to Nikki Haley, whose major donors stopped writing checks.  Will those people now send The Indicted One their donations, to help with his legal bills?  Will she endorse the Lying Liar (I'm writing this early in the day)?  Will she go on the lecture circuit and keep her options open for 2028?

Would she be a Vice Presidential Candidate?  The notion of two women of color supporting two old white men leaves a lot to consider.  Nikki Haley doesn't believe in identity politics (I heard her say it this morning) but she does believe in breaking glass ceilings.  Fifty years ago, this image seemed impossible.

And that's where I am going to leave this discussion.  I don't want to be upset about November.  I don't want to consider the what if's, like what if the primary vote in Iowa had been counted in a timely manner for the news cycle to pick up Mayor Pete's win there and create the momentum it should have.  Lis Smith, his campaign guru, outlined a credible path to the White House if Mayor Pete prevailed.

What if it had happened?  

Eighteen Dollars

Sister is quite involved in getting Andy Kim the Democratic nomination for US Senate in New Jersey.  The machine wants the state's First Lady, Tammy Murphy, to carry the torch in the general election.  

Sister likens Rep. Kim to Allard Lowenstein, the political hero of our adolescence, so when she asked for a donation on our sibling chat, I made my usual $18 donation.  

In Hebrew, where letters serve as numbers, 18 is chai, life in English.  It's a throwback to my parents' generation and theirs before them.  

Apparently, it's ingrained in my family tree.  Brother sent $18 too.

Actually, being who he is, he sent $18.36.  

I get that 36 is twice 18, but otherwise it's a mystery, just as most of the wonderfulness surrounding him is mysteriously charming.  He and sister went back and forth, tossing the missing 64cents between them, and I was back in my childhood kitchen with them, feeling and seeing and smelling it all.

I wonder if G'ma and Daddooooo realized the tradition they created.

Thank You

I'm so happy to be preaching to such an appreciative choir.  Yesterday's comments helped me move on from lonely railing at the wind to knowing that I'm not alone.

Friends from LaMaze class are in town; we're seeing a lot of them.  Each time, we find ourselves saying Oh, no, let's not talk about him as the conversation strays in that unfortunate direction.  He's omnipresent.  

I do have confidence in the American people and in our system.  It held against his minions once on election day and again on January 6th.  That doesn't stop me from being terrified. 

It's time to start writing Get Out the Vote postcards again.  The first request just came to my inbox.  These are going to be important months in American History.

Do you think everyone throughout time imagines that they are Living In Interesting Times?

I'm Done

I've been anxious for several days.  Driving home on Friday, I catalogued all the pieces of my life.  There is nothing to stress over, beyond the fact that age is taking its toll on our bodies.  Everything is fine and yet I'm still antsy.

The cd I was playing ended.  As I hesitated to turn on NPR, I realized the source of my angst.  It's the Lying Liar and all the tentacles he's using to poison my America.  

I once wanted to be a Supreme Court justice.  Now, the thought of sharing a room with Clarence Thomas makes me quiver and quake.  There was a bipartisan border solution, which was just what he asked for, yet he stomped on it for political gain, putting the legislative process up for sale.  And don't get me started on the ChristoFascistFool's minions have in store for reproductive rights.  

Naming the source helped..... a little.  But today, Sunday, my brain nearly exploded.  The news was filled with a NYTimes poll (the NYT.... gee, it must be legit, right??) showing Trump trouncing Biden in November.  The front page stories included that tidbit, plus other ways to make America seem hopeless and in crisis.  

I threw out everything except the Magazine and the Book Review and the Style section.  There's the rest of the paper, recycled before being opened and certainly before being read.

Then Substack came to my rescue.  I follow Jay Kuo, a Stanford/Berkeley educated lawyer.  He explains complicated situations in almost real time, except on Fridays when he gives us memes and funny animal videos.  He exposes the inadequacies of the poll here.  For those who want the TLDR version (Too Long Didn't Read for you neophytes), here are some highlights:

• I do not believe Biden is tied with women nationally 46-46… Biden got 57% of women in 2020. You're telling me that, post-Dobbs, his support among that demo group will drop to 46? Not credible
• The poll was conducted in English, although it included non-English speaking Hispanic voters.
• Older Latino voters, whose native language is often Spanish, are some of the most reliable Democratic voters out there. To ignore them in the poll and focus nearly only on English speakers understandably delivers wacky results. The Univision poll, by the way, had Biden over Trump 58 to 31 once you included Spanish speakers, who skewed 62-26 for Biden.
• The youth result skews toward Biden, but at half the rate other major polls suggest.

Finally, it's 200 days out from the election and most people aren't as obsessed as I am.  I'm not sure where the bias comes from, but I'm done with the NYT.... except as noted above and the games during the week.  For me, as the article in Vanity Fair suggested last month, the NYTimes has become a gaming platform with an occasional news drop.

I Love My Brother

It was a wonderful birthday, with cards and flowers and a balloon.

Little Cuter found a beautiful spaghetti fork

which she packaged with two more practical ones and a butter dish.

My brother sent me this:

It was packed within a few cardboard boxes cut to size, bubble wrap, foam paddiing, and enough scotch tape to humble a less determined package opener. I gave up on the scissors, moved on to the Exacto knife, and with the sender listening on speaker phone I revealed the gift. He's taken a class at the local community college and created my birthday present.

It came with its provenance detailed on the side of one of those boxes:

Contains: Recycled brownie container (part of a Hanukkah gift I sent them), part of a left over bag of concrete mix, red pigment, recycled copper gutters (from his house), abandoned copper tubing, telephone wire, 14 gauge wire, almost properly sized brass rivets, traces of tin/silver solder and flux. Wilt proof flowers are impervious to desert heat and bitter cold. Guaranteed to tarnish like the Statue of Liberty. Requires no routine maintenance. Prefers bright sunlight or deep shade or anything in between. Impervious to pests and disease.
WARNING: Contents will hurt if dropped on your toe. Do not eat unless you have very strong teeth. Various components probably known to cause cancer in California.

He's taking two more classes now - Creative Writing and Tap Dancing.  Creative Writing made sense to me; I've been reading his occasional newsletters since I went away to college.  But Tap Dancing?  

Why not?  I have two heels and ten toes.

Yes, he now owns tap shoes.  

I love my little brother.