If you know what to do, click here for the link to our group's brackets.. The password is theburrow. I'm using ESPN's format because that's the one Big Cuter uses for our family pool and I understand it. Feel free to make a suggestion for next year if you like another one more.
If you're a newbie to the whole situation, the rest of this post is for you; if you have no interest in the topic, we'll see you tomorrow for a picture post.
So, you want to participate in the pool but you don't know where to begin. The Burrow is here to help you. I'll try to keep it Goldilocks information (not too much, not too little, just the right amount). If you like visual references, click here.
64 men's basketball teams teams are divided into four regions for a single elimination ("win or go home") tournament. The process, which now seems to have grown to include the conference championship tournaments (The Big 10, the Pac-12), is called March Madness.
These regions may have geographic nomenclature but do not be fooled into thinking that the names have any relationship to reality. LIU Brooklyn will be playing in the West Regionals. Trust me, Brooklyn is not the west.
The games are played out over several weeks, and The Burrow will, from time to time, update you on items of note. Right now, though, your job is to pick the winners. There are many many sites which can help you make a reasoned choice. The sports pages of today's newspapers will have background information on how the teams are expected to perform. Feel free to indulge in any background reading which might enhance your decision making process.
Or don't. Choose all the teams that wear red. Decide to pick the higher ranking team in each match-up. Choose all the state schools, or all the animal mascots, or let sentiment guide your picks and take your alma mater all the way out to the very end. There will be no judgments. No one will disrespect your choices. Partisan rivalries will be enjoyed within a civil framework; I will monitor the discussion board to ensure that we are nice to one another.
You make your choices by clicking on the team you think will win. ESPN will fill in the next round of the bracket automatically, and then you make another choice. At the end, you'll choose the ultimate winner, and, in case of a tie, you will enter your best guess for the final score.
The winner of our pool will receive an official certificate of wonderfulness, a Stroll and Roll T-shirt for you and a friend, and a Christina-Taylor Green Memorial Foundation butterfly.... in addition to bragging rights here and elsewhere for the rest of the year.
Invite your friends and family to participate, if you'd like. "The more the merrier" is my motto. This is a private group, so you need the password as well as the Group Name. You might have to create an ESPN.com account to play. They ask only for a name (make one up if you'd like) and an email address. I've had this account since the 1990's and have never received one piece of spam. I vouch for their reliability and sensitivity to clogging your inbox with nonsense.
Here is the link: http://games.espn.go.com/tournament-challenge-bracket/en/group?groupID=48262
Here is the Group Name : Denizens of The Burrow
Here is the password: theburrow
Have fun
Monday, March 12, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Jump Rope for Hearts at Prince Elementary School
There was a lot of waiting in line... and on lines... today at Prince Elementary School.
No one seemed to mind.
There were high school kids ....real big kids.. nearly grown-ups... who were there to help.
While we getting ready, they were playing football.
It is going to be so much fun when we're that big.
There were some technical difficulties....
They fixed the music and it was time to dance.
Everyone couldn't jump rope all morning, so there were races of all kinds.
Action shot!
The arrow points to the egg she is valiantly trying to save.
Oops.
Tennis balls on tennis rackets isn't as simple as it sounds.
Racet to the line, pull out the clothes, put them on, race back and put them back in the sack....
string the beads... red white and blue...
and the hardest one of all.... squooshy balls on 2 sticks while running at full speed.
And then there was the jump rope section.....
We stayed hydrated.
A very good day to smile.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
It's March Madness Time
Our family has been running a March Madness pool since the kids were old enough to hold a pencil and make their choices. It's a tradition as old as Little Cuter reading the Night Before Christmas on the night before Christmas. It brings us together in day to day contact, as our teams rise or fall.
When they were younger, there was much discussion surrounding the prize to be awarded to the winner, the runner up, the one whose Cinderella team went the furthest. Cash, Toy R Us prizes, special dispensation from despised tasks ("I don't have to take the dog out in the dark,") were considered, agreed upon, and quickly forgotten. It was more about the games than the rewards.
We were living 3 blocks from the DePaul University gym back when Mark Aguirre and Skip "Money" Dillard and Terry Cummings and Rod Strickland were following Coach Ray Meyers' lead to the big dance year after year.... and losing in the first rounds.... year after frustrating year. DePaul fever was everywhere and, for $5 a game we could walk over and watch our guys compete with the big boys.
Talk about bracket busters; my picks from those years have DePaul going all the way out to the championship rounds. I didn't win very often.
Then NC State and Jim Valvano captured my heart and my attention and riding a hunch, I won 2nd place in the Goldman Sach's (unofficial, of course) pool. The guys were amazed. TBG had to defend my honor - yes, in fact, I did make my own picks. That $92 was the sweetest cash I ever earned. Take that, you sexist sports fans.
This year our local team is trying to put a good face on drawing a bid to the NIT.... they hope. The NIT used to be the biggest deal in post-season collegiate basketball. Regional games were hosted by home teams allowing the fans who'd supported the players all year an opportunity to see them move onward and upward in person. The final rounds were held in the holiest of holy venues - Madison Square Garden.
Time passed and things changed (it's not that interesting a story) and now the NIT is the place where runners-up go to salve their wounds. The hoopla is reserved for the NCAA's March Madness these days.
Don't be confused by all the games you're seeing on tv right now, denizens. The tournament hasn't started yet. We are now in the midst of the conference championships. The winners of the major and mid-majors earn an automatic bid to The Big Dance. Was I the only one who noticed that Harvard will be in the field of 65 this year? Penn could have forced a one-game play-off had they won this week and..... not knowing a single player or coach or the drama associated with either team, I was wrapped up in the story nonetheless.
That's what makes it so much fun. Mark your brackets and all of a sudden you are a huge Gonzaga fan... even if you don't know where Gonzaga is. Butler is your new favorite group of upstarts, though you can't locate them on a map nor name a notable alumnus. You fall on one side or the other of loving or hating Duke or Kansas or Syracuse, and the guy standing behind you and your girlfriend in line at Chipotle chimes right into your conversation.
March Madness is America's Spring pasttime. I am here to encourage you to join in the fun.
The brackets will be revealed on March 11th at 6pm on the right coast. Soon thereafter, on-line competitions will sprout. This year, The Burrow will have its own challenge, and now is the time to start to think about it. Pay some attention to your local sports pages, mining them for nuggest of information that will help you to choose. Listen more closely to the water cooler conversations that start with "Did you see him hit that three pointer last night?" Examine the mascots and decide to pick only the mammals... or the colors..... or the inexplicables (Hoyas? Hoosiers?)
I will post the link to the brackets on Sunday night, and again on Monday and Tuesday, right here in The Burrow. There is no reason to avoid participating. A 9 year old has won our pool in the past. Your job from now until Sunday is to gather facts and consider your options.
And yes, there will be prizes.
When they were younger, there was much discussion surrounding the prize to be awarded to the winner, the runner up, the one whose Cinderella team went the furthest. Cash, Toy R Us prizes, special dispensation from despised tasks ("I don't have to take the dog out in the dark,") were considered, agreed upon, and quickly forgotten. It was more about the games than the rewards.
We were living 3 blocks from the DePaul University gym back when Mark Aguirre and Skip "Money" Dillard and Terry Cummings and Rod Strickland were following Coach Ray Meyers' lead to the big dance year after year.... and losing in the first rounds.... year after frustrating year. DePaul fever was everywhere and, for $5 a game we could walk over and watch our guys compete with the big boys.
Talk about bracket busters; my picks from those years have DePaul going all the way out to the championship rounds. I didn't win very often.
Then NC State and Jim Valvano captured my heart and my attention and riding a hunch, I won 2nd place in the Goldman Sach's (unofficial, of course) pool. The guys were amazed. TBG had to defend my honor - yes, in fact, I did make my own picks. That $92 was the sweetest cash I ever earned. Take that, you sexist sports fans.
This year our local team is trying to put a good face on drawing a bid to the NIT.... they hope. The NIT used to be the biggest deal in post-season collegiate basketball. Regional games were hosted by home teams allowing the fans who'd supported the players all year an opportunity to see them move onward and upward in person. The final rounds were held in the holiest of holy venues - Madison Square Garden.
Time passed and things changed (it's not that interesting a story) and now the NIT is the place where runners-up go to salve their wounds. The hoopla is reserved for the NCAA's March Madness these days.
Don't be confused by all the games you're seeing on tv right now, denizens. The tournament hasn't started yet. We are now in the midst of the conference championships. The winners of the major and mid-majors earn an automatic bid to The Big Dance. Was I the only one who noticed that Harvard will be in the field of 65 this year? Penn could have forced a one-game play-off had they won this week and..... not knowing a single player or coach or the drama associated with either team, I was wrapped up in the story nonetheless.
That's what makes it so much fun. Mark your brackets and all of a sudden you are a huge Gonzaga fan... even if you don't know where Gonzaga is. Butler is your new favorite group of upstarts, though you can't locate them on a map nor name a notable alumnus. You fall on one side or the other of loving or hating Duke or Kansas or Syracuse, and the guy standing behind you and your girlfriend in line at Chipotle chimes right into your conversation.
March Madness is America's Spring pasttime. I am here to encourage you to join in the fun.
The brackets will be revealed on March 11th at 6pm on the right coast. Soon thereafter, on-line competitions will sprout. This year, The Burrow will have its own challenge, and now is the time to start to think about it. Pay some attention to your local sports pages, mining them for nuggest of information that will help you to choose. Listen more closely to the water cooler conversations that start with "Did you see him hit that three pointer last night?" Examine the mascots and decide to pick only the mammals... or the colors..... or the inexplicables (Hoyas? Hoosiers?)
I will post the link to the brackets on Sunday night, and again on Monday and Tuesday, right here in The Burrow. There is no reason to avoid participating. A 9 year old has won our pool in the past. Your job from now until Sunday is to gather facts and consider your options.
And yes, there will be prizes.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
More from the Garden
I told you that there were more pictures from the garden.
The last floral post focused on volunteers and major installations.
Today, I'm sharing the little pieces that are still accessible to my gimpy-gardening self.
This area at the base of the columns TBG loves and I despise was covered with ivy when we moved in. Unkempt and un-tend-able, the messiness made TBG nutty.
The yard guys and I pulled it out and replaced the river rocks in artful patterns.
Then, I decided to move large ceramic pots into the barrenness.
There is a volunteer acacia trying to establish itself toward the back.
I am especially taken with the black petunias.
I put in bulbs brought from my California garden and added annuals to bloom while I waited.
That was 5 years ago, and the freesia just keep coming back, year after year.
My favorite part of gardening is sharing plants.
This Gopher Plant (Euphorbia rigida) was a teeny tiny itsy bitsy sprout, growing where nobody wanted it at the edge of the xeriscape plot at the UofA's Master Gardener's Demonstration Gardens.
I brought it home and nurtured it in a pot placed in the raised veggie bed.
Not requiring much supplemental watering in the wild, it flourished next to the regularly irrigated lettuce and basil and tomatoes.
I brought it home and nurtured it in a pot placed in the raised veggie bed.
Not requiring much supplemental watering in the wild, it flourished next to the regularly irrigated lettuce and basil and tomatoes.
I have a space for it out in front, but it looks so lovely back there I am reluctant to move it.
Citrus is something I've never tried to grow before, but my friends at Rillito Nursery assured me that it was simple.
This is a dwarf clementine tree.
It should grow to 8'-10' tall.
The "cuties" will have some seeds, but they are the sweetest of the varieties that grow here.
This little fellow obviously agrees.
As long as he doesn't take too big a bite I'm not going to worry about an infestation.
Can you see the buds forming in the lower left corner?
Those will be sweet treats to eat before the summer is over.
And then, like most gardeners I know, there are these leaves.
I once knew what they were.
That knowledge is lost in the ether.
This is the first year that they have looked this green.
Should they actually send out a flower I will post the picture.
For now, though, you can join me in one of my favorite gardening activities:
Guess What This One Is?!
And, for those of you living with 30's and 40's and water vapor
http://tinyurl.com/ysnzvk
I hope these sunny photos have brightened your day.
The "cuties" will have some seeds, but they are the sweetest of the varieties that grow here.
This little fellow obviously agrees.
As long as he doesn't take too big a bite I'm not going to worry about an infestation.
Can you see the buds forming in the lower left corner?
Those will be sweet treats to eat before the summer is over.
And then, like most gardeners I know, there are these leaves.
I once knew what they were.
That knowledge is lost in the ether.
This is the first year that they have looked this green.
Should they actually send out a flower I will post the picture.
For now, though, you can join me in one of my favorite gardening activities:
Guess What This One Is?!
And, for those of you living with 30's and 40's and water vapor
I hope these sunny photos have brightened your day.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Wherein I Rediscover Manners
I had business at Amphitheater High School this afternoon. It was an eye-opening experience.
Leaving the hand surgeon's office (don't ask.... I have vowed not to whine) with a numb finger and a general idea of the direction in which I needed to travel, I listened to Rush Limbaugh's non-apologetic apology and silently fumed. He's not retracting the underlying sentiment. He's merely upset that he slid to the level of the left and used two inappropriate words. I guess asking for sex tapes is still okay with the right. As I said, I was fuming.
I made all the lights and was destined to be on time; there was the football field on the left, just where I knew it would be. Unfortunately, the parking facility I'd imagined never materialized. There was a locked gate, presumably opened for events but certainly closed tight this afternoon, barring access to the lot I saw and then the field was gone. I was passing a strip mall, not the rest of the school as I had hoped.
Turning left and then left again I retraced my steps and spied the school at the end of a road marked Dead End. Ignoring the irony, I turned in and hoped for a parking lot. I was disappointed. It was truly a dead end, although the school was tantalizingly lurking just beyond the cement barricade defining the dead end. And this is where my luck began to change.
There were two end-of-the-day-disheveled boys sitting on the barricades, leaning against the chain link fence. Backpacks at their feet, they barely noticed as The Schnozz and I drove in and wondered. Rolling down my window, I asked for help and was rewarded with a dazzling smile. Hair-to-his-shoulders jumped up and gave me concise, clear and thoughtful directions to the lot I needed. His friend nodded sagely, confirming each step with a serious mien. They were happy to help.
The lot wound around the outside of the campus. I was not in the mood for a long walk to my destination. I rolled down my window and asked, once again, for help. Once again, I received a big smile and a helpful hint. I was beginning to sense a pattern.
Parking in the handicapped spot nearest the exit gate, I crossed the driveway and wondered if I were standing in front of the library. Ms. Cell-Phone and Ms. iPod were groovin' on the retaining wall but were happy to assure me that I was standing in front of the library. Their response was harmonious and charming; they were definitely on the same wavelength.
I approached the front door at the same time as another young man; my smile grew as he hurried just a bit so that he could open the door for me. I returned the favor on the inner door and entered the library filled with admiration. I had not seen a single piece of trash on my journey around the school. I had random interactions which were uniformly perfect. The library was quietly buzzing with scholarship. I was on the world's most polite campus.
It wasn't smarmy. It wasn't obsequious. It wasn't designed to garner attention or applause. It was genuine. It was what was expected when conversing with an adult. It was respectful and it was real.
It didn't end there. After we chatted, the student I had gone to meet said that he would walk me out to my car. His mother raised him right.
The next time you begin to despair about the youth of today, consider taking a trip to Amphi High School. It just might change your mind.
Leaving the hand surgeon's office (don't ask.... I have vowed not to whine) with a numb finger and a general idea of the direction in which I needed to travel, I listened to Rush Limbaugh's non-apologetic apology and silently fumed. He's not retracting the underlying sentiment. He's merely upset that he slid to the level of the left and used two inappropriate words. I guess asking for sex tapes is still okay with the right. As I said, I was fuming.
I made all the lights and was destined to be on time; there was the football field on the left, just where I knew it would be. Unfortunately, the parking facility I'd imagined never materialized. There was a locked gate, presumably opened for events but certainly closed tight this afternoon, barring access to the lot I saw and then the field was gone. I was passing a strip mall, not the rest of the school as I had hoped.
Turning left and then left again I retraced my steps and spied the school at the end of a road marked Dead End. Ignoring the irony, I turned in and hoped for a parking lot. I was disappointed. It was truly a dead end, although the school was tantalizingly lurking just beyond the cement barricade defining the dead end. And this is where my luck began to change.
There were two end-of-the-day-disheveled boys sitting on the barricades, leaning against the chain link fence. Backpacks at their feet, they barely noticed as The Schnozz and I drove in and wondered. Rolling down my window, I asked for help and was rewarded with a dazzling smile. Hair-to-his-shoulders jumped up and gave me concise, clear and thoughtful directions to the lot I needed. His friend nodded sagely, confirming each step with a serious mien. They were happy to help.
The lot wound around the outside of the campus. I was not in the mood for a long walk to my destination. I rolled down my window and asked, once again, for help. Once again, I received a big smile and a helpful hint. I was beginning to sense a pattern.
Parking in the handicapped spot nearest the exit gate, I crossed the driveway and wondered if I were standing in front of the library. Ms. Cell-Phone and Ms. iPod were groovin' on the retaining wall but were happy to assure me that I was standing in front of the library. Their response was harmonious and charming; they were definitely on the same wavelength.
I approached the front door at the same time as another young man; my smile grew as he hurried just a bit so that he could open the door for me. I returned the favor on the inner door and entered the library filled with admiration. I had not seen a single piece of trash on my journey around the school. I had random interactions which were uniformly perfect. The library was quietly buzzing with scholarship. I was on the world's most polite campus.
It wasn't smarmy. It wasn't obsequious. It wasn't designed to garner attention or applause. It was genuine. It was what was expected when conversing with an adult. It was respectful and it was real.
It didn't end there. After we chatted, the student I had gone to meet said that he would walk me out to my car. His mother raised him right.
The next time you begin to despair about the youth of today, consider taking a trip to Amphi High School. It just might change your mind.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Weeds & Flowers - It's Springtime in the Desert
A weed is a plant that is growing in the wrong place.
Like this one.
One of the problems of gimpy-gardening is that things are ignored.
If you don't keep up with them, they tend to take over the garden.
Like these did.
To solve my problem, I hired someone to help me.
At least, that's what I told myself.
In reality, he's doing almost all the work and I am reaping almost all the joy.
Good landscapers have to love the plants.
They demonstrate that love by knowing what to do and when to do it.
And then, beautiful things happen.
He installed this Texas Mountain Laurel last Fall.
It's just starting to bloom.
I wish I could send you the aroma.
Back to the weed vs flower dilemma.
TBG thinks that the sheer randomness of these beauties is offensive to the eye.
I'm giving you the gestalt, the big picture, the overview of the path to our front door.
Focus on the small random plants along the edges.
They've formed themselves into lovely little groupings...
in all sorts of interesting, out of the way places.
Volunteers, they require no care at all.
They appear, more and more of them each year, right around my birthday.
I'm thinking they might be Desert Bluebells (Phacelia campanularia).
For me, they are the crocuses of the desert, the first harbinger of spring.
I'm keeping them.
They are not weeds.
Neither are these three silver leaf yellow flower bushes.
Once the weeds unwanted plants are cleared away,
this Brittle Bush (encelia farinosa) garden will be transformed into a showpiece.
For now, I have to hope that the generous dousing with RoundUp this morning will do the trick.
There's more, denizens, so very much more.
But..........
If you'll excuse me, I'm feeling the need to get outside.
Right now.
Friday, March 2, 2012
He's a Guy
Rita Arens, a BlogHer crony, posted pictures from Branson's tornado today (which I am reposting here for you; thanks, Rita, for allowing the denizens to share).
He rented a car, bought a 6-pack of Diet Coke and a box of Swisher Sweets, and set off for home. Home was in Chicago, then, and he was determined to get there in time to nap, shower, change clothes and collect the packet for his meeting the next morning. My job was simpler: armed with a road map of the United States, I began calling airports along his route. searching for a flight that would get him home to us. There are a lot of airports between Kentucky and Illinois; I know because I spoke to each and every one of them This was in the early 1980's, before the internet, before reliable cell phone reception, before communications were instantaneous and helpful.
They aren't random photos; her husband was staying in a motel across the street from this scene.These are his tweets.
He was calm; she was a wreck. As I've noted here in The Burrow before, it's much easier to be the one in trouble than to be sitting on the sidelines, helpless. It's even worse when you are far apart, when you can't be right there to make the phone calls and do the work yourself.
Her husband had to get home. His car was not cooperating with the plan.
That's pieces of Shoney's where his rear window used to be. Sigh.....
Not surprisingly, AAA and the insurance company and the glass shops were more than slightly over-whelmed with requests for assistance. He needed to leave, so he did. Covering the destroyed window with paper and duct tape, he drove home.
In my experience, this is not an unusual reaction. The men in my life have done the same thing. Come back with me in time.....
TBG was in Louisville, Kentucky for a one day business meeting. He flew out in the morning and planned to be home for dinner. He'd be leaving the next day for Washington, DC, but that didn't matter. A happier traveler might have gone straight to the Big Apple, but he sleeps in his own bed whenever possible, and that night was to be no exception.
Unfortunately, the weather and United Airlines conspired against him. His plane was delayed, then cancelled, then the re-booked plane was cancelled, then he began to lose interest in the whole scenario. No one, no thing, no storm, no clerk was going to keep him from seeing his family that night. No way. No how. Even if his family was 6 states away.
He rented a car, bought a 6-pack of Diet Coke and a box of Swisher Sweets, and set off for home. Home was in Chicago, then, and he was determined to get there in time to nap, shower, change clothes and collect the packet for his meeting the next morning. My job was simpler: armed with a road map of the United States, I began calling airports along his route. searching for a flight that would get him home to us. There are a lot of airports between Kentucky and Illinois; I know because I spoke to each and every one of them This was in the early 1980's, before the internet, before reliable cell phone reception, before communications were instantaneous and helpful.
He ended up driving the entire way. He would not let them win. He had a plan and he was sticking to it.
He's a guy.
So is my brother. September 11, 2001 found him and his wife in Cairo. There is a lot of water between Egypt and the United States; walking home was not an option. Their daughters were being cared for by friends who were happy to keep them until the wanderers returned; there was no rush. Yet, cancelled flights and and circumstances and someone else making travel decisions for him was unacceptable.
As I said, he's a guy.
Joining the long long lines at the airport, their choices were limited. Their bags went one way and they went another - to Frankfurt and then to Dallas/Fort Worth - on the last two seats to anywhere on the right continent.
They were in the USofA, and that was a good thing. Unfortunately, their home and their children were in Maryland. Once again, in that week after 9/11, flying was out of the question. As my brother made the requisite family phone calls ("Dallas....Dulles....whatever..." groaned his weary voice mail) his wife tried to locate a rental car. Fabulous woman that she is, she found the very last one in town and they were off, driving across Texas and other assorted states.
He's a guy; he wasn't taking no way or wait a while for an answer.
I don't have any stories of women of my acquaintance being propelled to make these same choices
I am wondering if that is coincidence or, perhaps, another window into the soul of the men in my life. Either way, here are three examples of the same behavior. You do the math.
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