The Burrow

( Click here and start the music ........ and don't watch the video..... just listen as you read and make up your own pictures..... even if that behavior is sooooo 20th century........) I'm not sure that it was "the seminal event of the 20th century", as one of its producers pronounced it, but it certainly had an impact. 40 years ago and I was a high school graduate heading off to the Ivy League and "Sure," G'ma and Daddooooo said when I asked if Linda and I could go to this big festival in Upstate NY that summer. Then an opportunity to travel abroad came my way, and I'd be gone til the end of August, and that's how I didn't go to Woodstock. Graham Nash said that "if all the people who say they were at Woodstock really had been at Woodstock the planet would have tilted on its axis." But I think he's missing the point. We all imagine we were in Bethel that weekend because just thinking about being there makes us smile. And the mu...

I have a lot of old friends. I'm not talking about people who have known me since I was 12, or who lived on my street when I was in nursery school. I'm talking about people of a certain age who are important in my life. And none of them would take offense at being referred to as old, either. That's part of why I like them. They are all comfortable in their own skin. Harry was a Canadian newspaper editor who snow-birded with Nannie and Grandpaw in Florida. He smoked a pipe, and bought me one when I admired his the weekend TBG and I met him. He'd lead long walks on the beach, all of us smoking and picking up sharks teeth and opining on everything and everyone. He wrote fabulous letters (he would have been an av id blogger, I'm sure) and sent the Big Cuter a porringer as a baby present, complete with a poem extolling the virtues of the infant, the parents and the gift-giver himself. Profanity and profundity were intertwined in his speech; his writing was elegant. A bit...

sorry loyal readers....... today's post was delayed by not checking my work ...I typed PM instead of AM in the scheduler...... I feel bad :-(

Ted Kennedy was a great senator and an effective champion of liberal causes. He also drove off a bridge with a girl in the car while married to another girl who wasn't in the car. And the girl in the car died. Today, his eulogists can't seem to find Chappaquiddik on a map. Michael Jackson was as cute as a button as a 5 year old and made beautiful music as an adult. But would you send your 8 year old to his house for a playdate? No one presenting the hours of tributes last month touched the issue more than briefly. Michael Vick is drop-dead gorgeous and a gifted athlete. His inability to play nicely with other species sent him to a federal penitentiary. Now he's returning to the NFL and the animal abuse story is replayed and rehashed and remarked upon and, at the risk of sounding ridiculous (ouch!) the remonstrations have been overwhelming the football. So I've been thinking about celebrity and scandal. If I believe in the possibility of rehabilitation, then I ought to c...

It rained this week and the plants are so grateful. The crepe myrtle wasn't dead or finished blooming as I'd thought. It was just resting and waiting for the monsoon. I found another Caesalpinia pulcherrima at Lowe's yesterday and for $2.50 I brought it home. It's sitting in the courtyard as I contemplate where to put it. Though it's much too hot to plant it now and be guaranteed success, once again, I was unable to resist the siren's call. The hibiscus which lured me into possessing it has already fallen victim to the curse attached to its new home. I didn't plant it the first day, but rested it atop the pot-which-continues-to-fail. That was the night the rains and the winds refreshed the plants secured in their moorings by soil and roots. Sadly, the poor hibiscus was a victim of my procrastination and the morning found it lying on its side, branches broken, reproaching me with its helplessness. Even though I know it's only a plant, I felt bad. (Poor gr...

It's my favorite meal. I can eat it any time of the day or night. I can eat more of it than you would guess, given my size. And while I might feel full, I will never feel bloated. I have lots of little places in my stomach to hide all the eggs and english muffins and real butter and pancakes and hash browns and biscuits and orange juice and bagels and oatmeal and fresh fruit and skim milk you would care to put in front of me. Right now. TBG and I used to have eating contests late at night at The Rosebud Diner, in those long-gone days when we could eat what we wanted and rely upon our metabolism to do the rest. We always started with breakfast. I had a really good breakfast in L.A. last week. They waved me in as I opened the door and within the welcome was a sit anywhere efficiency I warmed to immediately. The waitress had water on the table before I had opened my menu, and my challah french toast was dusted perfectly with cinnamon and powdered sugar. "Heah ya go, sweetie"...

He starts school today. He thought, studied, tested, planned, researched, applied, considered, decided, registered, funded and relocated. I watched. He owns the entire experience, and I'm bursting with pride at the same time as I am having an awful time not being there and helping. Daddooooo always gave us a new pencil the night before the first day of school. It had the logo of his business, fancy green calligraphy and a point that was sharpened to the teeniest tiniest most perfect tip. It made you want to get to school the next morning just so you could write with it. We got new shoes for the first day of school. Gym shoes were just that - shoes you wore in gym class. They weren't worn in the classroom and if you hadn't grown, last year's model would work just fine. But you definitely got new school shoes, along with a new purse or lunch box depending on your age and gender and a haircut and 3 new outfits. I suppose we out-grew or ripped or otherwise mutilated clothes...