The Burrow

How are you? I wanted you to know that you were in my thoughts. Sending love your way. I've spent the last two days living that life.  It was intense in a way that surprises every year.  I relive it the way I relive the births of my children. Each moment has its own texture. Some are rougher than others. ***** I went to a community event in a movie theater on Tuesday night. There was a huge security presence, and many unarmed but well-uniformed officials standing along the walls, but my friend and I sat on the edge of the aisle, just in case.  Just in case of what didn't matter; just in case was enough for me. ***** The videographer remembered me from years past; he told the reporter to put the microphone on my sweater and let me talk. She nodded and complied as he and I exchanged pleasantries. I uttered my three-sentences-to-tell-the-media, disconnected the equipment, and forgot all about it. The movie portion of the evening began with somber music and wintry, fo...

In the telling and retelling of the story of my perforation on January 8th, there is one question that is always asked. "Did it hurt?" The answer is always the same. "Not until the paramedic said, 'Hang on, Ma'am, this is really gonna hurt,'  just before he plunged a needle into my knee." This is the story of how I we met again, exactly three years later. photo by The Firefighter  There have been anniversary celebrations and commemorations and speeches and films and discussions and bell ringings and flag raisings and I can't imagine that any of them were as moving as the simple event at the Nanini Library on Wednesday morning. TBG and I arrived a few minutes before 10am.  There was a shiny (is there really any other kind?) firetruck in the parking lot, blocking the rows of white folding chairs, as crisp and straight as the firefighters and battalion chiefs and fire chiefs and sheriff's deputies and local police who mil...

Three years ago today, we left your driveway for the start of a small but wonderful adventure.  We'd shake the hand of a famous and powerful woman, then have lunch and a manicure, do some shopping, and return to my house to play with bubble wrap as we put away my holiday decorations. It was a cool, bright, clear Tucson morning. You didn't need that sweatshirt your mom had you retrieve from the front hall before she'd let you leave with me. I know that because you left it on the front seat of my car, parked in the middle of the lot, within my sight if you needed to run back and get it. I knew enough to keep you safe from errant drivers.  It never crossed my mind that I would need to keep you safe from flying bullets. Since you left us that morning, so much good has been done in your name.  Gymnasiums have been built and refurbished, classrooms and playgrounds have shiny enhancements, children are learning civics and playing sports and your aura surrounds them.  ...

Everyone has these days.  Not everyone celebrates them, though.  I'm debating my own proper course of action. When I graduated from college, I felt the import of being on the other side of a dividing line, as if a clear distinction had been drawn between my uneducated and my educated selves.   "I'm a college graduate. Ask me anything."   That refrain rolled around my head and out my mouth for a week or more as I attempted to become comfortable with the new, certified, me. The day before our wedding, I looked across the motel pool at TBG and stared.  I stared and I stared and I couldn't seem to relax my gaze.   Husband  was a big word, a word I was having difficulty incorporating into my sense of self.  As I floated and considered and stared, I tried to come to terms with the fact that I was experiencing the last day of being single.   I was present, fully aware of the momentous import of the new day. Sometimes, though, last...

Yes, denizens, Tucson has lakes.  They are not Lake Michigan size lakes, but they have water and boundaries and signs that designate them as such.   I walked around one today. I walked all the way around, on pavement for a while and then on hard packed desert soil.... dirt... solid enough to repel a trowel, with a dusting of soft small granules and larger, trip-inducing pebbles and stones and rocks. The wild flowers are beginning to sprout, and there are low clusters of leaves, gathered like old friends meeting up at their favorite spots again, now that the weather is right.  It hasn't rained very much this winter, but that doesn't seem to have impeded their progress... the way they impeded mine this morning.  I didn't want to step on them, they were too wide to step over, and moving laterally is a skill I've yet to full master. I smiled as I problem-solved.  A year ago, I could not have done this walk. We parked our cars with one space between them, eve...

 Two faced, coming in and going out , I've always been a little skeptical of January. One minute we were thankful and grateful and full of love and warmth. Today, I am filled with resolutions and reality and the need to be productive. It's not that I wasn't productive last month. Hardly. I cleaned out an apartment and distributed worldly possessions. I baked and wrapped and decorated. I flew to the East and I welcomed guests from north and west. Still, there is something about those two faces, one reminding me of what is past, still hearing the closing of the door to 2013, the other gazing blankly forward, unknowing, unable to see. There is something of the taskmaster about January. I feel it looking over my shoulder, wondering why I am not doing.... even as I am. It's not the clean slate of September, the start of school. There is a burdensome quality to the days of January. I don't know. Maybe it's just me....

Happy Birthday, TBG!   I've celebrated with you since 1971.  That's  more than forty years of hearing you complain that everyone is always driving home on your birthday.  Forty years of watching everyone else start the new year off by looking forward to new challenges, as we look back on the year just past.  Birthdays are times for reflection for us.  It's just so odd to do it when the rest of the world is focused forward. Thinking of a gift that wasn't given for Chanukah or Christmas is a perennial challenge.  I used to buy you cigars, but they don't seem to amuse you any more. The Sees Candies that greetsyou when you open your eyes and glance at your night stand this morning will be tasty, but they'll also be an echo of the two boxes Big Cuter gifted you last week. It's always been that way.  You'd give me a list and wonder why some of it wasn't found under the tree or near the spinning dreidles, only to stop and remember that you had anot...