The Burrow

There was a deluge on Saturday. The downspouts empty into my containers, splashing soil onto the columns and bruising the blossoms. The companion pot on the other column was down to the bare roots; for some reason the water comes down more forcefully just ten feet away.  I didn't want to lose the remaining plants, and I didn't want to hire a contractor to renovate my downspouts.  I created a removable plant umbrella.  It made me laugh and it served its purpose. ***** Responding to the washer's buzzer while concentrating on baking brownies results in 40 minutes of towels tumbling on Extra Delicate.  It seems that I can concentrate on exactly one thing at a time these days. ***** Dean Martin has a sexy twang in his voice, Bing Crosby is lighter. Perry Como is never surprising, while Nat King Cole catches me unawares with a phrase or an extra-long pause.    I have favorite versions of almost all the standard holiday tunes, an...

It's a meditative experience, after the first week or so.  I triple the recipe; the math works out perfectly.  There's no cutting sticks of butter or searching for the quarter teaspoon measuring tool.  It's all full cups and sticks and teaspoons, and that's very soothing.  I think before adding every ingredient, checking my arithmetic, stirring carefully.  I watch the yellow eggs turn ecru when the vanilla extract hits the bowl, and I remember my yellow organza formal - they crinkle in the same way. It's raining outside, the larder is stocked, there's no need to go outside... except maybe to visit with JannyLou next door. This is as close to the weather outside is frightful that Tucson gets; the Pandora Ella Fitzgerald Holiday Station is running white men from the 50's singing about snow, and I can't stop smiling. Perry Como's inoffensive voice reminds me that Rhonda was on The Perry Como Christmas Show every year we were in elementary school.  ...

Amidst the holidaze, planning proceeds for the 4th anniversary of my perforation.  BEYOND! actually encompasses more than my little piece of heaven, but this year I am having a hard time looking beyond my own nose.  The permit issuers were beginning to worry.  I hadn't responded to their emails.  I had been avoiding my GRIN inbox, then the computer died and the shortcut with it and if I could remember the web address I could plug in the user names and passwords which are, frustratingly, more readily available than the places I need to enter them.  But that's not the reason.  I knew what they wanted to tell me.  I just didn't want to face it. I wanted to revel in FlapJilly and then in the Brownie List and I didn't want to plan or think or go back to the worst moment in my life. In the past, when people would tell me to take care of myself, to do what I needed to do, to think of me first, I would confidently reassure them that I was doing exac...

Not that kind of list, denizens.  I have everything I need or I want and Santa is focusing on the littlest member of the clan, while being certain that the rest have socks and underwear to last a life time. No, this list is for FlapJilly.  Her grandfather and I were sitting on Douglas, disgruntled viewers of gender stereotyped advertising on every channel we tried.  All the little girls were in pink... sparky pink... and most of them had tulle.  The ones with the biggest smiles were wearing tiaras or fairy princess wings. Though Little Cuter went through a fairy princess stage in second grade, I think it had more to do with her friendship with Rachael than any real infatuation with spangles. Her wedding dress came from J Crew; it had pockets in lieu of lace. The notion of success through princess-ness is not part of her repertoire. FlapJilly may have different ideas on the subject, and those will have to be treated with respect.  With that in min...

If one more person tells me that my energy is amazing, I will scream.  Aloud.  In public.  I am tired.  I ache.  I have a smile on my face and love in my heart but I am not as old as I'm going to be and I'm certainly not as young as I used to be. I never thought that was a valid excuse before hearing a friend's tale of woe last night, a tale with which I could identify, a tale that ended with "We are just too old to do this on a regular basis." I understood what she meant, without judgment.  The body takes longer to recover as it spends more time on the planet. I may have more patience in my seventh decade, or I might be too tired to care that much about so many things.  I'm husbanding my energy for these moments at my kitchen table.  Patty the Magnificent cleaned again, but she left my work station intact.  I'd organized it.... a little bit, anyway.  All the gift tags were in the same box and the rib...

Big Cuter on Cozy Rosie, his sister's couch, was in his element, opining on everything to people who loved him. "Any time a woman cuts her hair, you should tread lightly.... something has happened.... big time." Little Cuter and I mulled over our pasts, but he was on to something else and that was the end of it. Or so I thought. I heard from a friend yesterday.  Every piece of her life is in chaos.  There is not a touchstone to be found, for all is in flux. She's strong and resilient and she already has a plan in place to make sense of the nonsense..... .....but the first thing she told me was I got my hair cut. ***** Happy Tuesday, Big Cuter <3  When you're right, you're right <3

I did this today.  I did it many times. Sometimes there were walnuts and almond extract in the pans.   I turned this into this and more.   I'm exhausted. I'm elf-ed out.   I'm going to put my feet up on the couch and I'm going to look at this  and I'm going to smile.   Have a wonderful Monday.