The Burrow

photo courtesy of JPetersenPhotography We're visiting. I can't promise lots of verbiage. I can promise lots of pictures.

I left one episode out of yesterday's post.   It didn't fit with the overall tenor, but it exists out there. I was teary, standing outside the voting area, and an elderly man and woman smiled with are you okay? looks on their faces.  I smiled back at them.   "I just voted for a woman for president and I'm a little overwhelmed." The woman smiled back as the man  said "Yeah, get ready for a woman president."  "From your mouth to God's ear," I replied, channeling G'ma and Bubba and all the women in my lineage who never had the opportunity to hope for this very moment....... and he GRIMACED! Say what you will about Hillary, growing up when we did it was impossible to imagine  a female POTUS. What she had to do in order to get to this place, without tons of money (Diane Feinstein comes to mind), on a national scale, for sure left detritus in her wake. How could it not? But she has my same body parts, has had my same experiences,...

Dear FlapJilly, You were in pre-school today, all the way across the country from your grandparents.  That's the only reason I didn't take you with me this afternoon.  Your absence is the only unfortunate part of an otherwise remarkable day. I voted for a woman to be the President of the United States. I didn't see her opponent's name on the ballot; my gaze stopped right at the top.  PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES - Clinton/Kane was all that I could read.  There were tears, FlapJilly, real wet tears in my eyes. The world is a far more accommodating place right now than it was when I was 2.  You'll never need a man to co-sign a loan or a credit card application.  No salesman will refuse to talk to you without your husband standing by your side... no salesman with whom you'd do business, that is.  You can secure birth control without a marriage license and a willing gynecologist. You'll never know a world where race or gender determines whether...

I have a Facebook friend I don't really know.  Do you? She connected with me when I was perforated back in 2011.  Among all the high school friends and acquaintances (there were 600+ of us in the class) she is one of the few who maintained the relationship.  I've watched her grandchildren grow, even as I wondered how I knew her.  The yearbook picture didn't help.  Who was she? Finally, I asked her.  It took a lot of courage to decide to say "I don't remember you from high school.  Why weren't we friends?  I think we would have liked one another." The pause she took before answering my question left me hollow in my heart.  Had I insulted her?  Was my carefully crafted questioning, developed over several days, shared and vetted with my closest friends, more annoying than we had supposed?  I didn't want to lose her, but I had to know. Just before it got really awkward, she sent a little laugh over the phone and into my ear. "...

The display on the table attracted my attention as I was leaving the gym.  A lovely woman, a bit younger than I, wondered if I wanted to take 30 seconds and determine my body mass index. Sure. I held that weird device in my two sweaty palms, arms straight out in front of my chest.  She took it from me almost immediately, asked my age, told me my number and directed my eyes to the chart on the table.   I smiled.  I was ideal. Not average, or low, or high.   Ideal.   Sounded pretty perfect to me.  I was proud, and expected the gym's health and wellness person to share my joy.   No such luck. She wanted to get me off my high cholesterol medicine (even though I failed already on a diet-and-exercise regime).  She knew that there was more I could do and she and her trainers were ready to help. I smiled, shook my head, told her I was satisfied with ideal  and left. I refused to be aggravated.  I was having too ...

People who never post on Facebook - like Not-Kathy - posted this There were on-going love letters all series long, like this one, from SIR: Dear Jake Arrieta,  You complete me! Love,  Brian but something about this game brought out people who, in ordinary circumstances, would never turn the television to sports.  Look at these texts from JannyLou, yesterday during the 3rd inning: Cubbies lookin' good.  I cannot believe I am watching baseball for you so I can root for them!..... I've been sitting all day.... Fast Eddie did GOTV door knocking....  Double Play.  Wow. My shirt from the 1989 National League Division Championship and my gym rat tank top will soon be joined with one featuring these guys. But my favorite graphic is this one, sent to all those doubters and disbelievers. GO CUBBIES!!!

Have you heard of them?  Ask a youngster with access to YouTube to show you one, I refuse to link to such nonsense. Following on the heels of an unsubstantiated report of children being lured into the South Carolina woods by an evil, scary clown, the interwebs have exploded with videos purporting to show teens battling fright wigs and face paint.  Mr. 11 and Mr. 13 spent a recent evening talking sports with TBG as the game was on our tv and begging me to watch the clown videos. No, thank you, I have no interest in being scared. It's not scary.  It's funny.  Watch this one..... this one.... this one.... Since nothing is more persistent than an 11 year old on a mission to improve my life, I looked.  A car full of kids crushing a clown beneath their tires, over and over again.  A clown with a machete chasing a kid.  On and on and on it must have gone, but two were enough for me, but not for Mr. 11.  He giggled until it was time to leave. Fa...