The Burrow

FAMBB texts about baking brownies as a balm against the 20-some inches of snow outside her window.  I apologize to her, and to everyone else who is housebound and frozen.  But with temperatures here in the high 60's to low 70's, and sunshine every day, all day, my garden is blooming and I just have to share.   This is the only winter bloom on the roses on the south end of the yard.  It's taken its own sweet time opening up, but it was worth the wait The nandina (Heavenly Bamboo) puts out tiny little berries.  These are the few which the migrating birds haven't eaten.   I planted seeds in the fall.  Apparently, alstromeria (African daisies) were in the mix in this pot with the peace rose.  They are neon bright in the afternoon sun, and closed up tight once that sun sets. Come and visit.  It's really lovely out there.

I can't have you go into the weekend thinking that I am feeling low.  I'm really not as sad or upset as yesterday's post might lead you to believe.  Talking to you through my fingers helps me work through most of the angst that comes my way these days.  Boring does have its upside; there's not that much to kvetch about when you don't do hardly anything at all. I had lunch with Amster today.  We kvelled about our kids, her newly paved driveway,  her travel plans.  And then she, the least dramatic human I've ever met, shared an ongoing saga amongst the girls.   She has somehow managed to get herself entwined in something that is reminiscent of middle school, when no one had anything more important to do than quibble about nonsense and then squawk about the quibbling and then involve others in the kerfuffle.  These, though, are middle aged women arguing over birthday parties - it's not fair  is a common refrain. They all work and earn good ...

They - whoever they  were - told me that two weeks would be enough.  The two weeks are up tomorrow. The Omicron variant was to have bulled its way through the population by now.  The vulnerable are supposed to have been infected and gotten sick and suffered the consequences by now.  There are medicines to treat the disease, and the triple vaxxed don't seem to be dying or overburdening the hospitals. Life was supposed to be back to normal tomorrow. I don't know what I was expecting - a flurry of confetti from the sky, a brass band marching down America's Main Street, millions of people streaming into the streets hugging and laughing and already beginning to forget the past two years. What I've got is nothing. I don't know where to go for answers.  The CDC is once more under attack, this time from the left - what used to be the dispositive choice is now just another bunch of hacks, or so they say.  Big Pharma is making vaccines for Omicron, even as it fades a...

A mutual friend sent me a lovely picture of Lady Jane, taken a few months before she died.  I come across it as I scroll through the gallery on my phone.  She's vibrant and well coifed and her eyes are sparkling.  I can feel her aching to get the picture taking finished so that she can get on to the next adventure. I'm taken aback by how healthy she looks.  She was remarkably healthy for 87.  No hearing aids.  No eye glasses.  A cane and a pacemaker kept her mobile.  Although she spent the past few years divesting, sending her personal property to museums and family members and worthy organizations,  I never thought of her as being close to death.  She had every cardiologist in the Western Hemisphere consulting on her heart; we were totally confident that they would keep it ticking forever. Then she was sick.  Then she was home. I don't remember G'ma looking as gaunt, as empty, as Lady Jane appeared over the last weeks of her life....

This is a dish that is equal parts taste and memory.   I was certain that I broke all kinds of ancient family traditions when I poured the Swanson's Low Sodium Chicken broth into a Revere Ware pot, the same kind of pot G'ma used.  I laughed as I thought of my paternal grandmother tsk-tsk-ing while G'ma and her mom were being totally jealous that the whole process took about 11 seconds instead of all day.   It seemed thin, until I added the matzoh balls.  Suddenly, it became the perfect background, helping the main attraction slide right down. The matzoh balls from the Manischewitz package lived up to the rave reviews from Big Cuter - They're as good as the ones from Max's  .  High praise, indeed, likening them to comfort food and growing boy food and really the very best matzoh balls we've ever eaten. Mine were not as big as I remember the ones from his youth, but they were every bit as tasty as those we can imagine, if we close our eyes and take ...

TBG misses his son every day.  TBG especially misses his son when there are playoff games - in just about any sport - on television..  They are enthusiastic fans. I am usually unenthusiastic when it cones to football, America's blood sport.   I am, however a big fan of my husband, who got used to having a compatriot sharing the couch as he gave instructions to the players who, when they listened and did what he told them to do, invariably met with success.   It's much more fun when somebody's watching the same game and can appreciate the brilliance of his remarks. So, denizens, I have nothing to report outside the realm of the NFL playoffs.  I'm not sure anyone wants to listen to me indulge in the schadenfreude we felt when Aaron Rogers took his lying, unvaccinated ass home.  I cheered against Tom Brady and was rewarded.  I watched team after team try desperately not to win - and often those teams were playing one another. I paid attention wi...

TBG and I are supposed to be enjoying our first day home after visiting the grandkids and their parents.  Instead, we cancelled that trip when the COVID surge made travelling through crowded airports and changing planes more challenging. Today, American Airlines sent me a text message announcing that it was time for me to check in for my flight, and for TBG to do the same. So much for calm.  I clicked through the link but needed a flight number or a credit card number and I had neither at hand.  I moved to Lenore the Laptop and searched my email and there it was - the reservation, the confirmation once they had the money,  the cancellation request confirmation, and the cancellation confirmation, replete with instructions on how to use it. Clearly, American Airlines thought we were in a good place on this issue.  I agreed.... until that pesky text. I have gotten over my initial fear of mental decline; I forgot neither to cancel the trip nor the fact that I had do...