Admit it. At some time in your life you've needed ostrich feathers. How or why or when or where isn't important and I certainly don't want to know about it. You needed ostrich feathers, and you couldn't find them. Not the really good ones, the ones that would really let you strut your stuff.
(Teeth not standard feature.) Or maybe you've considered farming ostriches. They eat like birds since they are birds, and there's some health benefit to eating them if you can catch them. Plus there's all the exercise involved with catching them. They're a full-service, diet-and-exercise bird. And don't forget the feathers you can wear to your next tea party, or for your next Mummers parade.
If ostriches have been out of your reach, or out of your mind, in the past, that can change. You can get your Ostrich Feathers, whether you want them at wholesale or retail, just by clicking on the highlighted link. And for your inner ostrich farmer, this site also has all the information you need about farming ostriches.
I'm not naming names, but Accutane appears to make some people grumpy. This surprises me, because when I took it eons ago I was my usual self until I started to see double. (True story.)
Then again, just how can you tell if a 13-year-old is grumpy? What part of the grumpiness is being 13, taking exams or being on Accutane?
For more on our family's Accutane adventures, go here (one month report) and here (our Kafka-esque beginning).
We're supposed to be looking for signs of depression in her, but this grumpiness might make us all depressed.
By the way, her skin is clearing up. The doctor has reduced the dose, so perhaps the grumpiness will reduce as well.
Unless that's not what's causing it and we have to wait until she graduates from college.
Click on the photo to enlarge. Please notice large cat on the dashboard (Tiger) and the horse in the right rearview mirror. Probably Buddy. How I live.
I'm afraid to go to the gas station. People give me dirty looks. Fortunately, I don't have to go often. I drive a Prius.
I drive a Prius because I made the decision a year ago that (1) I didn't want to walk, which was the only alternative I had after not one but two VWs turned from cool driving machines into unrepairable junk (two cars died in three months) and I was left with nothing but a horse and a bike and (2) I don't like giving money to people who hate us.
Yes, the Prius gets incredible mileage. Most of the time I get from 52-54 mpg. If I drive fast and run the A/C or heater, I get in the high 40s. I have gotten 60 mpg for some driving segments.
It's not as sporty and fun to drive as a Jetta, and it isn't as comfortable as a Passat, but there's something to be said for economy and reliability. As you can see from the photo, Tiger finds it quite comfortable.
It holds more than you think it would. It's comfortable. It has lots of well-thought-out features.
It has a certain cool factor. I'm surprised I survived the last year because I spent most of it not looking at the road, but at the energy consumption panel. It's like a video game where the point is to maximize your mpgs. It has trained me to drive the way the Prius likes to be driven, which is sort of like driving a bicycle. Coast downhill, build up speed for the next hill. And brake slowly.
Thank goodness it has a back-up camera, because in electric mode it doesn't make any noise. That means the pets don't move out of the way and I've driven over Tiger before.
And when I went to the feed store to pick up some bags of grain the young man who totes and fetches never appeared. I had to go looking for him. My car was in electric mode so he didn't hear me drive up. This puzzled him, so he asked me, "Is that one of them solar cars?"
One of my favorite things about the car is the SmartKey system. What that means is that if you have trouble keeping up with your key, don't worry. If it's stuck somewhere on you or in your purse, you can start your car and lock and unlock the doors without ever having to figure out exactly where you put your keys. Trouble is, you have to find your keys when you get home because our house door is not smart, though I suspect it is me who isn't smart.
When I can't find my keys, I put my purse in the Prius to see if I can start it. If it starts, I know I have my keys so I keep looking in my clothing and purse.
I bought the car because it was supposed to be reliable and economical. I paid more for the hybrid engine, but I figured I'd rather give the money to the Japanese than the people who hate us.
And yes, I think we need to drill for American oil. Go for all sources of American oil. Now. By the way, did you know China is exploring oil reserves between Cuba and Key West? You think they've got the technology to prevent oil spills that would devastate Florida's coral reefs? I recently heard an updated report about this, but can't find the link. Here is a story from the St. Petersburg (FL) Times and here's one from the NY Times.
Here's a photo of my parents before Mama got Alzheimer's and before my father turned into a skinny but determined old fellow. Today is Mama's 96th birthday. My father had it all planned out. I would drive up there, we would load her into my car and take her on a joy ride. Since she's bedridden, can't walk and they need to use an automatic lift of some sort to move her from bed to chair and back, this whole fantasy required a good bit of imagination.
He sort of sucked me into the whole idea. Poor Mama stuck in a nursing home. For her 96th birthday, we'll take her out for a drive. Never mind he can't stand upright without falling over and is a hazard to take places. Never mind that Mama doesn't know who we are or where she is most of the time. Never mind that when she was mobile and could go places, she so objected to having to go back to the Alzheimer's unit that we had to put lorazepam gel on her wrists to get her calmed down enough to return.
Saintly Brother pointed out the many ways I had lost my mind with this scheme. That's what Saintly Brothers are for. I am gracefully bowing out but not engaging my father in discussion about the why.
I may not even see her on her birthday, which makes me sad. Then again, I can see her on another day and we can declare THAT day her birthday, and pick any number we choose. We can celebrate her 50th birthday or whatever sounds good to her, since she doesn't know what year it is anyway. I doubt she'd believe me if I told her she was 96. I'm sure she wouldn't. I hardly believe it myself.
Here's a photo of us celebrating our birthdays in 2005. That's my non-teenage daughter, Lily, in the middle.
It's back. My father called me tonight to tell me to make arrangements for us to go to Panama. The Panama Canal, the thing I've heard of all my life. That's where he was stationed during WWII. Please note that it wasn't bombed or destroyed, so he obviously did a good job of protecting it.
He's always wanted to go back and renewed his passport when he hit 92, but didn't have time to go then. He says that if we schedule it around the things that are growing in his garden (such as the 150 tomato plants for a man who lives in assisted living, gets three meals a day and doesn't like tomatoes), he can go in the next few months. I'm to go with him, as is anyone else who wants to go.
What a happy fantasy! I would love to go with him. I'd love him to show me where he was stationed, ride through the locks with him and let him explain how they work -- and what's changed. I've even gotten him to agree to go on a cruise ship, not some little boat and go hiking through the jungle to find his old camp.
Now he can't walk from his room to my mother's without stopping three times to rest. He can't go anywhere without his oxygen. I called him the other night and he fell trying to answer the phone. He uses a cane, sometimes uses a walker and is always supposed to use a wheelchair. He can't button his own shirts, but he can strip the leaves off of baby tomato plants and hand them to Ike to be planted.
Except for grandiose expectations for what he can do, he's as sharp as ever. I'll go through the motions of planning the trip. I'll give him options. We'll talk about it. Maybe this fantasy will be good therapy for both of us.
Too bad we didn't do it decades ago. I doubt he can leave Mama for that long. And I doubt it would be responsible of me to take him (plus driving him to church and back is grueling -- not sure about a week on a ship).
Would an airline even take somebody way past worn out? I have a feeling that cruise ships would, because I've seen their rickety old passengers. And if it's too much for him, well, at least he was doing what he wanted to do. Or, what if it is too much and he is miserable and scared the whole time and it makes him worse without giving him a good experience?
He'll be 96 in August. He wasn't expected to live until July 2007 (he doesn't know this). He's squeezing every drop he can out of life. Maybe he'll make it to Panama. Maybe he'll even make it back. But then what?
Right now you are a diamond in the rough. You're made out of carbon and some other stuff. Cremate you and put you under pressure, and you could be sparkling on some descendent's finger. Or you could fall in the commode and get flushed. What do you care? You're dead.
In diamond form, I might be worth more dead than alive. However, I do not want my relatives made into jewelry, nor do I want to become a quality-or-not gemstone.
When we took my father to the funeral home to plan the unthinkable (a weird experience for all), I saw a brochure for a company that will turn your loved one into a diamond. Okay, fine. Some people will do anything for jewelry.
I am so grossed out.
What if you lost Uncle Joe while cleaning the cat box? What if you had your mother-in-law made into a diamond? How could you wear such a thing? Why would you wear such a thing?
Here's a testimonial from the LifeGem website:
Hi Rusty!
I wanted to let you know that 'Ma' has arrived here safe and sound! You were right.....she IS a beauty!!
Today is her 1 year anniversary and it has given me an untold sense of peace to have her home and in such sparkely condition!
I want to thank you and your company for allowing me to have something so beautiful created in memory of my mother.
See this attractive and puzzling symbol? You have to tear off a little slip of cardboard with this graphic on it to get every single Accutane pill out of the blister pack. Lily is not so great in the throwing away trash department, and somehow I have these little banned pregnant women all over my house. Sort of like perverse confetti.
I'm a smart enough cookie, and I'm not entirely sure that the meaning of this international symbol is particularly clear. It looks like a symbol to prevent pregnancy, not to tell pregnant women not to take this particular drug. Instead, I'd read it as, "I'm pregnant. I don't want to be. Better take Accutane."
Lily had to have her one-month blood test today (she had the baseline one before starting Accutane). I can see that the medicine is blessedly working. Her skin is drying up. She even has eyebrow dandruff (and asked me what to do about it -- brush her eyebrows maybe?). We have so much hope riding on this medicine. So far, so good. My regular pharmacist has passed the pharmacist iPledge test and has the Accutane in stock, so we should be able to refill the prescription next week without all the aggravation and drama we had last time.
Lily isn't crazy about getting her blood drawn but she so wants her skin to clear up that she doesn't even complain (much). This morning the lab technician who was drawing the blood assured her that "this will only be a little stick." (Can they say anything else?)
Then she had to get a different needle. Lily didn't watch the proceedings but was fine. She told the technician that she doesn't like needles.
The technician, who draws blood all day every day for this lab company, said, "I can't stand needles. I haven't been to the doctor in eight years because I'm afraid they'll want a blood sample."
Here's a picture of the famous arch in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. You've probably seen it before, along with other photos of the area's absolutely gorgeous beaches.
Looks like a great place to go for a tropical getaway, right? And indeed it is. But one thing that was a surprise to Paul (and no doubt to other people) when he got to go there on business is that it is illegal to go in the ocean. Yes, there was even an armed guard to keep the tourists out of the ocean. Terrible rip currents.
The things you don't know to ask. It's still beautiful. Just not quite what you might expect from an ocean resort.
We've had about six hamsters over the last few years and it never, ever occurred to me that I could get hamster insurance. The hamster(s) was replaced by a rabbit, and it never, ever occurred to me that I could get rabbit insurance. Hamster insurance would have possibly saved me from having to figure out euthanasia options when one of them developed cancer. Very disturbing business that I've already blogged about so no need to talk about putting sick hamster in a double-ziplock bag and running over it in the car. (I didn't do this -- a vet suggested it to me. Want to be clear on that.)
And what about cat insurance? I've run over two of our cats in the driveway (both fully recovered). I wonder if that's covered? (When you have a Prius, things can't hear you coming. Even if they're asleep under the car.)
In the people insurance marketplace, Europe tends to set the trends for specialty insurance products. That appears to also be the case in the pet insurance market. The more I read, the more I realize that for some people it could really be a good choice. By clicking on this pet insurance link, you can visit a U.K. site that allows you to compare insurance companies, learn about the different kinds of pet insurance and even get online quotes. I didn't know you can get insurance that covers advertising in case your pet is lost or stolen, or covers boarding expenses if you get sick and can't care for your pet, or covers cremation expenses. They seem to have thought of everything.
And while you're there, you might also want to do some comparison shopping on credit cards. You can compare the many kinds of cards available and shop for the best one for you.
He comes in the middle of the afternoon when you're not at home. (Maybe you're napping in the carpool line. "He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake," etc.) He leaves a pile of collards and cabbages by your door. Or rather, around the corner from your door, so you don't see them at first, and when your eyes do take them in it takes a moment to process.
What's that stuff? Green leafy piles of.... what? Brain whirs and searches. Collards! Cabbages! Piles of them. I've been visited by the Collard Claus, AKA my father. Ninety-five years old and still delivering collards.
Hmmm. Might be a good idea to eat a lot of them. Collards must be the energizer bunny of nutrition. They're just so hard to wash. And wash. And wash. And then find a spot for them in the refrigerator because they're so big. I can't fit them all in. I can hardly fit some of them in.
Fortunately, my neighbors like collards and cabbages too. Which the Collard Claus told me was his plan.
Admit it. At some time in your life you've needed ostrich feathers. How or why or when or where isn't important and I certainly don't want to know about it. You needed ostrich feathers, and you couldn't find them. Not the really good ones, the ones that would really let you strut your stuff.
(Teeth not standard feature.) Or maybe you've considered farming ostriches. They eat like birds since they are birds, and there's some health benefit to eating them if you can catch them. Plus there's all the exercise involved with catching them. They're a full-service, diet-and-exercise bird. And don't forget the feathers you can wear to your next tea party, or for your next Mummers parade. 
